Midnight Flames
Wu Yifan was sixteen when he attended his father’s masquerade for the first time. Strictly speaking, he had been present at the last one during his twelfth year, but he had been deemed far too young and unfit to be present during the festivities, instead being left to watch the swirling mass of people from a balcony on the fourth floor, far away from the prying eyes of other curious royals and visiting nobles.
The dance had been absolutely breathtaking to his young eyes. From his perch high above the crowd, Yifan watched in awe, taking in the sight of the stiff gentlemen, greeting each other in their finest ceremonial uniforms, and the graceful ladies that perched on each man’s arm, with flowing gowns that cascaded like waterfalls of every color across the ballroom floor. Sparkling with heavy diamonds that hugged their throats and dangled from their hair and ears, the women curtsied and chatted daintily with other females, silently comparing the jewels of their companions with suppressed haughtiness and pride. Hundreds of his father’s best servants lined the walls and mingled with the crowds, dutifully serving the nation’s largest gathering of wealth and status with impeccable posture and manners.
But what had truly left the young prince mesmerized were the masks. Each attendee, regardless of gender, bore a mask upon their face. Varying in size and color, the masks settled across the faces of the crowd, blurring identities and leaving each guest alone in a crowd of colorful strangers, always to find themselves inexplicably drawn to a certain other masked individual in the room, one that would leave them entranced and desperate for more, desperate to learn of the mystery behind the adorned decoration of feathers and gems. When the clock struck midnight, the final dance would begin, the jostling crowd becoming a single being, swaying gently in pairs to the melody of the orchestra, and each guest would remove their mask, revealing themselves to their partners in a final act of fate.
Or so Yifan believed. And as he sat high above the final dance, peering through the balcony rails in wonder, his feet dangling between, he wanted nothing more than to be one of the people below, to be able to wear a mask of his own. The dance seemed like another world, a place where reality had no meaning. It didn’t matter who was behind that mask, what their past was. There were no wrongs or rights, only faceless people hidden with intricate designs of gold and silver.
Sixteen-year-old Yifan was no less excited, though four more years tacked onto his shoulders had taught him to hide such careless emotion. With a respectful bow to his father and a leaping heart, Yifan remained quiet, determined to set a good reputation. As he had been heavily reminded, it would be the first time he would be publicly introduced as the Prince of the Wu family, and leaving his best impression would be of utmost importance.
The morn of November 21st was upon him in no time, and the whole palace was bustling with the usual preparations. Much to the young prince’s annoyance, he was whisked away to his quarters just after breakfast and subjected to preparation for the whole afternoon. After being scrubbed red and raw for an hour and having his hair coiffed to unnatural perfection for two more, the head maid curtsied politely and cheerfully announced that they were about halfway done with the process.
Three long and torturous hours later, Yifan’s servants were dismissed, finally leaving him to some much needed solitude. With great care, he lifted his mask up from its place on his bedside dresser, holding it delicately in his hands. The mask itself was a brilliant shade of burning orange, streaked with red and gold that glittered under the light, like the flame of a burning furnace. Like a Dragon, his father had told him, comparing it to the fierce symbol of their family name with pride hidden deep in his voice. You will learn to lead this kingdom with a strong hand. The mask was to be the mark of his right to inherit, as it was for his father and grandfather before him. It was a sign of power and maturity, and Yifan was anxious to prove himself worthy of such a beautiful headpiece.
There was a clanging of bells below, announcing the approaching time of the first arrival. Yifan closed his eyes and slowly tied the mask behind his head, feeling the silk ribbons fall gracefully to the nape of his neck. When he turned to the mirror with baited breath, he stopped short, staring at the reflection before him.
Yifan barely recognized the boy that returned his gaze, the face before him merging with the mask of flames, the eyes taking on a glint of fire that danced with the intricate design of embedded orange gems. The mask gave the boy an air of maturity that seemed to heighten his stature, yet shined of youth and longing for something more than a life forever isolated in the palace, forever living out his father’s wishes, forever being the perfect prince the town wanted. The boy in the mask seemed to represent all the dreams that Yifan had never had the courage to consider. All the possibilities that Yifan had tried to bury, hidden in a dark corner of his soul that haunted him day and night
And yet somehow, the figure he saw in the mirror had a closer resemblance to the real Yifan than he did himself.
