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Heeseung was fifteen when he watched his brother bring the nameless boy to the royal palace for the twentieth time.

The morning sun bathed the gardens in gold, the air thick with the scent of blooming roses and wet grass. He looked at it from the balcony of his chambers, gaze following two figures racing through the maze of hedges below, their laughter filtering through the greenery, bright and carefree. He watched as his younger brother stumbled on a root, fumbling the usual grace that followed the young prince's every move, his raven-black hair catching the light like a halo and basking him in its warmth like he was loved by God himself. Sunghoon's smile was wide and toothy even as he the other shorter, livelier kid folded in on himself, pointing at him unceremoniously, head thrown back from the force of his cackles despite the prince’s flustered protests. The boy’s laugh was contagious. Heeseung found himself chuckling even if he didn't find it quite as funny as his brother’s friend seemingly did. 

“How are you this clumsy, Your Highness?” the boy’s voice reached him, still childish and high-pitched. “You look like a buffoon!”

“I will order your beef to be served overcooked today if you don’t cease this immediately.” 

Heeseung leaned on the marble railing, a rare smile softening his usually composed demeanor. Sunghoon complained loudly, his own giggles breaking through the wall of pretense even as the boy kept mocking him, loud and playful, and for a fleeting moment, Heeseung allowed himself to bask in it and daydream about being a part of the unfolding fun, daydream about having his own playtime with his own royal playmate. It was moments like these that made the weight on his shoulders feel lighter, no matter how bittersweet the aftertaste felt on his tongue.

“They’re at it again, Your Highness,” his attendant appeared by his side, tsking in mock exasperation at the sight of the two kids tarnishing pristinely groomed grass with their heavy boots. “Shall I remind them to mind the decorum of the palace grounds?”

Heeseung paused. He forced himself to turn away from the balcony before he could let his childish thoughts linger for longer than necessary and make him feel something silly like envy.

“No need,” he replied, shaking his head, his expression schooled back to absolute, artificial neutrality. “Let them have their fun. There’s no harm in it.”

He stepped away, trying to ignore the sympathetic look the attendant gave him.

Heeseung was seventeen when he finally put a name to the garden boy’s face.

The late spring afternoon had been pleasant, the skies a pale blue painted with lazy streaks of white. He had been walking through the shaded pathways that lined the outer edge of the palace grounds, enjoying a rare moment of solitude granted by his increasingly hectic schedule — as he was getting older, his father had started involving him in more political affairs in preparation for his rule and it was getting increasingly more overwhelming. Stolen moments like these felt like a necessary breath of fresh air amidst the suffocating reality of his impending fate.

He first met him in the southern wing of the castle.

The voices reached him first — a familiar one, quiet and monotone, yet undeniably warm, followed by the fuller sound of a laugh he had heard countless times before but never from this close. It caught him off guard. Heeseung straightened his back and smoothened out his clothes before rounding the corner to meet the pair. 

Sunghoon was walking down the corridor, his step elegant and unhurried, enthusiastically retelling some sort of tale to the boy by his side, who was giggling at his every word, the sound bright and bouncing off the cold walls of the castle sweetly like a pretty melody.

The garden boy.

Heeseung paused mid-step.

It was the first time he got the chance to see the boy up close. He spent hours in the loneliness of his chambers, watching his brother play with his friend from up above, too burdened by his duties and expectations to partake, and too shy to even consider joining them during the brief moments of reprieve he was offered during the day. Sunghoon’s companion was seemingly the same age as his brother, his cheeks soft in that adorably young way, skin scratched and sunkissed from careless hours of outdoor adventures, the angles of his frame still sharp and bony. He was a couple of inches shorter than either of them, his golden-brown hair a shade lighter in the sun, and his smile — wide and genuine — blinding in its beauty and having a peculiar way of somehow making the world seem smaller and fuller all at once. 

“Hyung,” Sunghoon’s voice cut through his thoughts, startled but not displeased to find his elder brother on the path where he came to a stop, tilting his head, eyes sparkling with joy and wonder. “You surprised me. What brings you here today?”

Heeseung offered a slight shrug, turning to face the prince with a soft smile. “Walking. Am I not allowed on palace grounds anymore?”

Sunghoon tsked but grinned back at him, fond despite the pretense. “We were just heading to the stables, I didn’t expect to—” he then jolted upright, eyes slightly round as if remembering something, before he turned to his companion, nudging him forward. The boy stumbled slightly, almost falling into Heeseung, but luckily spared all three of them the awkwardness by catching himself just in time. Sunghoon giggled apologetically. “Ah, Jake, this is my older brother, His Highness Prince Heeseung. Hyung, this is my dear friend, Marquess Jake, His Grace’s Duke Sim’s only son. You’ve probably seen each other around.”

Jake Sim.

The boy — Jake — was seemingly caught off guard bumping into his future lord in the middle of the day, his eyes wide as he stood comically straight with a nervous yet polite smile. “Your Highness,” he said immediately, bowing deeply. The marquess’s voice was even, but there was an undercurrent of warmth in the way he spoke, as though he was unafraid but deeply respectful despite being surprised. It felt strange to hear it directed at him after so long. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Jake’s eyes flicked up, meeting Heeseung’s for the briefest of moments. They were a rich shade of brown, kind and steady, the light in them mischievous yet impossibly soft and earnest. Heeseung dazedly thought he had the kind of eyes that lit up the stars at night before shaking his head, willing himself to stop thinking ridiculously embarrassing thoughts about a stranger. 

“Likewise,” he replied, his voice suddenly sounding small. Heeseung cleared his throat to snap out of it. “I believe I’ve heard about you from my brother.”

The boy looked faintly amused at that, the initial awkwardness of first encounters gradually melting away as his lips curled up in what might have been a timid smirk, betraying his natural friendliness that must have chipped away even at Sunghoon’s unbreachable walls of ice. “All good things, I hope.”

Heeseung’s fingers twitched where they were locked behind his back.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Sunghoon interjected hastily, cheeks turning a suspicious shade of pink as he shot Heeseung a careful look. The crown prince was simply being polite, he heard of the friend only fleetingly despite seeing him countless times, but Sunghoon’s reaction may have finally given him a reason as to why. “You shouldn’t listen to him, hyung just likes to tease.”

Jake turned to Sunghoon with an easy laugh, his gaze slipping away from Heeseung after a long beat. He quite liked his mannerisms. “Does he now?”

The exchange was simple, casual even, but it left an odd feeling lingering in Heeseung’s chest. He watched as the two boys excused themselves with matching bows after a couple more questions, Sunghoon tugging Jake by the sleeve as they laughed and fell back into their shared world, youthful and careless and so out of reach. He caught himself shamelessly staring, unexpectedly full of melancholy, when Jake glanced back for the last time, his smile soft and fleeting, cheeks rosy from laughter before they disappeared around the corner. 

How pretty.

The prince stood there for a moment longer before turning away to attend to his duties.

When his brother knocked at the door of his room that evening, tired but giddy, they spent a couple of hours discussing vast Western fields and their favored horses and Jake, Sunghoon’s initial reluctance to mention the boy seemingly melting away after today’s accidental encounter. The duke’s son was his best friend whom he met at the academy he was attending when they were younger, one of the only guys to approach him without any ulterior motives, kind, genuine, and ridiculously likable, even if a little cocky and outstandingly spoiled. Jake sounded nice and real, and Heeseung laughed along, listening to Sunghoon’s uncharacteristically poignant recollections of all the times Jake pissed the hell out of their now-retired arch maid with his dirty boots and scandalous pranks, until they eventually drifted off, cuddled against each other, ignorant of the scolding they will receive from their attendants first thing in the morning.

And even though Heeseung was never a part of any of it, his brother’s stories, vibrant and earnest, made him feel, if only for one night, like he was friends with him, too.

Heeseung was eighteen when he realized how easily Sunghoon blushed at the mention of Jake’s name.

Ever since the weird block Sunghoon had against mentioning his best friend to Heeseung got lifted, it became practically impossible to get him to shut up about the marquess, making it extremely easy to pick up on the special kind of warmth the young prince had seemingly reserved exclusively for one person. It had started as a passing observation — an almost imperceptible stutter when Sunghoon told him stories of their latest endeavors, shy smile everpresent, the way his hands suddenly found something to do when Jake was near, the slightest nervous stammer that interrupted the prince’s usual effortless confidence.

Of course, Heeseung noticed. He always noticed when it came to him, his younger brother might have been the kingdom’s beloved prince, ethereally unapproachable and perfect, but to Heeseung, he was simply Sunghoon —  a kid who wore his heart on his sleeve, big and pure, if just a bit awkward, despite all the layers of faux ice he tried to hide it behind. He was the kindest thing this castle had ever seen, and it made Heeseung’s heart ache with fondness and adoration — no matter how drained his own responsibilities left him every day, Sunghoon’s very presence was enough to simply make it better.

It was an unassuming afternoon when Heeseung found himself near his office window, a teacup poised delicately in his hand as he observed the training grounds below. The sound of swords clashing broke through the gentle chirp of birds and echoed faintly through the courtyard, and he could just make out two familiar figures sparring amidst a small gathering of nameless knights-in-training, attracting his attention like a flame.

Jake’s movements were sharp, his reactions lightning-fast, his footwork precise as he circled Sunghoon, and Heeseung could even see a self-assured curve of a smirk on his face if he squinted at a right angle. Sunghoon had his eyes trained on his partner as he moved with a fluidity that bordered on the uncanny, his swordsmanship a graceful waltz, his blade meeting Jake’s in smooth arcs that sang through the air, the silver metal glinting dangerously in the sun at every strike. They contrasted each other well. From up here, Heeseung had a full sight of the unfolding match, humming a low melody as he watched his brother’s shoulders shake with what he assumed to be low chuckles in response to something Jake said, probably a good-natured taunt thrown to spite the latter. 

Despite the tense aura of rivalry radiating off the two, however, he could also see how the prince had a barely noticeable bounce to his step and occasionally spun his sword around in an unnecessarily flashy manner that was uncharacteristic of Sunghoon’s usually direct and efficient style, his movements just a bit too flamboyant, drawing out bright giggles from the marquess. Heeseung snorted. He knew his brother well enough to understand what it meant — Sunghoon was definitely showing off.

As the match carried on, he found himself tracing their blows with his eyes, silently predicting where the stabs and slashes would fall if he was the one holding the sword, cringing slightly at their amateur missteps until Jake landed a feint, disarming Sunghoon with a flourish that sent the blade clattering to the ground. A ripple of applause from the bystanders broke out, and Heeseung quietly whistled along, watching Jake pull off a silly, embarrassingly uncoordinated victory dance with amusement before he finally caught a glimpse of Sunghoon’s expression.

His younger brother wasn’t sulking or scowling, as he might with anyone else, Heeseung included. Instead, he was laughing — light and unguarded, the kind of laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his sharp canines poke into his bottom lip, eyes glued to his partner, not even attempting to reach for the discarded sword. Jake was cheering while he clapped a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder, clearly saying something with a wide, cocky smile that caused the prince to roll his eyes but grin all the same, and the sight of it sparked something sharp and curious in Heeseung’s chest.

He didn’t know Jake well — not yet, at least — but he was beginning to guess why he caught Sunghoon’s eye.

And, perhaps, why he couldn’t help but notice him, too.

“Your swordsmanship is improving,” Heeseung said during supper that evening, using their parents’ retreat to a business trip to scrutinize his brother. “Though I must say, it’s rather generous of the Marquess to let you win now and then with how out of it you seem when you spar with him,” his tone was deliberately light as he picked at the roasted pheasant on his plate, pretending not to watch him from the corner of his eye. “I’m starting to suspect that you might be playing favorites.”

Sunghoon looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing just enough to betray his wariness at the clear insinuation in Heeseung’s teasing tone. “Jake is a good friend but he is also a skilled swordsman,” he replied, his voice steady and calm but Heeseung had to suppress a wolfish smile that was threatening to make its way to his face at the sight of the faint pinkness dusting Sunghoon’s soft cheeks.

He hummed in response, nibbling on his fork, eyes innocently round. “Yeah, either a very skilled swordsman or a very close friend, it seems. It’s not every day one sees a prince so thoroughly outmatched. Perhaps you ought to spend more time practicing. Or, maybe, your friend simply has a way of distracting you.” 