Too soon, he was standing beside his father in the extravagant ballroom, greeting and introducing himself to each guest that arrived, bowing and exchanging countless polite handshakes, kissing each lady’s hand and throwing out meaningless compliments. The guests loved him, fawning over his handsome features and perfect etiquette, and his father soaked it all in, laughing joyously with old friends of his. Can you believe how tall he is? And only sixteen too. He must have gotten his looks from his mother. True to his father’s wishes, Yifan retained his cool facade, standing tall and smiling minimally under the blazing designs of his mask.
Eventually, after all the guests had been ushered in and all the important ones greeted, his father excused himself from his side, leaving him in the crowds of people with a last word of advice to speak only when spoken to and not to cause any trouble. Yifan just nodded mutely at his father’s already retreating back, watching as he was quickly swallowed by the sea of people.
The gathering of people was possibly even more breathtaking up close, and much more real compared to staring longingly from the balcony. Yifan spent the time carefully making his way through the crowds, pausing often to bow and exchange simple formalities with some of the masked guests who remembered him from the door. The positive reaction to his presence was overwhelming, and by the time Yifan had made it to the other end of the room to take a much needed break from the guests, he was already feeling mentally exhausted, although the masquerade had yet to reach its peak.
With a heavy sigh, Yifan leaned against one of the small tables off to the side, careful not to upset the elaborate flower arrangement that threatened to spill out of its vase. As excited and nervous as he was for the event, the age difference between the him and the guests was rather intimidating and despite his tall demeanor, Yifan was definitely one of the youngest present at the occasion. He knew that some of the nobles had brought along their young daughters, most likely in anticipation that one of them would catch his attention, but as he scanned the room, his eyes didn’t land on any of those hopeful young women.
Instead, his gaze locked with a young male across the room.mso-bidi-font-family:"Comic Sans MS";color:red">
From a distance, Yifan was at first almost convinced the other was female, but closer inspection revealed shoulders just a little too broad, although the figure was petite enough to make him think twice. The boy could not have been any older than Yifan was, and he was dressed in a dark, ink-blue uniform, adorned with silver chains and ringlets that glimmered when the boy moved, a sure sign he was from a northern region, and likely a prince.
But what had really caught Yifan’s attention was the boy’s mask, a stunning ornament of pitch-black, sleek with raven curves that followed the sharp jawline with subtle elegance. Thin silver lines rimmed the eyes, fading away into swirls of glinting diamonds that splattered the headpiece like stars against a midnight sky. The mask itself seemed to mold into the face, enunciating every contour, the dark colors in stark contrast to the almost obscenely pale skin. It brought the emotions of the boy to life, speaking to Yifan of both happiness and misery, of mystery and untold secrets, and overall a longing for something else, something away from it all.
And as the boy returned his stare with a small, knowing smile, it was almost like looking at his reflection all over again.
Yifan was inexplicably drawn towards the other side of the room. He needed to know more about this boy who with just one glance had been so different and yet so similar to himself. Or perhaps, Yifan dared to consider, they were similar because they were different? Forbidden thoughts began to spread through his mind, filling Yifan with wary hope and overturning wishes that had been buried away long ago.
Trying to push his way through the mingling guests, Yifan soon found himself bombarded with greetings and questions on all sides, half-curious nobles who were more interested in winning favor with the king than actually getting to know his only son. With what seemed like an endless number of forced smiles and distracted answers, hastily excusing himself each time, he stumbled out of the crowd to his destination, feeling more than a little exasperated when the mysterious boy was no longer anywhere to be found. Angrily, Yifan ran one hand through his hair and leaned against the wall in defeat, tousling the perfectly styled result of many excruciating hours of preparation.
His disappointment was short-lived.
“Looking for me?” The boy appeared suddenly behind him, causing Yifan to jolt in surprise. He turned and leveled what he hoped was a stern glare at the other. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He hissed, causing the boy to chuckle delightedly and offer him a bright, disarming smile.
Yifan knew he was staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he raked his eyes appreciatively over the other boy, drinking in every detail. He was possibly even more breathtaking up close, with warm auburn hair that fell around his mask and a lively glimmer in his eyes, bringing strong emotion to his delicate features that gave poise to his small and fragile stature.
With his shoulders still shaking in silent mirth, the boy watched Yifan with an amused expression, waiting for him to say something more. Scowling, Yifan narrowed his eyes and pulled them away. “Name?” he inquired, willing his face to remain passive. The boy just smiled yet again and bowed politely.
“Kim Junmyeon, at your service.” Even his voice was entrancing, a soft chime that filled Yifan’s ears, flitting emotion through just four simple words. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Wu Yifan.”
“How do you know me?”
“You are the talk of the nation,” Junmyeon informed him lightly, the calm smile never leaving his face. “A better question would be to ask who doesn’t know you.”
“I don’t know me.” Yifan didn’t know why he said it, but as the soft words cut through the air, he knew it was the truth. Sighing and closing his eyes, Junmyeon’s smile became pained, burdened with understanding.
“It’s all right, I don’t know me either.”
With neither of them willing to conquer the swirling room, crowded to the brim with dancing royals who seemed to become increasingly tipsy by the minute, they stayed to the side and found a suitable, if not overly extravagant, handcrafted mahogany bench to rest on, spending hours exchanging casual words and occasional light touches that tingled on Yifan’s skin long afterwards.
Junmyeon was his opposite in every way, with his small frame and easy expressions, emotions falling easily on his face and kindness radiating from his every movement. In comparison to Yifan’s towering height, his every action guarded and stiff, they were nothing alike. And yet at the same time, they were. And although any darker, pressing topics were carefully avoided, Yifan could still see the coldness in Junmyeon’s eyes that surfaced as he told Yifan about his background.
Yifan had been correct in assuming the other boy was from the north. The Kim family, Junmyeon explained, ruled a smaller kingdom just northwest of the area, a vast region with few inhabitants due to the harsh chill that came with the year round blizzards of snow. His father was an old acquaintance of Yifan’s; they had fought side by side in a border skirmish some many years before either Yifan or Junmyeon had been born, although Yifan soon learned with some smugness that he was indeed older than the smaller boy, if only by half a year.
As the clock dragged closer to midnight, the mull of conversation slowly dropped to a low murmur as the pair sat side by side, apart from the mobs of shallow ladies and snobbish gentlemen, away from the loud shouts and merry dancing. The lights dimmed as softer songs began to play, singing out from the orchestra strings and calming the crowd into a gentle sway. The two boys fell into a comfortable silence, letting the soothing melodies wash away everything wrong with their lives. Letting it all drift away until they were the only ones left in the world, the only ones that mattered.
“Yifan,” Junmyeon’s whisper broke through the calming silence, his voice thoughtful and questioning.
“Mmm...?”
“Do you ever get tired of living a lie?” Junmyeon’s eyes were wide behind his mask, searching anxiously for Yifan’s own eyes. It was a silent plea, screaming with the desperate need for someone else to understand.
And Yifan did.
“Every day of my life.”
Junmyeon smiled weakly and turned his eyes to the dancing couples in the room, watching as each man and woman twirled by in each other’s arms. He brought his own arms up to wrap them around his small torso, suppressing a shiver. “Yifan,” he whispered once more, his voice cracking. “Are we... allowed to...?”
Yifan wrapped an arm around the other boy’s shoulders, pulling him closer and burying his nose in the soft auburn locks. “We have the same rights that they do.”
Junmyeon welcomed Yifan’s embrace, leaning into the warmth and hiding his face in Yifan’s neck. “Yifan,” he choked out, the words catching haltingly in his throat. “I don’t want to wear this mask anymore.”
Yifan knew Junmyeon wasn’t talking about the masquerade ornament.
“You don’t have to.”
The clock chimed midnight, clanging loudly through the ballroom and marking the beginning of the final dance of the night. Yifan tugged gently on the silk ribbon of his companion’s mask, willing the other to meet his gaze. “Junmyeon...”