The latter scowled, but his blush deepened as Sunghoon turned his head away, bringing his drink to his lips in an effort to escape the situation. “I’m afraid you’re implying nonsense, hyung. Marquess Jake is like a brother to me,” he muttered quietly.

“A brother?” Heeseung tilted his head, feigning contemplation, teeth worrying his soft bottom lip. “Strange. I’ve never seen you trip over your words around me. Or stare quite so long when you think you’re being sneaky. Really, Sunghoonie, aren’t you just so cute.”

Sunghoon spluttered, his indignation nearly toppling his goblet of wine and ruining the fine silk of their tablecloth, eyes comically wide when they snapped back to him. Heeseung couldn’t help but giggle at that, painfully fond.

“Your Highness,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, the hissed formality a clear effort to disguise his embarrassment at getting so obviously called out. “Perhaps you should focus on your own affairs instead of meddling in mine.”

Heeseung laughed then, squeaky and breathy and horribly unfitting for a royal, finally relenting from all the teasing, his sharp smile softening into one of endearment instead. While their maids were distracted, he sneakily pushed the best piece of the cut meat from his plate to Sunghoon’s.

“It is not my intention to make jest of you, Sunghoon-ah,” he said, soft, his cheeks hurting from the too-wide grin still plastered on his face, warmth seeping into his tone despite the better practice. “I’m simply thrilled to see you happy.” 

He was being honest. Sunghoon seemed to sense that too as he leveled him with a long, judgmental stare before his shoulders relaxed at last, a matching goofy smile finally breaking through his bravado of denial and exasperation. He popped the offered piece of meat into his mouth. 

They didn’t talk about the garden boy after that, but the blush hadn’t left Sunghoon’s cheeks fully for the rest of the evening and Heeseung, smug but content, counted his theory proven. His brother looked shy but happy and really, how could he ever ask for more. 

Heeseung was nineteen when the universe decided it was finally time for Jake and him to have their first meaningful interaction.

The ballroom was a swirl of dazzling lights and ornate gowns, the sounds of lilting string music and clinking glasses filling the air as nobles mingled and danced. Heeseung stood at the center of the crowd, his princely smile practiced to perfection, nodding politely at the compliments and well wishes that poured in from every direction. His attire was pristine and polished, tailored to perfection, its dark royal burgundy beautifully complimenting his tan skin, hair styled back in a manner that looked perfectly effortless and framed his handsome, sharp features, the crown prince’s pretty face a sought-out accessory to come with his status. Desirable. Craved. Completely suffocating.

Every year since Heeseung's debut at sixteen it was the same. The annual royal ball was meant to be a celebration, a showcase of the kingdom’s unity and splendor, but to Heeseung, it was little more than a gilded cage, one where every smile carried an agenda and every outstretched hand sought to rip a piece of him away and bind him closer to responsibilities he was not yet ready to shoulder. He bowed to a fair lady, gaze distant, as they parted their ways after a finished mazurka, retreating before she could engage him in another dance for the evening and spur a new wave of high folk gossip about the prince's potential engagement. Heeseung cringed. The lady seemed nice and just as reluctant to approach him, but he knew the risks and had to treat these events with a special kind of caution, no matter how sorry he felt. His father’s health hasn’t been the best these days so he should really get things together soon.

When the opportunity finally presented itself, Heeseung slipped away, his steps furtive but composed as he dived for an escape from the endless chatter of the crowd. He pushed open one of the doors, the cool night air rushing to greet him and offering a reprieve from the suffocating warmth and the cacophony of exotic perfumes of the ballroom.

The balcony was a familiar refuge. It overlooked the vast palace gardens that Heeseung spent hours observing longingly, now hauntingly empty and bathed in moonlight, the hedges and flowers casting long, delicate shadows. Heeseung leaned against the marble railing, letting the quiet of the moment wash over him as he breathed in the dewy air. The muffled sound of the ball continued behind him, but out here, it felt distant, as though it belonged to another world.

His quiet got interrupted soon enough.

The balcony door creaked softly as it opened, and Heeseung turned, startled out of his thoughts, his posture straightening almost instinctively as his eyes darted to the entrance. Standing there, looking equally surprised to find someone else sneaking away, was a familiar figure. The marquess’s fluffy hair caught the silver light of the moon and his cheeks were flushed — from the warmth of the ballroom or perhaps from the drinks he had been offered throughout the evening, — painting his face a flattering red. He hesitated at the threshold, his gaze flickering between Heeseung and the empty garden below before a sheepish smile spread across his face and he bowed lowly.

“Your Highness,” Jake greeted, his voice a touch quieter than usual, lacking its power from all the times he laughed along Sunghoon, as though wary of disturbing the stillness. He stepped fully onto the balcony, letting the door close behind him and cutting off the ball. “I apologize for the disruption, I didn’t realize anyone would be here.”

“Ah, it’s quite alright, please do not worry yourself,” Heeseung replied, looking at the man thoughtfully, soothed by his admittedly questionable familiarity with the marquess after years of shallowly polite nods despite praying to have a moment to himself just minutes before. He shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous, turning fully to face his company, who also looked unusually tentative. “What brings you here? Surely my brother would be looking for you.”

Jake let out a soft chuckle, eyes glinting with a mix of sympathy and mischief as he rubbed the back of his neck. “His Highness got swept into a dance with one of the attending lords, and then he was cornered by the Count, if you know what I mean. I think he’ll be stuck there for a while,” his nose crinkled as he added. “They’re probably debating equestrian strategies or something equally riveting.”

They both cringed. Heeseung couldn’t help but snort at that, his lips twitching into an involuntarily genuine smile. If Sunghoon trusts the marquess, it should be okay, right? “Sounds like a fate worse than death.”

Jake’s grin widened, the tension finally easing from his posture. “I’d rather face a battlefield than get swept up in that old man’s endless anecdotes again, to be honest.”

They shared a laugh, the sound a little unflattering but genuine, filling the crisp night air and mixing with the faint hum of the ball inside. It felt natural. Heeseung was calmed by the air of curious lightness that was brought along by Jake’s presence, an ease he rarely experienced these days. Even the quiet that settled between them eventually wasn’t pressing. It was… nice.

“If you don’t mind me prying, why are you out here, Your Highness?” Jake asked after a moment, his tone casual but edged with wonder. He stood a polite distance away from him, his elbows similarly rested on the peril, the space between them weirdly stuffy yet comfortable. “You seemed like the life of the ball earlier.”

Heeseung stared at him for a long moment before he huffed, looking back at the garden.

“Isn’t this place just so pretty at night, My Lord?” Heeseung deflected, humming lightly. From here, he could see the place where his companion often dragged his brother for late-afternoon picnics when they were younger, the grass there still seemingly less fluffy, as though bearing the traces of their shared childhood. “The ballroom is marvelous, don’t get me wrong, but it has nothing on our garden. I suppose sometimes you just need a moment to breathe.”

Jake nodded after a beat, his expression unreadable but wistful. Somehow, it felt like he understood. “It must be tiresome. The whole heir to the throne matter, I mean. I have no crown waiting for me, but His Highness talks about you a lot, says you’re a remarkably busy man, and I admit even I happened to notice since we saw each other around quite a bit. It’s ironic, now that I think about it, how this is our, what, first? Proper talk, given all that,” he offered the prince a small smile. “So please, pardon me my poor manners, I guess seeing you so often made you feel familiar.”

For some reason, the small, light-hearted comment made Heeseung’s gut churn with a funny feeling that left him lightheaded.

“You seem to handle the crowd well, too,” Heeseung diverted the subject before his thoughts could spiral in the wrong direction, tilting his head. “You’re always so… vibrant. I saw you with a new lord or lady every dance, and I believe this is just your third year attending the royal ball. Quite a heartthrob, aren’t you?”

Jake laughed at that, a warm, genuine sound. “I’m simply doing my best not to tarnish my dukedom’s honor, Your Highness. I will confess that underneath those gloves my hands are sweating every time I’m pulled into a waltz,” he shook his head. “The ladies are beautiful but the step is rather hard.”

A silence fell upon them. Heeseung quietly took another moment to study Jake.

Time had been kind to the marquess, though it was evident that the mischief that had radiated off him as a child had not waned if his bright, mirthfully warm eyes were any sign. Jake was still noticeably shorter, but his cheekbones got sharper, his build more defined, and his voice now a pleasant, raspy baritone. Heeseung was stunned to suddenly realize that despite being only a year older than the marquess himself, he had completely missed the moment he matured from a scrawny garden boy into a full-fledged noble bachelor, too caught up in his own duties to pay the fact any proper mind.

Hence, standing so close to him now, he was not ready to come to the sudden understanding that Jake was… attractive.

Heeseung felt his pulse turn a tender flutter.

“Yeah?” he heard himself ask, words leaving his tongue before his mind could process them properly. “You might be in luck, waltz just happens to be my forte, so…”

He trailed off, immediately regretting his impulsive statement.

Wasn’t he just the biggest idiot? This kingdom was definitely doomed. The marquess will see through him, see how pathetic the crown prince is, and he will become the laughingstock of his own ball, forcing his family into a resignation of his crown in shame.

But Jake just looked at him curiously, his polite smile slowly making way for a familiar, conspicuous smirk at the prince’s prolonged pause.

“Your Highness, are you asking me to a dance?”

Oh, well.

“You are to represent the biggest duchy of my kingdom, My Lord,” Heeseung shrugged casually, feigning indifference, a little stunned by his own peculiar boldness that he didn’t feel but could hear in his words. “It would be nonsensual for someone of your status to lack in the folk’s most beloved dance,” he smiled back at him before averting his eyes, suddenly shy. His voice got quiet. “As a good ruler, I am to offer my services.”

He didn’t see the way Jake’s smirk softened back into a gentle, flustered smile of his own.

“I think I would maybe like that.”

Heeseung felt his eye twitch slightly, the weight of his silly offer sinking in as the silence stretched between them. Jake’s gaze lingered, warm and searching, the curve of his lips hinting at amusement but never crossing into mockery. Instead, his eyes held something softer, something that the prince dazedly, delusionally thought felt inviting.

After a moment of it, Jake stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the marble floor and reverberating through Heeseung’s skull. He stopped just shy of his personal space, close enough that the prince could catch a faint trace of his perfume — something woodsy, with a hint of spice that made his head spin. It felt like a fever dream. “Would you give me the honor?”

What?

Heeseung’s mind blanked, eyes snapping up to stare at Jake as if he had just grown a second head. Did the marquess want to dance now? It wasn’t quite the time for the waltz yet, if the upbeat tunes of gallop reaching them from the ballroom were anything to go by. Would it even be proper..? 

Absolutely not.

Then again, as he studied the wondering tilt of Jake’s neck, the expectant glint in his eyes, he guessed that he couldn’t really find it in himself to refuse anyway.

Taking a shaky breath, Heeseung extended his hand, palm-up, towards the man, the faintest hint of tremor to his fingers betraying his otherwise composed demeanor. Jake stared at it for a moment, his lips quirking into a satisfied smile before he reached out and took it, his fingers weightlessly curling around the prince’s own. It felt weirdly intimate.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” Jake said, his voice carrying a playful undertone that had Heeseung’s mind spinning.

They stepped away from the balcony railing and toward the empty space under the moonlight, the cool night air wrapping around them gently. Heeseung adjusted his grip on Jake’s palm, his other hand tentatively finding its place on the marquess’s waist. It was so small. Jake, in turn, raised his free hand to rest on Heeseung’s shoulder, and though his touch was respectful, Heeseung felt a warmth spreading wherever their bodies connected anyway.

“Stand straight,” Heeseung murmured, his voice steady despite his brain being a mush of questions about whatever the hell he was doing. He gently, instinctively guided Jake’s posture, fingers lightly pressing against his lower back to correct his stance. “You need to hold yourself with confidence, even if you’re unsure. The waltz is as much about presence as it is about movement.”

Jake tilted his head, his grin widening. “Are you saying I lack confidence, Your Highness? Shall I be more brazen?”

Heeseung’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, and he shook his head. “Confidence without technique is reckless,” he replied, his tone tinged with playful reproach. “Now, pay attention. The waltz has a three-step pattern — it’s simple, but the execution must be precise. Watch me.”

“Gladly,” Jake joked, his gaze dropping to follow Heeseung’s movements. Heeseung tried to ignore how it made his skin prickle, focusing instead on guiding them into the dance.

“Step forward with your left foot,” he instructed, his voice softening as he led them through the initial motions. “Then to the side with your right, and bring your feet together.”