The other boy swallowed nervously and nodded, wordlessly reaching to untie the strands of Yifan’s own headpiece. With shaking hands, the masks fell away, their faces becoming bare and unguarded, and wide eyes took in the sight of the other for the first time.
Yifan hesitantly cupped a hand around Junmyeon’s pale cheek, marveling at the smooth porcelain skin that seemed to burn under his touch. The other boy was absolutely beautiful, from his steadily reddening cheeks to his soft lips that Yifan trailed one thumb across, willing Junmyeon’s mouth to part just slightly, just enough to let in an unsteady intake of breath.
“Yifa-”
The words died instantly as Yifan brushed his lips timidly against Junmyeon’s, barely enough to be a kiss. His breath ghosted lightly over the other’s mouth as he pulled away almost immediately, embarrassed, and averted his eyes as Junmyeon spluttered brokenly, his mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to pull his thoughts together.
“Yifan what if they see us-”
But Yifan took hold of Junmyeon’s slender wrist, pulling the shorter boy to his feet and dragging him away, their masks forgotten on the bench. Turning into an archway that led away from the ballroom, Yifan ducked behind the pillars of the entrance, pulling Junmyeon down with him into the small corner that was hidden from the rest of the guests.
Far from prying eyes, Junmyeon was the one to initiate. Curling into Yifan’s lap, he leaned up to return the kiss, his mouth moving shyly at first against Yifan’s with inexperience. Yifan easily took control, running a hand through the hair at the base of Junmyeon’s neck and tilting the angle of the kiss and feeling Junmyeon’s lips mold pliantly with his own. Pulling away for a quick breath of air never lasted long, and each time they returned for more, meeting each searing kiss with more fervor than the last. Soft kisses merged into sharp nips, Yifan sucking in Junmyeon’s swollen lip in order to lap his tongue into the other’s mouth, reveling in the taste of desire that surfaced with every stifled moan and eager curl of hands in fabric.
And yet all too soon, the orchestra music was fading and they forced themselves to pull away, chests heaving and hearts racing with fast paced uncertainty mixed with overwhelming want. But the end of the evening was steadily approaching, and the fear of being seen weighed heavily on their minds.
Yifan reluctantly got to his feet, offering a hand to his companion that Junmyeon graciously accepted, a small smile crossing his features as his hand lingered in Yifan’s hold. He leaned up quickly to peck the other boy’s lips teasingly one last time, before they pulled away and returned to the main room, their masks falling back into place as they mingled once more with the guests.
Somewhere in between the bows and the handshakes, Yifan lost Junmyeon in the crowd, his auburn hair disappearing into the evening, leaving him with only a memory and a midnight mask forgotten on a bench.
-
Junmyeon haunted Yifan’s thoughts for months afterwards, filling his mind with soft smiles and soft lips that often turned into fantasies that plagued his young adolescent body, dreams of running hands down impossibly smooth skin that would end with Yifan lying awake at unfathomable hours of the morning, muffling moans of Junmyeon’s name into his pillow.
The thought of waiting four more years to finally see him again was unbearable. As the weeks passed, Yifan grew so restless and irritable that his father eventually demanded to know what could possibly be the matter over breakfast one morning. "You've been quiet ever since the masquerade," he said, eyeing Yifan thoughtfully, "I may be old, but my wit has not failed me yet. Something's bothering you, son."
Yifan set his utensils down, biting his cheek apprehensively. Telling the whole truth was completely out of the question: his father had much more important things to deal with than the horrification of learning that his only heir and beloved son was a queer. A bitter smile threatened to spread at the thought.
Yifan had already come to terms with the fact that he would never be normal under the judgemental eyes of society at a young age. Try as he might, he couldn't change who he was, and eventually he had given up, resigning and burying his sexual orientation far away from the surface. Yifan was good at lying: he lived one every day of his life.
But Junmyeon resurfaced in his mind as he opened his mouth to reply. The complete truth was unacceptable, but perhaps...?
"Father, I met... a friend. At the masquerade," he began hesitantly, watching his father's expression carefully for any sign of suspicion. When his father's brow just furrowed curiously, he took that as a safe sign to elaborate.