The prince led them into the first steps, murmuring words of advice and careful corrections as they swayed. Jake’s initial attempts were clumsy, his steps slightly out of rhythm, but he followed the guidance earnestly, making Heeseung believe he was genuine in his intention to better his waltz. Amused, he adjusted their movements with practiced ease, though he couldn’t help but laugh softly when Jake stumbled, his embarrassment apparent. 

“I hope you don’t judge me too harshly,” he said with a sheepish grin, his voice warm and just a notch self-deprecating. “I don’t often have the chance to dance with someone of your caliber, you’re rather distracting.”

The words hit Heeseung like a blow as his cheeks flared up comically and he ducked his head, focusing on their feet to hide his face. Maybe Sunghoon does have a point with this one after all. “Flattery won’t make you a better dancer,” he muttered, though his weak tone lacked any real bite.

“Noted,” Jake replied smoothly, although the smirk on his lips suggested otherwise. “But it does seem to make you blush.”

Heeseung hoped his gloves were thick enough not to let the marquess feel his rapid heartbeat or the sweat gathering at his palms. 

“Eyes down there,” he commanded, a little too quickly, his delivery tinged with embarrassment.

Jake snorted, his following laugh smooth and pretty. 

“Too forward? I could try being shy and reserved if that’s more to your liking, Your Highness.”

As they swirled around, Jake’s movements eventually grew more confident, his steps aligning with Heeseung’s until they were gliding across the stone balcony with surprising grace, and it felt as though they were even, perfectly balanced and in sync, even though Heeseung was the one leading. The development felt rewarding. For the first time this evening, Heeseung felt as if he was truly having fun.

Eventually, the uplifted atmosphere that was forcing them both to grin made Jake break out in a fit of small giggles and he leaned in, eyes crinkling at the corners joyfully. Heeseung knew he wasn’t fairing any better if his own goofy reflection that he saw in Jake’s pupils was any sign. “I’m impressed,” the marquess teased. “You’ve managed not to trip us up yet.”

“Because I’m doing all the work,” Heeseung shot back, the smile in his voice apparent despite the snark, looking up at the stars. Today’s night really was special. 

Jake used the moment of distraction to marvel at his partner, eyes racking over the cute blush on Heeseung’s face, the messy waves of his hair, the pretty curve of his smile, and his ginormous, unfairly beautiful and so painfully honest eyes. The crown prince was a sight. Heeseung was foolish enough to completely miss it, but perhaps it was then when things got complicated and they were both just too caught up in the moment to even notice.

“You’re very good at this,” Jake hummed contentedly, chewing on his bottom lip as his tone suddenly shifted to something gentler. 

“You’re a fast learner,” Heeseung admitted simply in reply, matching the change of pace without putting much thought into it and glancing down at Jake through his dark lashes. God, he was so pretty.

Jake’s eyes softened, the teasing edge in his words fading away completely. “I have an excellent teacher,” he replied sincerely.

Heeseung felt his chest tighten at that, at the earnestness that soaked Jake’s very being and the kindness that radiated off his face. It felt dangerous. He looked away again, his throat uncomfortably dry. “Keep your steps steady, and the rest will follow naturally, My Lord.”

He spun them around once more. Jake’s eyes still stayed firmly on Heeseung, his expression thoughtful and seemingly piercing right through the prince with terrifying precision. He smiled again, this time just a little more sheepish.

“You know,” he began, his voice still light but a bit more uncertain and quiet, as if afraid to break the moment. “I think this might be the first time I’ve seen you smile so much, Your Highness. It might get to my head and I will start believing you actually wanted to dance with me.”

Heeseung stumbled — not physically, but mentally — caught off guard by the way Jake’s voice dipped just enough to sound both teasing and still distractingly sincere. His grip on Jake’s waist tightened slightly as he scrambled for a retort, his cheeks heating under the marquess’s gaze when he met his eyes. The sparkle in them shone brighter than the sun.

Too dangerous.

He didn’t grace that with a response for the sake of his own sanity.

“We should probably head back before someone notices we’re missing,” Heeseung said instead, fighting off the reluctance in his tone. The sudden moment of clarity bit at his neck with an unpleasant sting. “My brother will be wondering where you disappeared to.”

Jake’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something akin to disappointment in his eyes.

“Right,” he said simply, gaze fixed on Heeseung’s face for a moment longer before he turned away. “I suppose we should.”

The moment they stepped back into the ballroom the warmth of the crowd wrapped around them, vibrant and overwhelming after the cool freshness of the outside. Heeseung instinctively straightened his posture, his polished facade slipping into place as he dusted off his jacket, clearing his throat lightly. The marquess glanced at him, his lips still curved in that maddeningly easy smile, chandeliers casting their golden glow over his tan skin. Heeseung really didn’t want this to end.

“Well,” he said, his voice calm and composed. “It’s been a pleasure to finally talk to you, My Lord.”

Jake tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the prince’s face with a flicker of something unreadable before he chuckled shallowly, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. “Likewise, Your Highness. I suppose this is where I take my leave.”

Heeseung hummed, the corners of his lips curving into a small, polite smile. “Prince Sunghoon shouldn’t be too hard to find,” he said, his tone deliberately casual. “I’m sure he’s eager to hear of your escapades this evening.”

Jake’s grin widened at that, the glint of earlier joy returning. “I imagine he’ll have more than enough to say about the company I’ve kept,” he glanced toward the crowd, scanning the sea of nobles until his gaze landed on a familiar figure. Sunghoon was near the far end of the room, his expression sharp and practiced as he spoke to an older lord, and even from this distance, Heeseung could see the subtle stiffness in his younger brother’s posture, the slight furrow of his brow that betrayed his impatience. “Ah, there he is,” Jake said, his tone laced with amusement. “Allow me to return to my keeper before he starts plotting my demise.”

Heeseung let out a soft huff, shaking his head. “Off you go, then. Try not to annoy him too much.”

“No promises,” Jake quipped, throwing one last grin with a scandalous wink over his shoulder as he made his way toward Sunghoon, his steps unhurried but purposeful.

Heeseung watched as Jake approached his brother, slipping into Sunghoon’s personal space with the same effortless charm that had Heeseung’s mind spiraling just moments earlier, as the younger prince’s gaze flicked to Jake, his guarded features softening instantly. The marquess said something, and whatever it was, it drew a faint, reluctant smile from Sunghoon — small, but genuine enough to make Heeseung’s chest throb in a way he didn’t entirely understand. The sight undeniably warmed his heart as it always did, and yet, as Jake patted his brother on the shoulder with an easy laugh, Heeseung couldn’t help the small pang of something unpleasant that settled beneath his ribs. He quickly shook his head.

After all, this is how things should be.

He turned on his heel, his own steps measured as he moved through the ballroom, willing his brain to get Jake’s laughter out of his head. 

Heeseung was twenty when he set himself up for a tragedy.

It started innocently enough.

After that night in the ballroom, Heeseung occasionally found himself lingering when he came across Sunghoon and Jake during their daytime escapades, no longer refusing himself the pleasure. At first, it was unplanned — a chance encounter in the gardens or the dining hall, where Heeseung would pause briefly to exchange pleasantries before excusing himself. But somehow, over time, the pauses stretched into minutes, and the polite conversations turned into shared lunches, quiet strolls, or even the rare, casual sparring session when Heeseung could steal the time away from his duties.

“That was foul play, hyung, what the hell.”

“No one is going to wait for you to reclaim your footing on the battlefield, Sunghoonie,” Heeseung smirked. “You amateurs have been getting on my nerves with your poor performance for years, get up.”

Jake just laughed as his best friend groaned from where he was on the ground.

He told himself it was for Sunghoon’s sake.

His brother had always been his priority, the one person who had always been true and warm and real in the endless corridors of royal obligation. Sunghoon had spent so much of his youth in Heeseung’s shadow, tethered to expectations that didn’t even belong to him, that it seemed only fair to give him these moments of joy in his company, uninterrupted by the world’s demands. And when it came to Jake, he just happened to be a part of that joy, Heeseung could see it plainly in the way Sunghoon softened around him, the way his sharp edges smoothed into quiet contentment and childlike happiness whenever he was near. 

Jake has always been just for Sunghoon until Heeseung got greedy.

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but there was something about the man that drew him in — an inexplicable pull that left him unsettled and, at the same time, oddly transfixed. He told himself it was plain curiosity with a touch of protectiveness, that he simply wanted to understand the person who had captured so much of his dear brother’s affection. But every time Jake laughed, every time his warm, honeyed voice filled the space between them, Heeseung knew it to be a lie.

It didn’t help that Jake seemed just as at ease in Heeseung’s presence as he was in Sunghoon’s. Jake has always been unapologetically himself with his endless jokes and unwavering kindness, but there was something about the way he spoke to Heeseung — a certain weight to his gaze, a softness in his tone, a deliberateness to his movements that felt… different.

At first, Heeseung thought he was imagining it.

It wasn’t like Jake did anything overtly inappropriate. He was always polite, his manners impeccable, and even his deference to Heeseung’s title and position stayed unfailing. But there were moments — fleeting, impossible to pin down — where the air between them seemed to shift. A brush of hands as Jake passed him a cup of tea. A lingering glance when their eyes met across the table. A chair pushed back thoughtfully so Heeseung could sit for lunch. The way Jake’s laughter always seemed a little warmer, a little more breathless when it was directed at him that Heeseung wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t imagining.

It was nothing. Had to be nothing, Heeseung was just going crazy with responsibility and loneliness.

And yet, once, when he was laughing at one of his brother’s jokes, unguarded and happy and a touch too loud, he caught Jake watching him, the smile on his face small and soft, a heavy contrast to the sharp, mischievous grins he sported usually. When their eyes met, Jake startled noticeably as though he got caught doing something improper, turning away and Heeseung couldn’t help but smile helplessly at the bright, way too obvious redness Jake had to his ears. He might have been going crazy, but deep down he knew this had to be something. And by the way that Jake’s gaze eventually drifted back to him, this time holding eye contact until Heeseung was the one shying away, he could tell that Jake could read him like an open book just as well.

Heeseung was greedy, but he wasn’t foolish. This strange, confusing tension that left him feeling both exhilarated and unbearably guilty was wrong because he knew. He knew how Sunghoon felt about Jake — had known for years, even before he himself had realized it, and even if he refused to acknowledge it, Heeseung could never, would never do anything to hurt his brother. His father was a strong king, too, but Heeseung knew he’d been growing more lethargic with age and disease, and as the heir to the throne he could never put a momentary fling before his kingdom. He was getting too caught up in something he could never have.

The December air was dry and crisp when the time to celebrate the kingdom’s second prince came.

Sunghoon’s nineteenth birthday was a grand affair, but unlike the annual royal ball, it lacked the rigid formality that often left the younger nobles suffocating beneath the weight of expectation. This celebration was lighter, more intimate — a reflection of Sunghoon himself, with laughter and music spilling into every corner of the grand ballroom but never getting pretentious. 

Heeseung stood at the edge of the crowd, not too far from the other royals, a glass of wine balanced delicately in his hand as he observed the festivities with Sunghoon at the center of it all, his easy smile radiant as he entertained the sea of guests with grace and with Jake never straying far from his side, their laughter reaching his family from across the ballroom. The sight filled Heeseung with quiet pride, and even though it was tinged with something bittersweet, the unpleasant feeling was overpowered by the wave of adoration he felt watching his brother be happy. 

“Hyung, come get another drink with me.”

Sunghoon would laugh when Heeseung choked on the sour liquid, dabbing a napkin to his face unhelpfully to try and salvage Heeseung’s image. Heeseung would hand him a sword that he commissioned as a gift, a mocking His Highness Park Sunghoonie inscribed on the handle, the blade light and beautiful, and watch, fond, as Sunghoon’s eyes shone with unhidden appreciation. 

Still, as the evening wore on, Heeseung found himself slipping into his familiar role as an observer, floating around the more obscure corners of the room and exchanging pleasantries with the occasional guest but otherwise keeping to the fringes. The atmosphere was warm and festive, but the pressing weight of so many eyes — even friendly ones — was beginning to wear on him.

And then, the music shifted.

The lively chatter of the room softened as the lilting notes of a waltz filled the air, the orchestra’s melody weaving through the crowd like a call to dance. Heeseung stiffened instinctively, his gaze darting toward the center of the ballroom where couples were already beginning to pair off, knowing all too well that stepping onto the dance floor would invite a wave of attention he wasn’t in the mood to entertain today.