"He's another prince... of the Kim family? He said his father was an old acquaintance of yours." Fidgeting his hands in his lap, he sighed and added quietly, "It's just... I've never really had someone my age to talk to, before.”
Much to Yifan's surprise, his father laughed heartily, slapping his knee and grinning at his son. "Why, Sir Kim is a wonderful friend of mine!" He exclaimed, leaning over to ruffle Yifan's hair with one large hand. "Why didn't you just say so, my boy? I'd be happy to invite him and his son to dine, goodness knows we need some company around here." Yifan gaped at his father, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. "Really, Father?" he asked, a hopeful smile breaking onto his face. "Could you really...?"
"I don't see why not. A palace can seem a rather lonely place with only two people to inhabit it."
Yifan hugged his father, unable to contain his excitement. "Thank you so much," he managed as he quickly pulled away, embarrassed. He hadn't embraced his father in years.
But his father just grinned wider, patting his son comfortingly on his back. Yifan returned the smile with one if his own, silently hating that he was unable to tell his father how much his kindness truly meant to him.
-
True to his word, Yifan's father sent an invitation to the north, and Yifan waited on edge as the days passed, waiting for any sign of a reply. To his great delight, the messenger returned only a week later, bearing good tidings, and preparations were made to greet his Majesty Kim and his son, who were to arrive within a fortnight-which was almost too long for Yifan despite the passing months he had already endured. He paced restlessly around the palace, anxious to finally see Junmyeon once more.
And then the day came and the butler was announcing the arrival and, as their guests were lead into the dining hall, as his father greeted his old friend with much enthusiasm and as they were directed to seats around the end of the engraved long-table that probably could’ve fit ten times the amount of people present, Yifan couldn’t pull his gaze away, because Junmyeon was there; Junmyeon was standing right there before him and suddenly it was as if all the months hadn’t passed and Yifan was absolutely entranced.
They didn’t dare greet each other in the presence of their fathers, instead settling with a nod from Yifan and a slight, knowing quirk of the lips from Junmyeon. They sat down across from each other, as Sir Kim took the seat adjacent from his father’s position at the head of the table. The majority of the courses were spent listening to the grownups talk jovially and answering politely to the older men when addressed, all the while watching the other closely. Yifan tried really hard not to molest Junmyeon with his eyes but it was a difficult feat, considering Junmyeon was doing pretty much just that with a stare so intense it made all of Yifan’s lucid dreams resurface from his sub-consciousness. Yifan bit his lip and shook his head to try to control his thoughts, glaring at Junmyeon who just smiled sweetly like he knew exactly what Yifan was thinking.
Eventually, as the final dishes were being cleared away, Yifan’s father dismissed the two boys with a bright laugh. “I know you two must want some alone time,” he said, waving a hand at them both. “Now shoo, while us men discuss adult stuff.”
Yifan and Junmyeon needed no more persuasion, and they both quickly jumped to their feet, bowing hastily and rushing out of the room. Yifan grabbed Junmyeon’s hand and pulled him down the corridors, determined to find a secluded spot far away from any servants that might be at work that evening.
As soon as he had pulled them both into a small nook in the far west tower, Junmyeon was on him, pressing tight against Yifan’s chest and kissing him forcefully, hands wound in the fabric of Yifan’s shirt. The kiss was desperate and heated, much more so than that first time so many months ago, and Yifan moved his mouth urgently against Junmyeon’s as his hands curled around the small of the other’s back. Every nerve of Yifan’s body tingled as their hips pressed together, moaning into Junmyeon’s kiss with surprise as he felt the other’s hardness pressing into him through the fabric. Parting for air, Junmyeon looked up at Yifan, his eyes darkened with need and face reddened with embarrassment. “I-” he stuttered and closed his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut ashamedly and burying his face into the crook of Yifan’s neck.
Yifan brought one hand up to thread his fingers gently through Junmyeon’s hair, pulling him closer. “I missed you so much, Junmyeon,” he whispered, breathing the words against Junmyeon’s ear, his voice rough. Junmyeon shivered and let out a low moan as Yifan moved his own hips against Junmyeon’s, letting his hardened length press in and giving away his obviously mutual need for the other. They rutted desperately against each other, overwhelmed with lust and desire, and Junmyeon keened in the back of his throat as he turned his head and allowed Yifan to rake his teeth down the pale expanse of his neck, leaving sensitive red bruises, nipping sharply at the exposed collarbones and sucking the adam’s apple the bobbed shakily as their arousals rubbed together.
Inexperienced and young, they both came in their pants, biting back sharp cries and breathing heavily as they clutched at each other. Yifan slowly fell to the ground, his thighs quivering weakly, and he leaned against the wall, pulling Junmyeon between his legs and into a tight embrace.
They sat there in silence, Junmyeon curled into Yifan’s chest, his head tucked firmly under Yifan’s chin as they both slowly calmed their breathing and reveled in each other’s warm embrace. Junmyeon eventually spoke up, murmuring softly into the air. “Yifan, I... these past months, you’re all I think about, I just-” he paused, sighing and snuggling in closer as Yifan wrapped his arms tighter around him. “I don’t know what to do.”
Yifan kissed the other boy’s head lightly. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said quietly, burying his nose into the soft auburn hair. “Just stay with me, Junmyeon.”
“You know I want to,” Junmyeon whispered, his voice muffled against Yifan’s shirt. A relaxed silence fell over them once more, a blanket that surrounded them with comfort in the growing darkness of the corridor. Neither wanted to acknowledge the passing time, reluctant to return to their fathers, who would no doubt eventually be looking for them in order to enforce curfew.
Junmyeon stirred slightly in Yifan’s arms, rotating so his back leaned into the other’s chest. His voice broke through the air once more, his tone hesitant and slow. “Yifan.”
“Mm.”
“Why is this wrong in their eyes?” He didn’t elaborate on his words. He didn’t need to.
Yifan hummed thoughtfully into Junmyeon’s hair. “What comes naturally to us is abnormal to others. And that... it scares them, the idea of something that is different.”
Junmyeon snorted quietly, unable to keep resentment out of his voice. “And so they lock us away? Pretend that we’re inferior, something to be looked down upon in disgust?” He laughed dryly, bringing his knees tight against his chest and huddling once more into Yifan’s warmth. “They call us sinners, but they’re the ones who use our differences to place themselves higher.”
Yifan exhaled softly, tilting Junmyeon’s chin upmso-bidi-font-family:"Comic Sans MS";color:red"> to place a soft kiss on his lips. “I know,” he murmured against the other’s mouth as Junmyeon responded to the touch. “Junmyeon...” he pulled away, though just barely, his lips still within millimeters of the other boy’s kiss swollen ones. Reaching up one hand to caress a smooth, pale cheek, he smiled gently and rubbed a thumb in small circles under Junmyeon’s lidded eye. “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.”
Laughing quietly into the dimming evening, Junmyeon maneuvered his legs, turning to straddle Yifan’s waist as he leaned close and kissed Yifan once more, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck.
“I want you.”
-
When they returned to the dining hall, careful to first hide tell-tale signs and flatten their hair as best as possible, their fathers were just turning in for the night, and a servant was called upon to lead Junmyeon and his father to their respective guest rooms.
Hours later, long after the long halls of the palace had fallen into slumber, Yifan slipped into Junmyeon’s room and stayed until the first rays of light, holding Junmyeon close as hushed conversations turned to sleepy murmurs turned to quiet breathing, finding comfort in each other’s embrace.
-
Much to Yifan’s dismay, Junmyeon and his father departed the next day, promising to visit more often and in turn to invite the Wu family over to their own kingdom. Junmyeon gave Yifan a quick hug of farewell that only lasted a little too long for just-friends before the smaller boy pulled away, smiling up at Yifan with a quirk on his mouth being the only thing that gave away the true intentions behind his whispered “see you later.”
The visits soon became routine as months continued to pass, leaves falling from the trees and leaving branches bare, snow falling softly from grey skies and then melting into the fresh spring air as buds appeared once more and the two boys grew older. After the turn of Yifan’s eighteenth year, his father agreed to let him travel to Junmyeon’s kingdom on his own.