With practiced ease, Heeseung began to retreat, his steps quiet as he moved toward one of the less crowded exits — he’d slip away for a few moments, maybe longer, until the waltz was over, and the pressure of expectation of intrigue shifted elsewhere.

However, just as he turned, ready to make his escape, a hand closed firmly around his waist.

Heeseung froze, his breath hitching at the unexpected touch as he was spun around, the movement leaving him slightly disoriented. His first thought was that it was a mistake, some overeager noble reaching for a partner without realizing who they’d caught. When they ultimately recognized him, they’d back off with a splutter of apologies, the two of them would awkwardly laugh it off, and then Heeseung would continue on his way. 

But when his gaze settled on the person before him, the apology he expected never came.

Because the person who got him was clearly going for him from the very beginning.

The marquess’s hand remained firmly at Heeseung’s waist, fever-hot despite all the layers of clothing separating them, his other extended in an unmistakable invitation and gaze clear. There was no sign of hesitation in Jake’s expression — only a confident grin that bordered on teasing, the kind that always made Heeseung lightheaded before he could even begin to school himself into composure.

“Your Highness,” Jake said, his voice low and warm, the mirthful lilt in it impossible to miss. “I believe you owe me a waltz.”

Heeseung blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the predicament. “Pardon?” he replied, dumbfounded.

Jake’s grin softened, his thumb pressing gently against the fabric of Heeseung’s coat as he tilted his head in contemplation. “You taught me the step, remember?” he said, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of something deeper, something more deliberate to it. “Since I believe I fared pretty well, it seems only fair that I get to dance with you properly as a reward, don’t you think?”

Heeseung opened his mouth to reply, but no words came, leaving him stuttering like a fish out of the water as his subconsciousness clocked in the faces of the guests, the presence of his brother somewhere in the room, the dangerous warmth radiating from the marquess’s touch. He should refuse. Like the rational person he is, Heeseung is going to step back, shake his head, and make some excuse about needing to attend to royal duties immediately and spare the three of them the trouble.

“Sunghoonie—” he began pathetically instead, his voice trailing off as his eyes darted toward the other end of the ballroom, where his brother was laughing with some nameless lady.

“I believe he’s busy,” Jake said quietly, his voice carrying a strange edge that made Heeseung’s throat tighten. Sunghoon’s attention was wholly occupied, his smile bright and unguarded as he listened to whatever story was being told, not even seeing them from where he was standing. “Just one dance, Your Highness. I promise I’ll return you safely.”

The air between them felt heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that threatened to chip away at the carefully constructed pretense Heeseung had built around himself.

It was a bad idea. Heeseung knew a million reasons as to why this was a bad idea.

Still, against his better judgment, he slowly, foolishly breathed out a weak sigh that tasted too much like defeat. As he extended his hand toward Jake’s awaiting one, he tried not to get smitten by the wave of deja vu too hard.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Jake’s smile widened, radiant, his expectant expression instantly going soft and triumphant as he took Heeseung’s hand, pulling him toward the dance floor without a beat. The prince’s steps were slow, reluctant as if he was walking through cotton, but he couldn’t justify why he followed the man anyway, his heart pounding louder with every step they took and threatening to deafen him before he could adjust to the rhythm of the waltz properly.

They took their places amidst the other couples, Jake’s hand finding its place at Heeseung’s waist again and pulling him closer in a way that felt too scandalous and made Heeseung burn up instantly. He could swear he heard the marquess snicker. The reverse of positions was a bit unusual, but the closeness still felt too familiar, too intimate, and sent a weird ping of butterflies through his gut, but there was no time to dwell on it as the music swelled, and Jake guided them into motion.

Heeseung expected clumsiness, hesitance even, but Jake moved with surprising confidence, his steps deliberate as he matched the flow of the dance perfectly as if his step was the one commanding the music. Their movements were smooth, almost effortless unlike how they were the first time around, and Heeseung found himself relaxing despite everything, the tension in his shoulders easing as they glided across the floor weightlessly.

“You’ve improved,” Heeseung murmured, his voice quiet enough that only Jake could hear.

Jake giggled at the compliment, his eyes glinting with amusement. “It would be my greatest personal failure to disappoint a prince with a mediocre dance, Your Highness,” he joked, his voice warm.

Heeseung bit back a reply, his lips pressing into a faint curve as he forced himself to focus on the dance and ignore the pleasant weight of a hand around his waist, the warmth of a breath hitting his neck. He couldn’t let his thoughts stray, as he was risking falling into the trap of forgetting he was the crown prince, of thinking he was someone far simpler, far more reachable when it was a luxury he could never afford.

Heeseung wasn’t sure how much time had passed until the final notes of the waltz drifted away, leaving the two of them standing in the middle of the ballroom, their gazes locked, the world around them blurry and the faces of the other dancers faded into indistinct shapes. He wasn’t particularly fond of romance novels per se, but if he had to describe this feeling somehow, he would perhaps quote Shakespeare for the lack of better words and better judgment. 

Jake stepped back first, releasing Heeseung with a natural ease, even though his hand on his lower back lingered for just a fraction of a second longer than it should have. He bowed, following the etiquette, his expression soft but unreadable as he straightened. “Thank you for the honor, Your Highness,” he said, his voice quieter now, more measured.

Heeseung inclined his head, his own expression carefully composed, unsure of how to proceed. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Jake smiled faintly, his gaze flickering toward the crowd before returning to Heeseung, suddenly weirdly heavy and expectant. It was complicated enough to make the prince nervous, too. 

For the first time that evening, Jake seemed hesitant, almost unsure, as he shifted his weight slightly, looking between Heeseung’s eyes until eventually breaking the eye contact with a slow exhale. “Sorry if I came on too strong,” he said after a pause, his voice low. “There’s been something on my mind recently, I think I’ll step out for some air,” the marquess looked back at him then, as if looking for something Heeseung didn’t fully get. “The garden’s always isolated this time of night.”

Jake turned quiet once again, letting the tense silence hang between them. Heeseung wasn’t sure if he was reading too much into it, if he was overthinking the whole thing as he often did, but it felt like there was something else to Jake’s uncharacteristically serious behavior. It felt like Jake had placed a bet on something and was now waiting for Heeseung to play his hand.

It felt like an invitation.

Jake’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, his expression unreadable but not unkind before he gave a small bow with a strained smile and turned away, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Heeseung stood frozen in place, his mind racing even as he maintained his outward composure. The logical part of him knew he should stay where he was, find his brother, rejoin the socialites of the ballroom, and let the noble tend to whatever matters were troubling him. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.

Unfortunately for him, when it came to Jake, his brain seemed incapable of making rational decisions.

It wasn’t a conscious thing, but somehow, he found himself slipping through the crowd, his steps quiet and deliberate as he made his way toward the backdoor of the room which would lead him to the last place he should be in right now. The cool December air hit him the moment he stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the ballroom, and he let out a slow, shaky breath that turned into mist and dissipated slowly into the night, as he looked around, searching for a familiar figure amidst the withered greenery of the palace’s royal garden. Given the unpleasant season and the late hour, it wasn’t too hard to spot the lone silhouette anyway.

Jake stood beneath a large, sprawling tree at the far end of the plane, his back to the entrance as he gazed up at the clouds obscuring the stars. The sight of him felt strangely surreal, like something out of a half-remembered dream, too beautiful and always too out of reach to be true, and it made Heeseung hesitate for a moment, the dilemma pressing down on him like a physical thing. Technically, it wasn’t too late to turn around and save his face, he reasoned, but his feet wouldn’t listen to him even if he did try to do just that.

But then Jake turned, as though sensing his presence, and all thoughts Heeseung could have possibly had about leaving died, as the expression that crossed Jake’s face when he saw him made Heeseung’s mind spin with a puzzle. Relief. Pure, unguarded relief, followed by the faintest curve of a smile that felt far too soft and far too shy for someone as brazen and shameless as him .

In his perfectly established life, the variable of Jake Sim never made any sense.

“Your Highness,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the garden's stillness.

Heeseung swallowed hard. He took the first step toward the man, his movements slow and cottony as if underwater. “It seems you’ve found quite the spot.” 

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned back against the tree. “It’s peaceful,” he said simply, watching Heeseung approach until his gaze drifted back toward the branches above. “Reminds me of times when things were simpler.”

Heeseung stopped a few paces away, his hands clasped behind his back for the lack of a better use. The marquess looked different out here, beneath the soft glow of moonlight. Softer. More vulnerable, somehow.

“I didn’t mean to pull you away,” Jake said after a moment, thoughtful. “You have duties to attend to… and people are watching you, you know. You shouldn’t have come.”

Danger, Heeseung’s brain screamed.

“I know,” he said still, his voice calm, carefully controlled. “But I did anyway.”

Jake turned to face him fully, his expression open but unreadable, his eyes searching Heeseung’s face as though trying to decipher something. “Why?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and pointed, and Heeseung didn’t know how to answer. A dozen thoughts tangled in his mind, none of them coherent enough to voice out and he could only hold Jake’s gaze, the weight of it leaving him vulnerable in a way that he wasn’t used to feeling. Perhaps it was a mistake after all.

At his prolonged silence, Jake exhaled softly, a faint, humorless laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair, mussing the carefully combed locks. “You know,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain. “A part of me actually hoped you would follow me out here because I wanted to know something.”

Somehow, it felt like Heeseung knew where this would go from the very beginning.

“What is it?”

Jake hesitated, his usual confidence giving way to something raw, something smaller and more guarded. “I wanted to know if…” he trailed off, biting his bottom lip before shaking his head with a slight furrow of his brow. “No. That’s not right. I needed to know if what I think I’m reading here is real or— or if I’m just fooling myself.”

The words sucked Heeseung’s breath away like a blow without exactly giving him a direct answer, leaving him reeling but certain as to what Jake meant. He felt the air between them shift, the fragile balance of their brewing tension teetering dangerously close to breaking.

“I don’t—” Heeseung began, his voice trembling slightly, but the marquess stepped closer, closing the distance between them in one smooth, final motion and immediately rendering him speechless.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Jake interrupted him, his voice momentarily a little tighter, the words almost a plea as he looked at Heeseung with an intensity that caught the prince off guard. “Tell me this— whatever this is doesn’t mean anything to you, and I’ll walk away. I’ll stop. If I’m making a grave mistake here… please just push me away.”

Jake leaned into his personal space, slowly, standing on his tiptoes to make up for the height difference, his breath ghosting Heeseung’s lips.

Only a fool wouldn’t know what was bound to happen.

Heeseung didn’t step away.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though Jake was still giving Heeseung the chance to push him off. Heeseung blanked, his mind racing as a wave of panic, relief, guilt, and pure, unfiltered shock swept over him the moment he felt warm lips on his chapped ones, making his brain first shut down and then explode with a million thoughts and emotions all at once.

But then Jake’s hand found his face, his touch cold from the winter air but steady and gentle as his thumb brushed lightly against Heeseung’s cheek, grounding him and pulling him closer after meeting no resistance. There was something in the way Jake kissed him — something reckless, aching, and yet impossibly tender — that made the walls Heeseung had so carefully built around himself for years finally collapse. Jake’s lips were so soft.

Before he knew it, he was melting into the kiss, tilting his head to the side, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands instinctively found their way to Jake’s slender hips. The hesitation that had gripped him moments before gave way to something warmer, something that felt dangerously, intoxicatingly close to surrender. Jake exhaled a quiet breath against him, the tension in his frame easing, too, the moment Heeseung kissed him back, unsure at first but soon deepening, equally desperate, a quiet proof to whatever theory Jake had constructed about them in his head.

For a moment, the rest of the world faded away. The weight of responsibility, the crown, even the shadow of Sunghoon’s laughter — it all disappeared, leaving only Jake and the soft press of his lips, the quiet relief in his touch, the overwhelming feeling of triumph. It was wrong but it tasted so maddeningly sweet.

It felt like for once in his godforsaken life, Heeseung allowed himself to just have whatever he fucking wanted with no repercussions for the inevitable crash.

When they finally pulled apart, his breath was shallow, uneven, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest that he could hear it echoing in his ears as he stared at Jake, the man’s lips parted slightly, his mind reeling with the weight of what had just happened. The cold winter air felt sharper now, biting against his skin where Jake’s warmth had left even if his face was still inches away, his hands cupping his face, their breaths mingling in the stillness as he let out a soft, unsteady laugh that sent a shiver down the prince’s spine.