He arrived in the evening, appearing on Junmyeon’s doorstep shivering but bright-eyed, and after sharing a meal with the whole Kim family, he was pulled away to Junmyeon’s rooms where they collapsed onto the bed, pulling at clothes and covering each other in feverish kisses. Moans were bitten back and cries smothered as skin beaded with sweat slid sensually and Junmyeon’s fingers dug into Yifan’s back, inhaling sharply as Yifan thrust into him for the first time.
Later, when Yifan lay sleepily on top of Junmyeon, nuzzled into the crook of the other’s neck, Junmyeon ran his fingers idly through Yifan’s mussed golden hair, a contemplative look on his face. “Yifan,” he said slowly, threading his fingers through a particularly stubborn lock, “How long can this last?”
Yifan whined softly and kissed the crease between Junmyeon’s furrowed brows. “Forever.” He pressed his lips against the corner of Junmyeon’s mouth in an attempt to loosen the other’s expression, but Junmyeon’s frown remained and he turned his head toward his companion slightly, his eyes wide and anxious. “You heard my father earlier. They’re going to want us to marry and take charge eventually. If we don’t do something, they’re going to figure us out sooner or later... And then what?” Leaning his forehead into Yifan’s, he closed his eyes, taking a deep, quivering breath and exhaling slowly. “I don’t want to lose you...”
Yifan rolled onto his side, pulling Junmyeon close. “We’ll figure something out,” he promised.
But he wasn’t so sure.
-
Junmyeon had been right to worry. As Yifan approached his nineteenth year, his father became restless, determined to find a suitable wife for his heir. Every conversation they shared was always the same, his father beginning with, “Yifan, have you found one? Any young lasses catch your fancy?” and Yifan could only smile distantly and shake his head. “Not yet, father.”
And then the balls began to occur. Anxious for his only son to find a partner, his father began holding more festive occasions than ever before, purposefully inviting all his acquaintances and their young daughters.
Of course, he also invited the Kims, who they were now on very good terms with, so each house-party ended up quite counterproductive. The women all stormed away in huffs and pouted dangerously from the corners of the room, distraught gazes longingly watching the two handsome princes that only seemed to have eyes for each other.
But as the number of failed matchmaking attempts mounted higher and higher, his father grew worried, and Yifan and Junmyeon knew it would only be a matter of time before the worry turned to suspicion.
-
It was a cold February evening, the beginning of their twentieth year, when it all came crashing down.
They were on the engraved mahogany bench, the one they had met on years ago, shoulders brushing and hands loosely entwined. Yifan leaned back and stared out at the now empty expanse of the room, recalling it being filled with swirling guests that night, gracefully dancing in their glamorous gowns and masks. And then suddenly his eyes widened and he turned to Junmyeon in realization. “I never returned your mask to you...”
Junmyeon chuckled, his eyes creasing around the edges as he grinned up at Yifan. “That’s all right,” he said, amusement still coloring his voice, “I let my mask fall for you that night anyways. It seems appropriate that you should keep it.”
Yifan placed a light, chaste kiss on Junmyeon’s lips, his own quirking into a small grin. “Does that mean I should give you mine?” He asked, bringing their connected hands up to press his mouth to Junmyeon’s knuckles gently."Comic Sans MS";mso-bidi-font-family:"Comic Sans MS";color:red">
Junmyeon just leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling as he returned Yifan’s affections with a slight peck on the cheek. “If you would like.”
And as innocent as the interaction was, a young maid witnessed it with terrified eyes from the entranceway of the room, her mop falling to the floor with a loud clatter as she clasped a hand to her mouth and dashed away.
The noise filled the room, disrupting the two young men, and Junmyeon jolted, catching a glimpse of the servant’s retreating back and turning to Yifan fearfully as the other closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold stone wall. “Yifan what if she goes to our fathers-”
“She will.” Yifan cut Junmyeon off, pulling him close to his side and taking a slow, calming breath. Junmyeon squirmed, panicking in Yifan’s arms. “What should we do, they can’t see us like this, Yifan they’ll kill us, they’ll-” But Yifan cut him off once more, hiding Junmyeon’s face in his neck and breathing in the scent of Junmyeon’s hair that he loved so much.