“You don’t know how crazy I’ve been going hoping I wasn’t imagining this,” Jake murmured, his voice low and husky, eyes hazy as his hands slowly let go.

Heeseung’s chest ached.

“My Lord,” he muttered, weak. The moment of warm bliss faded away, letting the frost of reality creep into the air and envelop their bodies. Jake might have been bolder, more daring, more reckless but Heeseung knew he wasn’t stupid either. 

“We both know this doesn’t end well.”

Jake’s lips curled into a faint, detached smile.

Of course, he did.

“When I first saw you as a child, I thought you were a prick,” he started suddenly, tone surprisingly even, as though he didn’t hear Heeseung’s words. The unexpected, blunt admission made the prince’s pulse spike up unpleasantly. “I thought you were too high up on the horse of your title to give your own brother a time of the day,” he shook his head. “Sunghoonie never said a bad word about you, do not get me wrong. Matter of fact he wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing you are, but he just seemed so… lonely.”

The words, delivered in Jake’s quiet voice, felt like a blade through Heeseung’s already guilt-ridden heart. 

“Then… I actually had the honor of meeting you,” the marquess continued, meeting his eyes at last. His expression softened, and he suddenly seemed tentative, almost shy. “I can see how happy you make him, you’re so sweet and radiant, I can’t help but hope you’ll join us every time I visit the palace. I know you’re someone I can’t even dare dream to have and I can’t quite say I know you well enough to make this judgment… I probably never even will, but…”

The prince felt slender fingers circle his wrist slowly, grounding him in the moment like an anchor. Jake’s cheeks were still pink.

He should push him away. 

“Perhaps I was wrong about you,” Jake muttered. “Perhaps you were kind and I now get where your heart was at. Forgive me if I’m overstepping, Your Highness,” god, he was so beautiful. “But perhaps all this time the lonely one was you.”

Heeseung should have pushed him away, and because he was a smart, strong, honest man, he ducked his head, pulled the other man in by the back of his neck, and crashed his lips against Jake’s once more.

Heeseung might have been fifteen when he first saw the pretty garden boy, but he was twenty when he let Jake take away his last bits of self-control.

At first, he was sure they would pretend nothing happened, and they did, for a while. But Jake had always been tactile — casual, warm, friendly — and it was a matter of time until the tension at the surface broke and added a new dimension to their relationship, something forbidden and electric that made Heeseung bend under its weight and let Jake set everything he had worked so hard to maintain his entire life aflame.

Their stolen moments started from their familiarity. Jake was everywhere Heeseung went, their high status and Sunghoon’s constant presence ensured their paths crossed almost too frequently. Sunghoon seemingly never suspected a thing, and Heeseung hated himself for taking advantage of the absolute trust his brother had in him, for meeting Jake’s gaze across the room and feeling his heart skip a beat, for the way he lingered after meetings just to catch a private word with the marquess.

It wasn’t long before those private words turned into something more.

It happened behind closed doors, always, in empty corridors, shadowed alcoves, unused rooms hidden deep within the castle, and, of course, Heeseung’s personal chambers. Jake would corner him, his eyes dark and his grin playful but knowing as he dropped to his knees before him, and Heeseung, no matter how much he tried to resist, would let himself be pulled in and seen at his most vulnerable every single time.

Jake’s kisses were intoxicating. Heeseung had always imagined that if he ever allowed himself something like this, it would be restrained, controlled, with a cute noble lady that was arranged for him, but because life was so great, would have him head over heels anyway, and everything would be so perfectly, pristinely right. With Jake, it was nothing like that. Every kiss was kept a secret, desperate, consuming, risky but addictive as though Jake were trying to rebel against fate itself and pour all their unspoken words and feelings into the space between for the both of them.

And because Heeseung was hopeless, he let him.

He let Jake’s lips trace paths down his jaw and pepper his collarbones with gentle pecks, let his own hands map the planes of the marquess’s bare chest, let himself be lost in the warmth and passion that Jake offered so freely. He never laid with a man before, but with him, everything was so easy, so natural, so beautiful that it made the prince forget all of his inhibitions in a flash. 

Jake was a crier. He would cling to Heeseung’s shoulders like a koala, leaving long, red scratch marks on his back that would raise the brows of servants preparing the prince’s bath in the morning as Heeseung thrust into him, tear trails shining on Jake’s cheeks as high-pitched moans spilled from his lips. It would make Heeseung’s heart throb, full, and he would pick the salty drops up with his lips, whispering praise and soothing words into his ear like a song while he slowly took the marquess apart. His body was stunning, pliant and fever-hot, made for worship, and the prince was ready to do just that every single time — kissing, biting, sucking until purple flowers were blooming on the expanse of his inner thighs, behind the ear, right over his heart. Heeseung would get him off twice, sometimes with his hands or mouth before he would allow himself to finish, feeling warm and spent and fuzzy all over. In the darkness of the night, as they basked in the afterglow, his lips would find his lover’s shoulder blade just as they were falling asleep.

The first time he let Jake take him instead, he was terrified. There was something surreal about being completely naked with thighs parted for the man of your wildest dreams to see, said man’s eyes shining like diamonds as though he was looking at something precious. Heeseung never imagined finding himself under anyone, but Jake had been so kind, so slow and tender and attentive that Heeseung cried from how overwhelming it was for the first time in his life, back in a wild arch and voice whiney and pathetic much to his own mortification. Jake just laughed at him then, and although his expression was smug and self-assured, Heeseung could swear he saw a flicker of painful, all-consuming fondness in his eyes that he desperately tried to ignore. 

When they were done cleaning up and settled for the time being that same day, lying in bed for just a bit longer before duties claimed them, Jake opened his mouth to ask something, breaking the quiet.

“Your Highness—” 

It was about time.

“Heeseung,” the prince cut him off simply, hiding his eyes behind his forearm. “Call me Heeseung. Or hyung.”

He didn’t see it, but the happy smile that bloomed on Jake’s face was blinding.

“Heeseung…” he tried quietly, his tone uncharacteristically shy but content. “Okay. Please call me Jake, too.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

Heeseung told himself it was temporary, a passing indulgence, a “nobles-with-benefits” kind of arrangement because they just conveniently happened to be in each other’s taste, but every time he found himself tangled in moments like these with Jake by his side, the lie seemed a little less convincing even to his own ears.

Sure, they’ve mostly gotten this far purely because the marquess was bold, often infuriatingly so. He’d find excuses to linger after everyone else left the room, his hand brushing against Heeseung’s as he whispered something cheeky or provocative, his hooded gaze lingering in a way that made Heeseung’s face burn. At events, he would position himself just close enough that their elbows would graze or their knees would press together under the table, a touch so subtle it was almost imperceptible, but it made Heeseung hyperaware of his presence at all times all the same.

But there were quiet moments, too. Moments where Jake’s confidence softened, where he’d lean into Heeseung with an almost imperceptible sigh, his eyes, clear and unguarded, searching the prince’s face for something Heeseung wasn’t sure he could give. He would blush and turn his head away when Heeeseung called him pretty during sex, would sometimes press fleeting kisses to his temple unprompted, bring Heeseung’s favorite sweets from his duchy, or smile brightly when called by his first name. Jake would sometimes be unable to hold his gaze for no apparent reason, shy and vulnerable and it would have the prince’s breath hitch time and time again without a fail.

Those moments actually terrified Heeseung the most, because there was nothing exhilarating about them, so it made no sense for his heart to pick up its rhythm unless Heeseung was…

An idiot, is who he was.

Heeseung didn’t know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, he’d stopped thinking of Jake as his brother’s best friend, as an heir to a powerful duchy, as another courtly stranger, or even as just a great fling. Jake had become something else entirely and the prince desperately tried to ignore the implication of the butterflies that took off in his stomach at the very mention of his name. He was beautiful and sweet and wonderful and made Heeseung want to say the three words he should have never even let cross his mind, to begin with. 

Jake was like fire — warm but dangerous — and Heeseung knew that at this point it was just a matter of time before he got burned.

There was that memory that had lingered, unbidden, in Heeseung’s mind for days. Heeseung had been sitting in his chambers that afternoon, his paperwork balanced on his knees, the warm sunlight cascading through the tall windows as he took care of his responsibilities. Jake had been sprawled out on the rug by the low table, killing time with the crown prince while Sunghoon was busy with his etiquette class, his cheek resting on his arm as he picked at the edge of a book he’d brought to read but abandoned forever ago. Neither of them had spoken much, content with the comfortable silence that had settled over them, unbroken but peaceful, interrupted only by Jake’s melodic humming.

The marquess had suddenly stretched lazily at some point, bored, his brown hair catching the light as he rolled onto his back, staring up at the intricate ceiling, gaze distant. “You know,” he began, his voice soft and a little dazed. “These moments are my favorite.”

Heeseung glanced up from his parchment curiously, his quill pausing mid-sentence. “What moments?”

“These,” Jake had said simply, gesturing vaguely to the room around them. “Just… being here with you, hyung. No courtly nonsense, no titles, no formalities, no nothing. Just Jake and Heeseung or whatever. It’s nice,” he turned his head to look at Heeseung, his smile small and a little timid. “ You’re nice.”

Heeseung’s heart had given a treacherous lurch at that, and he had quickly looked back down at his hands, pretending to focus on rereading the trade agreement he was forming for the merchants from a neighboring kingdom to sign. “You’re just saying that because I let you lounge around in here all afternoon without kicking you out,” he deflected, trying his best to keep his tone light and teasing.

Jake had chuckled, a quiet, warm sound that made Heeseung’s chest tighten. “Maybe. But I mean it, too,” he said, his voice softening. “You’re different when it’s just the two of us.”

Heeseung raised a brow. “How so?”

Jake tilted his head, as though considering his words carefully. “I don’t know… lighter. Happier. Like the weight of the world isn’t crushing you quite as much.”

Heeseung didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between them, charged and fragile, and Heeseung could feel Jake’s gaze on him even if he didn’t return it, steady and unrelenting.

“I think you’re the only person who makes me feel so at ease too, you know,” Jake added quietly, almost as though the words were an afterthought that had slipped out without his permission. He shifted on the floor. “You make me happy, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s gut churned, and he couldn’t help but meet Jake’s eyes at that, his pulse quickening at the sincerity waiting for him there. He isn’t sure which one of them looked away first.

“But perhaps the happiness just comes from the knowledge that I got the finest, most thirsted-after man of the kingdom on his knees for me every once in a while.”

Jake’s joke was so shameless Heeseung couldn’t help but snort.

They both laughed it off, the sound a little too loud, a little too forced, as if trying to defuse the tension that had crept into the room. Jake’s grin lingered, strained, and he reached up to give Heeseung’s knee a playful squeeze before getting to his feet as if fleeing from the uncomfortable awkwardness he accidentally created himself.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone fauxly easy and enthusiastic again. “You should smile more often, Your Highness. It suits you.”

Heeseung grinned faintly, though his chest felt heavy. “I’ll consider it,” he murmured, squinting as Jake pressed a kiss that was way too sweet to his forehead before strolling away to inspect the shelves for the hundredth time, humming softly to himself. He was so cute when he got shy. Heeseung closed his eyes. Moments like these had been happening more often lately, and despite knowing better, he let them fill him with desperate, hopeful warmth that he knew would someday turn into a devastating flame.

Heeseung was twenty-one when he was reminded of why he and Jake were never meant to be in the most cruel way possible.

The dining hall that day felt colder than usual. The long mahogany table gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, laden with silver platters and crystal goblets, but the lavish spread did little to calm the tension thrumming in Heeseung’s chest. His father, seated at the head of the table, coughed lightly into his napkin, a sound that carried too much weight despite his attempt to suppress it and it drew a concerned glance from the queen. The royal physician had assured them that the king's health had stabilized, but it was impossible to ignore how frail he had become, how his once commanding presence had withered noticeably over the past few years.

Heeseung’s gaze flickered over the table to Sunghoon, who was seated across from him. His younger brother was effortlessly poised, though Heeseung noticed the slight fidgeting of his fingers, the way he smoothed the folds of his tunic every couple minutes as if trying to calm himself. Sunghoon always took their father’s health seriously, Heeseung thought absently, though it did little to ease his growing distress.

The meal progressed in relative silence, save for the occasional clinking of cutlery, but Heeseung could feel the unusual weight of his father’s eyes on him and Sunghoon, as if he were studying them, searching for something. Then, as the desserts were served — a delicate array of tarts and sugared fruits — confirming his suspicions, the king finally spoke.

“It’s time we addressed an important matter,” he began, his voice low but steady. Heeseung straightened instinctively, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he prepared himself for whatever was to come. In front of him, Sunghoon froze mid-motion, his spoon hovering over his plate.

“Our kingdom has always thrived on strong political alliances,” the king continued. “And now, as my health grows increasingly uncertain, I believe it is imperative to secure the future of our rule,” he paused, his gaze sweeping over his sons, lingering on Heeseung for a moment before finally settling on Sunghoon. “It is time we solidify our relationship with the Sims. As the most powerful house in court, their continued support will ensure the stability of our kingdom,” he paused, taking a slow sip of wine before placing his goblet down with deliberate finality. “A marriage is to be arranged between our family and theirs.”

Heeseung’s heart, which had been beating steadily, now pounded violently against his ribs, a rush of heat flaring up in his chest before plummeting into an ice-cold, gut-wrenching drop. He felt lightheaded, dizzy, as though the very air had been stolen from the room as he desperately willed his hands to steady. The world shrank to a singular point, a name he knew he would hear waiting to be spoken.

The king exhaled, his expression unreadable. 

“Lord Jake Sim’s hand has been offered to my son, Prince Sunghoon.”

The crack was nearly imperceptible, just a fracture in Heeseung’s carefully composed mask, but he felt it. He felt it in the way his fingers clenched into his lap, hidden beneath the heavy fabric of the tablecloth, in the way his breath faltered for just a second before he forced himself to exhale as if nothing had changed. 

What did he expect, really?

Because Sunghoon’s cheeks were flushed a delicate pink, his lips parted in quiet shock, his eyes alight with something uncertain, something hesitant and fearful but unmistakably hopeful. Because Sunghoon — his dear, innocent brother — quickly looked down at his plate, gloved fingers curling ever so slightly against the rim as though he were suppressing the urge to press his hands together in a mixture of anxiety and giddy anticipation. Because Sunghoon was everything good and Heeseung was nothing but a pure vessel, a placeholder for his family’s claim to the throne, and the only hand he could ever take was that of a foreign princess, to unite lands and produce a new heir and this was how it has always been.  

A part of him was genuinely happy for his brother.

Another, bigger, uglier part of him felt his chest constrict painfully, desperately trying to hold the shards of his cracked heart together even as he forced his expression to remain neutral and give nothing away. At this point, it was a practiced skill, this ability to remain unmoved — he had honed it through years of expectation, of duty, of watching from the sidelines as the things he wanted the most slipped through his fingers, lost to the obligations of the crown he never desired to have.

Sunghoon was to be betrothed to Jake, who had kissed him breathless in the hidden corridors of the palace, who had whispered his name like a prayer in the quiet hours of the night. Jake, who had once told him, with a sheepish grin and eyes alight with adoration, that he wished he could spend forever just like this — with Heeseung by his side, happy and carefree.

He would not let it show, could never let it show, but it was foolish to even think any of it had ever mattered. Jake had always belonged to Sunghoon, in one way or another, and Heeseung had simply been borrowing what was never his.

“It would be an honor, Father.”

He swallowed past the ache in his throat. 

The crown prince could feel his father’s gaze settle on him, heavy with expectation, as though waiting for his blessing, for his approval of this grand decision. Heeseung had worked his entire life to earn this respect. Now, when he had it, he lifted his chin, offering a faint, well-practiced smile.

“A wise match, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice even, betraying none of the chaos raging within him but very far away. “Lord Jake and my brother are already quite close, I believe our kingdom will benefit greatly from such a union.”

Sunghoon glanced up then, meeting Heeseung’s eyes with uncharacteristic intensity, searching, as if trying to gauge the reaction the crown prince had kept concealed. Their father nodded, satisfied. Heeseung held his brother's gaze, steady and unwavering, allowing himself just one more moment of numb agony before his lips curled into a ghostly, helpless smile. He tilted his head just slightly in the barest of nods.

Congratulations.

Sunghoon’s lips parted in something like relief, and he returned the nod, deeper than Heeseung's own, his fingers relaxing where they had been trembling slightly against the table.

Heeseung felt something inside him die.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur. Heeseung moved through the motions as though on autopilot, toasting, smiling when required, responding when spoken to, but he could barely even taste the food, the desserts' sweetness bitter and the wine turning to ash on his tongue. When the meal finally ended and he was excused, with Sunghoon staying behind to discuss the arrangement with his father and the royal advisors, he walked down the empty corridors with measured steps, his breath steady even as his chest burned. The palace walls had never felt so pressing.

He made it to his chambers before the facade crumbled.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight streaming through the windows, casting long, pale shadows across the floor and making the prince feel horribly, miserably alone. His hands trembled as he pressed them against the cool surface of his desk, gripping the edge as though it was the only thing anchoring him to reality as he stared blankly at the stack of papers on top of it. The memories that kept him smiling a little brighter just yesterday flooded his mind all at once, suddenly cruel and taunting and painfully suffocating.

Finally, he exhaled a shaky breath.

Jake was away, attending to his duties at the duchy, which somehow made the announcement feel even more surreal. Heeseung wondered if Jake even knew. Heeseung wondered if Jake would put up a fight or laugh in incredulity, or if he would maybe be pleased when he heard the news.

He felt a sharp, bitter chuckle bubble up in his throat, though it came out more like an ugly, choked-up sob. It had always been inevitable, hadn’t it? 

He should have known better.

He had always known better.

Jake was like fire — warm but dangerous — and Heeseung knew, but he let it happen anyway.

The Sims arrived the following week, their carriages rolling through the palace gates with effortless grandeur. Heeseung had been present in the receiving hall alongside his family, his expression schooled into calm neutrality, his posture straight, chin high, his hands clasped neatly behind his back like the picture of royal grace and composure.

The only thing that gave away his anguish was the slightest of tremors to his fingers and his heart that had threatened to betray him the moment Jake stepped out of the carriage.

Dressed in deep navy, his golden-brown hair carefully combed and styled, he looked every bit the dukedom’s heir that Heeseung had always known he was but had never quite seen in him before. It felt weird — Heeseung thought, tasteless as it was — the cold noble frame didn’t quite fit the marquess’s boundlessly bright spirit. Jake had offered the customary bows and pleasantries, his voice as steady as ever, but Heeseung had seen the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides for just a moment too long before relaxing once more. More than anything, though, he had seen the way Jake had refused to meet his gaze, as if looking at him directly would shatter whatever illusion they were desperately trying to maintain. Sunghoon by his side shifted his weight from one leg to another anxiously.

Dinner that evening was private, a formal yet intimate gathering between their two families. The long dining table was set in the east wing, candlelight reflecting off polished silverware, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and something Heeseung couldn’t quite place — a heaviness that settled deep in his chest, imperceptible to anyone but three people in the room, pressing against his ribs like a vice.

Sunghoon, seated beside him, was even more silent than usual. He had been tense from the moment they sat down, his fingers smoothing over the folds of the tablecloth repeatedly, his posture stiff despite his best efforts to appear composed. The prince’s usual confidence and effortless poise were absent, replaced by an anxious energy that made him seem smaller, younger, more down-to-earth. Despite his initial happiness upon hearing the news, Sunghoon had talked to Heeseung about his fear of losing Jake as a friend to this marriage, stumbling into his room in the middle of the night, the weight of it pulling him down too deep to sleep or truly feel excited. Heeseung had held him in his arms until he drifted off, his own words like thorns through his chest but he kept offering endless reassurances every time Sunghoon needed it without a hint of hesitation anyway. Whether it was selfless or selfish, he didn’t even know. At the table, Sunghoon nodded along to the conversation, his answers were flawless, but his voice was subdued, careful. His hands never quite settled so Heeseung squeezed one of them in his own under the table to help support the weight, if only a little.

Jake was seated across from Sunghoon. Their parents discussed politics and trade agreements around them, but Heeseung barely heard a word, his eyes remaining fixed on the marquess, watching the way his fingers traced the rim of his goblet absentmindedly, the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his usual easy laughter was absent tonight. He has always been radiant, sharp-tongued, and unafraid to crack a joke, no matter how scandalous, but now, Jake sat straight-backed and silent, his expression unreadable, his hands eventually folding neatly in his lap like a well-trained dog.

At some point, their father called for a toast. The queen smiled, proud and poised as she lifted her glass, and Sunghoon followed suit, though his fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the stem of his goblet. Heeseung moved on mindlessly, raising his glass in practiced elegance, watching Jake do the same opposite of him. In the future, he would replay the clink that reverberated through the room in his head for days at end.

Jake didn’t look at Heseung once throughout the evening, and though Heeseung had never been good at lying to himself, tonight he desperately needed his heart to stop the hurt that spread through his body like a plague and threatened to shatter his very bones under its weight.

The meal ended in polite conversation and friendly anecdotes, the night drawing to a close with Sunghoon walking Jake to the guest wing, the excited whispers of the queen and the duchess about how good they looked together reaching Heeseung’s ears despite his best efforts to tune them out. He had stayed behind, engaging in small talk with the duke — Jake’s father — letting his words tumble out in a smooth stream, forcing smiles where required, and offering nods where expected. His own father looked at him with pride, as if assured that he would be leaving the kingdom in good hands, but the victory of it was unusually bleak, too.

It wasn’t until much later, when the halls had emptied and the castle had settled into stillness, that he found himself standing outside a familiar door, his hands clammy, his breath uneven.

He knocked once. Then twice.

The door opened almost immediately, as though Jake had been expecting him and the atmosphere immediately became tense.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was thick with something heavy, something neither of them dared name but felt poison the usual calm nonetheless. Heeseung could see the exhaustion on Jake’s face, the way his jaw was tight and the bruises under his eyes were dark, the way his gaze flickered with restrained emotion.

And then, without speaking, Heeseung stepped forward, pushing the door shut behind him.

Jake caught him before he could stumble any closer, hands gripping his arms tightly, his breath warm and moist against Heeseung’s cheek. The hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second before they were on each other, lips meeting in desperate, untamed urgency, a collision of want and need and anger and something dangerously close to grief. The selfish part of Heeseung swelled with satisfaction — this whole thing was so easy, so familiar, the way they fell into each other as natural as it had been all those times before that godforsaken dinner. Perhaps they could keep this up forever. Perhaps nothing had to change.

He knew it was a delusion, but the poisonous comfort of it felt addicting anyway.

Jake pushed him against the door, hands threading through his hair, pulling forcefully, teeth biting onto the hollow of his throat meanly like a man starved, as if to remind himself that Heeseung was still there, still his. Heeseung’s own fingers found purchase at Jake’s nape, guiding him away from the dip of his neck with a pained hiss and pulling him into a messy kiss, gripping so hard as though letting go would mean losing him entirely. Jake was so fragile in his hold. Their exchange was heated, almost frantic, as if they were running out of time and wanted to rip as big of a piece of each other away as they could, for the rest of it would forever be lost to tomorrow’s dawn. It hurt but perhaps both of them were helpless in their own way.

It was Jake who pulled away first, panting, his forehead pressed against Heeseung’s. His hands trembled where they clutched the prince’s tunic, and for the first time that evening, he finally looked at him — really looked at him. 

He looked miserable.

“Let’s tell them,” Jake whispered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath.

Heeseung’s body went stiff.

Jake swallowed hard, his hands sliding down to Heeseung’s wrists, fingers pressing gently, pleadingly against the warm skin, his eyes running around his face wildly as if lost. “Let’s just tell them, Heeseung. I don’t care about titles or court politics or whatever damn else. You’re a royal too, no? If it’s an alliance they want they can have one either way. If we tell them then maybe— maybe they will—”

“No.”

Jake’s breath caught. Heeseung clenched his jaw, his hands retracting from Jake’s ghostly grip. He immediately missed the warmth.

“No?”

"The decision is final, Jake. This will never work out."

The look on his face looked painfully close to betrayal.

“Don’t you think we—" Jake breathed out shakily and Heeseung thought he had never looked quite as small and lost as he did at this particular moment. A shadow of insecurity passed over his face for the first time since he met him all those years ago. It felt like a blow to Heeseung’s already splintered heart. 

Jake looked away. 

“Don’t you think I’m worth the chance?”

Crack.

"You’re worth the world," Heeseung assured him instantly, unwavering even though his voice was weak. Perhaps he had never said anything more truthful in his entire life. “You’re everything and I’m—” god. “I’m not nearly as special as you think. You really are worth the world but I just can’t have you, I’m not what you need.”

“You are what I want, though.”

“Jake—”

“No,” he interrupted, the glint in his eyes stubborn and desperate and just a little crazed. “You can’t tell me what’s good for me because I know what I want without you needing to decide that for me. ”

"Jake, you’re being irrational."

Jake flinched as if struck. "Irrational? You think our— you think this is irrational? " his voice wavered, disbelief seeping into his tone as he furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you even hearing yourself, Heeseung? You think I don’t see the look on your face? You think I don’t feel it, too?”

Heeseung’s throat burned, his nails digging into his palms. He shouldn’t have come. “Jake, you don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “My father—”

A mistake.

"Your father?" Jake let out a bitter laugh, stepping back, voice slowly rising in anger. "That’s what this is about? You’d rather make both of us unhappy than disappoint your father?" his expression twisted, something snapping in his eyes. "Or is it the throne? Are you perhaps afraid to lose the crown for meddling with me behind His Majesty’s back, My Lord? "

Heeseung gritted his teeth, the words hitting him times harder than they should have simply because of how far from the truth they were.

“Because that didn’t seem to concern you when you kissed me back that first time, or any of the times after that,” Jake continued, furious. “Nor did it seem to concern you when you danced with me, or when you dined with me, or when you fucked me, or—”

He cut himself off, his expression suddenly complicated and confused for a second until something seemingly clicked in his mind and his mouth dropped open in a small, silent oh.

Jake’s face grew pale and he took another step back, shoulders slumping.

“Oh, I’m such an idiot, I thought—” he said weakly, the anger in his tone momentarily replaced by a blank emotion that Heeseung couldn’t quite decipher but it still made his blood run cold. “So that’s what it was.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened, the understanding of what Jake just assumed striking him like lightning as his mind filled with paralyzing horror. “No!” he shouted, panicked, taking a step toward him, hands grabbing onto his shoulders with an iron grip as if afraid the man would suddenly disappear. “God, no, Jake, have you lost your marbles?” 

He could see the fear on his face reflected back at him in Jake’s dark eyes. “This was never about your body, you’re so much more than that, fuck. You’re fun and you’re kind and you’re so, so marvelous I can’t help but be stunned every time I see you, holy shit, please, Jake. You’re dear to me because you are you, and I—”

He shut his mouth.

Jake looked at him, unblinking, his face unreadable.

Oh lord.

“You’re what?” he asked eventually, his voice even and chillingly calm.

“I’m—”

A pause.

“Heeseung.”

Jake closed his eyes, taking in a deep, stuttering breath. His fingers found Heeseung’s wrists on his shoulders once again, as if giving him one last chance to salvage the thing they had unknowingly built with so much tenderness that was rapidly crumbling apart. 

And Heeseung knew he had lost as soon as the next words rolled off Jake’s tongue, tinged with a kind of quiet sadness that made him feel miserable, too.

“Did you ever love me?”

Crack.

Truthfully, a part of him had known that all roads would lead him to this particular moment ever since he agreed to that fated waltz at the balcony. Hence, the fault for this horrible, soul-crushing heartbreak was his and his alone.

He had never felt so powerless.

No, was the right thing to say, logically. The least cruel one, one that would break Jake now but allow him the salvation of healing. Heeseung would be left to deal with the aftermath of his shattered soul alone, but at least one of them would be able to move on.

Yes, was what he wanted to say instead. No one has ever made Heeseung feel as happy and alive as Jake did, and no one else ever will. Jake was everything and no one would ever be as beautiful and real and vibrant as he was, no one would ever be worth so many of Heeseung’s smiles and firsts, so many of his heartburns. So much it hurts.

What he said instead was perhaps the single most heartless, most devastating, most selfish, and yet still the most truthful thing among all the options he could have possibly had. When he opened his mouth, his voice was resigned.

“I love my brother,” he admitted simply, helpless and numb. “And for him, I am willing to give up the happiness of my own.”

Because Jake was for Sunghoon and Heeseung had flown too close to the sun.

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the sharp intake of Jake’s breath. His grip on Heeseung loosened, hands slipping away, his expression shuttering, something breaking behind his eyes while they flashed with a myriad of emotions in mere milliseconds. Surprise. Confusion. Realization. Compassion. Rage. Betrayal. 

Disappointment. 

Heeseung could see him put two and two together and felt it destroy him so he closed his eyes not to shatter completely.

“How long have you known?” Jake’s voice sounded as hollow as Heeseung felt.

“For years,” he answered weakly, unable to look him in the eye. “There is a reason why I told you that this doesn’t end well. I’m sorry, Jake.”

Jake took a step back, then another, shaking his head as if trying to fight off the pain that clenched at his ribs, the instantaneous, all-consuming dread. Heeseung finally got the courage to raise his eyes. He knew that if he looked in the mirror at that moment, the despair he would see on his face would be a perfect reflection of the one painting itself across Jake’s.

It felt like hours before he finally seemed to find the words to say.

“I don’t get a say in this, do I?”

Silence.

“You’re a coward.”

Crack.

Heeseung flinched, but Jake wasn’t done. His voice wavered, but the cold anger in it was pointed, merciless, and undeniably hard. 

“You think you’re being noble, but you’re just afraid. You’re so stuck in your self-inflated sense of duty and this ridiculous belief that your feelings are worth nothing that you can’t fucking deal with your own shit. And don’t get me wrong, Heeseung, I love Sunghoon dearly — he is my soulmate and I would soak my hands in blood to make him happy, too.”

Jake’s eyes were icy.

“But unlike you, I am not afraid to admit that it is nowhere near the same,” he smiled, bitter, pained, venomous. When he turned his head away, Heeseung could see the reflection of tears that the marquess stubbornly didn’t let fall shine in his eyes. 

“Unlike you, Your Highness, I am not afraid to admit that I will never love him like I loved you. ”

Oh.

After all, Heeseung was nothing more than a fool.

“Jake—” he tried weakly.

“It’s Marquess Jake for you,” Jake interrupted him, sharp, biting, as though his confession didn’t just obliterate Heeseung’s very core already. “I believe we are no longer familiar enough for the first-name basis. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped away from Heeseung, the crown prince’s hands falling from his shoulders helplessly as he watched Jake walk to the door and grab the handle to pull it open. The implication of it was clear as day.

Heeseung felt like the world was coming to an end right before his eyes even though he had been the one to bring this doom upon himself.

“It’s late and I’m really fucking tired.”

So this is how it ends.

Heeseung’s vision was blurred at the edges, and at first, he couldn’t quite understand why his eyes burned so much, why his throat ached with the effort to swallow down the impossible weight in his chest until he felt a wetness make his eyelashes stick together.

Ah. 

He was crying.

For some reason, Heeseung felt calm.

“I’m sorry.”

Jake squeezed his eyes shut. Heeseung could see his unwavering resolve start to show cracks, the first tear trailing down his cheek, too, and his fingers ached with a desperate need to wipe it away, to kiss it better.

“Please,” Jake begged. He no longer sounded angry, just sad, tired, and awfully small. “Just leave.”

Heeseung felt his legs carry him to the door against his will, slow, emotionless, as though his mind was separate from his body. He stopped a single step away from his lover and for a while, they just stood in silence.  

Perhaps, all this time the fire was himself, and the one getting burned instead was Jake.

“Every moment with you was beautiful,” he heard himself say quietly, words blue and barely above a breath. At this point, pride had no value between them anyway. “I’m sorry I was so greedy. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed and I’m sorry I hurt you. I hope,” his voice cracked. “He will do a better job at making you happy.”

Heeseung allowed himself to reach out one last time. 

The kiss he pressed to Jake’s forehead was soft, warm, and bittersweet, full of emotion he couldn’t voice, the hand he raised to his cheek shaky but gentle, his thumb brushing away the salty drops tenderly. Jake didn’t push him away. Heeseung hoped he could feel his bruised heart through his skin.

“Goodbye, Jake,” he smiled. “You were wonderful.” 

You were everything.

I wish I met you before him.

You are the only one for me.

“And I love you, too.”

The sounds of Jake’s sobs that he heard through the shut door after he left the room that day — broken and miserable — would later haunt him for years to come. 

Heeseung was twenty-one and a half when he watched his brother hang the royal crest on the garden boy’s neck.

The weeks leading up to the wedding passed in a haze. Heeseung kept himself busy with preparations, handling the organization while the queen and the court oversaw the grandeur of the ceremony. His father had grown so weak that he had to stay bedridden for days, so Heeseung was the one who went for fittings, signed documents and invitations, and reviewed seating arrangements, all the while feeling like he was drowning in a sea of silk and gold that tangled around his neck and crushed his ribs in a glamorous cage, slowly poisoning him alive. 

Jake and Sunghoon were glued together most of the time. Heeseung saw little of his brother and even less of Jake, and when he did see them, it was always from afar — passing glimpses of their silhouettes in the corridors, their voices carrying through the halls as they planned for the future Heeseung was weaving for them with his very own hands, fleeting laughter bouncing off the stone walls. Those passing glimpses, no matter how rare, stabbed into his heart like a thousand thorns every time without fail.

One afternoon, as he made his way to the office, Heeseung slowed his pace while walking by the palace gardens and noticed them through the archway of ivy and roses.

Sunghoon was standing with his back half-turned to him, his hands anchoring themselves on Jake’s waist, pulling him close, their foreheads touched, lips ghosting over one another in a whisper of intimacy before Sunghoon actually pressed forward, sealing the kiss. 

For some reason, it had shocked Heeseung so much he couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide and his face from growing pale. He should have walked away, should have torn his gaze from the scene before him and just left, but he couldn’t move. He stood, frozen, watching as Sunghoon smiled against Jake’s lips, his hands trembling ever so slightly, while Jake’s fingers came up to cradle the back of his head, their movements slow, careful, almost reverent, and very, very familiar.

Then, as if sensing his presence, Jake’s eyes flickered open — dark and unreadable but steady, locked onto Heeseung’s own.

Honestly, he expected something, anything — a flicker of surprise, a hint of hesitation, a sign of regret. But Jake only held his gaze, unwavering and indifferent, as if daring him to react, and then, just as effortlessly, he turned back to Sunghoon, pressing another kiss to his brother’s lips.

Heeseung felt dead.

The days following that moment blurred into one another. The palace was a flurry of activity, with courtiers arriving from across the kingdom to celebrate the upcoming union and use the moment of festivity to bargain more political agreements, which meant that, in the king’s absence, the crown prince’s presence was requested at every turn. Heeseung didn’t mind. At least his responsibilities provided him with an easy escape from the nauseating feeling of heartbreak crushing his gut. He picked up more paperwork almost voluntarily, insisted on going with his mother to the flower arrangements, accompanied Sunghoon to his tiramisu tasting, and even offered to help arrange the musical pieces for the wedding for every part of the orchestra himself. His brother looked at him with concern, gently tracing over his increasingly growing eyebags with his fingers, but Heeseung insisted that he worked so hard because Sunghoon only deserved the best. At least this much, he thought humorlessly, was not a lie.

Much to his despair, work wasn’t a permanent solution to his painfully loud thoughts. At night, when he was trapped with his own loneliness, his brain would betray him and he would picture Jake in his arms instead, the warmth of his body against his own, the quiet confessions they had whispered in the dark echoing through his skull until his ears bled. Heeseung had always been disciplined, always able to push past emotion for the sake of duty, but now, he found himself caving in under the burden, staring at the ceiling, imagining a different world, one where he could have reached for Jake’s hand and never had to let go.

A world where he would have hung on a little tighter.

He deliberated on it more than once, shamefully — actually going to his parents, pleading for their blessing — on his knees, if necessary — telling them the truth, letting them see the raw, aching mess that he was in hopes that it would fix him. He ran through thousands of simulations, of the possibilities, the arguments he could make to convince them — he was a prince, after all, his marriage would still be an alliance.

It would be so easy.

But then, the image of Sunghoon would flicker in his mind and he would be hit with a stone-hard wave of overwhelming guilt and self-hatred and it would make him want to scream himself hoarse.

So instead, he stayed silent.

“I’m so tired,” Sunghoon said to him once when they got a rare moment of respite in his chambers late at night, rubbing at his temple. “I never realized how much went into a wedding. I just thought, you know… pick a venue, show up, say your vows,” he huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Turns out it’s a lot more than that.”

Heeseung smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s the price of royalty,” he said simply. “Everything has to be perfect.”

Sunghoon hummed, staring into his glass of wine for a moment before his lips curved up slightly. “Jake’s been helping a lot,” he shared suddenly, glancing at Heeseung. “He’s been amazing, to tell you the truth. I don’t think I could have done all this without him.”

Heeseung’s shoulders tensed imperceptively, his chest constricting as he met Sunghoon’s eyes, the light in them blinding, the tone of his voice uncharacteristically soft. Despite claiming to be tired Sunghoon looked… content. It was an expression Heeseung had seen on him countless times before, actually, but rarely quite like this. 

“He’s…” Sunghoon hesitated, his cheeks dusting a light pink. “I think I might be in love with him, hyung. I think Jake is special.”

The words hit Heeseung like a punch to the gut, sharp and unexpected, stealing the air from his lungs even though he knew. Heeseung’s fingers clenched where they rested against his thigh. It was his cue to say something supportive, to be a good big brother and say something that would put Sunghoon at ease. Instead, he felt frustration bubble up in his chest, impossible to suppress — at Jake, at himself, at the stupid circumstances that had led them here and worn him thin, and for the briefest, most reckless moment, he wanted to just let it all burn and tell Sunghoon everything.

He wanted to tell him about the waltz, about Jake’s silly habits, about the countless kisses they’d stolen from each other that had never been quite enough. He wanted to tell him about the quiet afternoons spent muttering things neither of them should have said, the way Jake had looked at him, his face open and vulnerable like it was for no one else. He wanted to confess that once, not so long ago, they had what Sunghoon had been craving all his life, too.

Yeah, he wanted to laugh bitterly, I’m aware.

“That’s… good,” Heeseung said instead, his voice just a little tighter than normal and the anguish a little way too transparent on his face. “Jake is a good man.”

Sunghoon frowned.

“Hyung?”

Heeseung swallowed hard. He forced himself to look at his brother, eyes racking over the trusting warmth in his eyes, the soft curve of his lips, the naive, genuine concern so plainly written across his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Heeseung took a slow breath. Then, with a smile that felt like swallowing glass — weak and bittersweet — he said. “It’s nothing, Sunghoonie. I’m happy for you,” and, because he was a masochist, “Tell me more.”

He didn’t want to think about the possible reasons why Sunghoon’s eyes had seemed so sad then.

The final days came fast. The night before the wedding, Heeseung stood in the dim candlelight of his chambers, unable to sleep despite staying up for days, staring at the suit laid out for him. It was beautiful. He traced the embroidery with his fingertips, feeling the weight of it, the suffocating certainty of the morning to come.

Yesterday, Sunghoon had kneeled before Jake in the royal hall, reciting the ancient vows of union as he presented him with the royal crest, a pendant signifying the acceptance of Jake into the royal family. It was a ceremonial, mostly one of duty, a promise that Jake would stand beside Sunghoon not just as a husband, but as his eternal ally, too. Jake had accepted, bowing his head as the pendant was placed around his neck, and then Sunghoon had kissed his hand — an intimate, final sealing of the engagement before the wedding. Everything was pristine.

Tomorrow, Heeseung would stand by his brother’s side. He would watch Jake take Sunghoon’s hands in his own and celebrate their union. He would smile, he would give his blessings, and he would be what he was always meant to be —  a paragon of royalty first, a loving brother second, and a man who had loved and lost last in quiet, aching solitude.

The big day arrived with the soft glow of dawn spilling through the tall windows, bathing everything in golden light, the horns carrying a celebratory melody throughout the land, and the doors to the palace commanded open to welcome the guests to the grandest, most awaited event of the decade. Every detail had been meticulously curated, Heeseung made sure of it, granting that this day would be remembered as nothing short of a fairytale as the whole kingdom celebrated its young prince and his new spouse. It was to be a beautiful wedding.

He hadn’t seen Sunghoon or Jake all morning. The palace had been a flurry of last-minute preparations, attendants moving swiftly to ensure everything proceeded flawlessly, and Heeseung had simply followed, silent and composed, waiting for the moment he’d take his seat at the venue, front row, where he would bear witness to the happiest day of his brother’s life. He had spent so long preparing for it, making sure everything was perfect, that he had neglected to prepare himself for how it would feel.

Empty.

Heeseung sat quietly, hands folded in his lap, his gaze distant as he waited, the void inside him vast and unyielding as if a piece of him had already resigned itself to the loss.

Then, the music began, signaling the start of the ceremony and the prince straightened, inhaling deeply as the grand doors opened, the murmur of the gathered nobles falling into tense, reverent silence. 

Heeseung, despite the agony of it all, felt himself smile.

Sunghoon was breathtaking.

He entered the venue, moving with the kind of effortless grace he had been taught since childhood, the man before the crowd a stark difference to the shy child Heeseung had raised on his back. Among the two of them, Sunghoon had always looked more his part — fairer, more regal, more polished — and even more so now, clad in gold and blinding white. He could hear the faint gasps of admiration from the crowd, and if he had a piece of mind to concentrate on the reception, he would swell with pride, too. 

Sunghoon looked radiant. Happy, even, like he was right where he was always meant to be.

And then, Heeseung’s eyes found Jake.

The man stood at the end of the aisle, waiting, his suit tailored to complement his spouse’s, a similar white that fitted him far too well, his soft hair styled carefully, but the unruly strands that refused to obey stuck out, and made him look just a little bit more himself. The royal crest hung loosely around his neck, reflecting the sun. Heeseung had seen him in fine attire before, but never quite like this, never with this much weight, this much finality. Jake looked stunning, like he belonged here, at Sunghoon’s side, with Sunghoon’s status — a perfect match for a prince in every single way. 

Absentmindedly, Heeseung wondered if anyone else had noticed the tired look on his face behind his vibrant smile.

He wasn’t sure if his exhausted brain was playing tricks on him, but it felt as though Jake’s gaze was on him the entirety of the reception and it made the whole predicament a whole new level of agonizing. Heeseung wasn’t sure if he had enough strength to sit through this.  He wasn’t quite brave enough to look at him for more than a couple of beats at a time, afraid of breaking down if their gazes ever crossed, but every time he dared to glance, Jake’s eyes were elsewhere, fixed on either Sunghoon, their parents, or the officiant, yet the sensation lingered, like a phantom weight pressing against his chest. 

I’m going insane , Heeseung thought bluntly.

He told himself to focus on Sunghoon. The ceremony proceeded.

Heeseung thinks it all came crashing down at the exchange of “I dos”. As soon as he saw them clasp their hands, the officiant open his book, and their parents start to tear up, the weight of reality became too much and Heeseung allowed himself to close his eyes, to let the exhaustion and the helpless feeling of grief make his stature just a bit smaller, a little less perfect. He heard the officiant request Sunghoon to swear loyalty and commitment to his spouse, and then he heard his brother, nervous but unwavering, pledge his vow, and tried his best to be happy, to dissociate from the cold that crept up his spine and unforgivingly bit into his flesh. Heeseung was so tired. The moment he dreaded the most came faster than he could have ever expected, and he desperately tried to tune out the officiant’s voice when he turned to Jake next, but the words — loud, formal, unavoidable — rang through his ears with a deafening finality anyway. His eyes hurt.

And then, when he opened them back up, he finally caught Jake staring square at him for the first time that evening.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, he had spent all evening avoiding it, had told himself again and again that he wouldn’t let it happen, but he felt his pulse spike up anyway. It was brief, a split of a second, and yet, because it was the first time in weeks, because he missed his lover desperately, because it was like this, it sent a thunderous shudder through Heeseung’s very frame, shaking him to his core as he felt the ribs protecting his heart crack under the pure wave of emotions crashing in all at once. Heeseung thought he saw something unreadable flicker in Jake’s gaze, familiar and wistful, a memory of the past, a plea, perhaps a wound, but he refused to give himself the luxury of understanding it. Not this time, Heeseung refused to hurt either of them any further. 

He was the first to look away.

Jake was quiet for a fraction too long, but maybe Heeseung just imagined it, too.

“I do.”

Their rings were truly beautiful. The kingdom watched as two attendants presented the ceremonial bands upon red velvet cushions, crafted from the royal vault’s finest gold. Heeseung approved those himself. His eyes stayed firmly on the shining metal as Sunghoon took off his glove, his shaky hand tentatively sliding one of the rings onto Jake’s bony finger, with Jake mirroring the motion right after — slower, but more certain — onto Sunghoon’s own. There was a time when Heeseung dreamed of being in their place, too.

“By the power vested in me by the kingdom,” the officiant declared. “I now pronounce you bonded under the sacred union of marriage. You may seal your vows.”

Heeseung watched, expression blank, as Sunghoon and Jake turned toward each other, their hands still clasped, their smiles tentative, a little strained, but warm, as if promising each other that it would be alright. The kiss was chaste, respectful, a mere brush of lips — brief and poised, meant for the eyes of the kingdom rather than the heart, but Sunghoon’s blush was bright and noticeable, a heavy contrast to his pale skin. It drew a dry chuckle out of Heeseung. 

They really did look beautiful together.

Heeseung clapped along with the rest, ignoring the hollow ache in his throat.

“A toast to my beloved brother and his husband,” the crown prince announced eventually, when the eyes of the guests turned to him, his voice even, authoritative, and unwavering. His father looked at him approvingly and his mother was crying. “May your days be filled with joy, your nights with peace, and your hearts forever intertwined.”

Sunghoon beamed at him, gratitude and sincerity in his gaze overflowing. Jake’s expression was much harder to read. 

“I wish you both nothing but happiness, now and always.”

For a fleeting moment, Heeseung thought he looked… empty. Hollow in a way that mirrored everything he himself had been feeling since the moment this wedding had been announced. It felt like a weird contrast to how bright Jake looked when they sneaked out to the kitchen to steal pastries after spending the night together, how alive he seemed when he handed Heeseung a poorly drawn picture of him that he sketched out of boredom in the library once. The memory was warm, but Jake’s laughter in it was getting a little foggy.

Heeseung lifted his goblet higher, the light catching in the glass, in his eyes, piercing into his soul.

“To your union,” he finished, voice losing some of its power as he held Jake’s distant gaze, again. “And to eternal love.”

But as Sunghoon turned to him, Jake’s smile returned, warm and devoted, painfully, unapologetically him as if it had never wavered in the first place, and their weird moment of longing and regret dissipated into the celebration.

Heeseung swallowed his grief with the last sip of his wine.

Later, he would approach the newlyweds as they were surrounded by friends and well-wishers alike, his demeanor light, his congratulations sincere, even as his chest ached in ways he could never speak aloud. Heeseung would chuckle, head dipped into a bow for his brother, a polite gesture of respect, just a touch too deep to also seem good-naturedly mocking, too. 

Then, because it was expected, because it was tradition, because he was a fool who had never learned how to let go, he would reach for Jake’s hand, bringing it to his lips in a feather-light kiss against the cool metal of his golden band. The moment should have been nothing more than custom, brief and impersonal, but as Heeseung’s fingers would curl around Jake’s for the barest second longer than necessary, a touch tighter than allowed, he would feel it and let it drown him in scorching lava. He would undoubtedly, unmistakably feel Jake’s hand tremble in his own, would feel it squeeze back almost imperceptibly for just a moment, and let it soothe a part of his aching heart, even if the rest of it shattered as a whole.

And then, without another word, he would turn on his heel and walk away with a smile, his step smooth and regal as he fought back the tears because it was improper for a royal to be seen wailing over their own brother’s happiness so shamelessly. In Jake’s story, Heeseung might have been a villain, might have been the love of his life, a regret, a beautiful experience, but in Heeseung’s he was everything, and even if it was never meant to be, even if it hurt, he would always treasure the brief moment of happiness in Jake’s shape this life has granted him.

Heeseung might have been fifteen when he first saw the pretty garden boy, he might have been twenty when he let him have his heart, and he even probably was twenty-one when he set their love aflame. Heeseung would maybe be twenty-two when he became king and let Jake anywhere close again, trembling uncontrollably in his arms before the coronation as he grieved his father along with his freedom, but fate was cruel, and he would perhaps need a thousand lifetimes more to learn to live with almost and forgive himself for loving someone as beautiful as Jake was in the first place.