“I don’t want to run from this,” He whispered quietly into the other’s ear, rubbing circles on his back to calm Junmyeon’s trembling form. “Just stay with me a little longer, Junmyeon... just give me these last few moments with you.”
Junmyeon let out a choked sob and nodded weakly, wrapping his arms around Yifan’s neck and staying there, letting Yifan cling to him as time ticked away, counting down the end of their forever.
They could hear the angry footsteps long before their fathers came into view, both of the older men wearing similar scowls as they approached their sons. Junmyeon quickly detached himself from Yifan’s hold, scooting away and gripping the edge of the bench, his knuckles white and his body tense.
Junmyeon’s father was absolutely livid. “I always knew you were a little faggot,” he sneered, hoisting his son up by the collar, his words spitting into Junmyeon’s face. Junmyeon winced and hung his head, saying nothing, but Yifan snarled and pushed the older man away. “Touch him one more time and I swear-”
“Yifan.”
There was a touch on his shoulder and Yifan turned to see his own father, who looked up at him with a pained expression gracing his wrinkled features. Though he was much more composed than Junmyeon’s father, his quiet tone rang out clearly into the tense air.
“Yifan, tell me it isn’t true.” The words, barely more than a whisper, were filled with hurt and unspoken betrayal. Yifan closed his eyes, unable to meet his father’s broken gaze. Taking a shaky breath, he carefully, deliberately, entwined his fingers with Junmyeon’s own. Wishing for the impossible.
But then his father looked away, averting his eyes and Yifan felt like he was splitting in half as the only parental figure he had ever known, the man who had always looked after him, with his booming laugh and endless praise, was turning his back, shutting Yifan out.
“Please remove your son from my kingdom,” his father said slowly, addressing the seething man next to him with a voice that was emotionless and cold. “I am sorry things have to end like this.” He said no more, leaving with a sweep of his cloak and dead footsteps that echoed piercingly throughout the room.
Junmyeon’s father had a tight grip on his son once again, yanking his shoulder in a painful motion and hissing harsh, harassing words in his ear as he dragged him away, away from Yifan, and then Yifan was alone, his eyes wide and unseeing as he did the only thing left that made sense anymore.
He forced his legs to move, first taking painful steps that slowly broke into a brisk walk, and then sprinting through the hallways as he raced to his chambers, slamming doors and rummaging through dressers before he eventually found the mask of flame that he had hidden away, tucked into a drawer next to Junmyeon’s. With shaking fingers, he delicately held up the fiery headpiece, tracing the soft lines of gold and orange and remembering the first time he had put it on, the first time he had laid eyes on Junmyeon, and it only brought angry tears to his eyes that he blinked at furiously, throwing the mask onto his bed and sinking into the mattress next to it, his head cradled in his hands.
It was all his fault, he knew, for holding on to something he could never have, for ignoring the dangers, for giving in to false hope that maybe it could be okay, that it could all work out because that’s what always happened in stories, right? The prince always got the princess in the end, and everything would fall into place.
But there had never been any stories about two princes. And Yifan knew that it didn’t matter how much they loved each other because in the end it would always be the same: they would always be stared at in disgust, would always be looked at as something abnormal, something that didn’t belong.
And no matter how many masks they used to hide, it wouldn’t change the fact that what they had would never be accepted. But that wasn’t important, Yifan had convinced himself. It didn’t matter, as long as they had each other.
Except now they didn’t have each other.
And Yifan stood up from his bed, letting the quiet tears fall from his eyes as he grabbed the mask and left the room, determined to find Junmyeon one more time.
-
He caught up to Junmyeon just as they were leaving, his father having been all too happy to follow through with his Majesty Wu’s suggestion. Yifan ran up as they were saddling the horses, too out of breath to do anything but shove the mask into Junmyeon’s arms. The other looked up, wide eyes blinking in shock, and Yifan gave him a small smile, pushing his hair back from his face in a nervous habit. Junmyeon looked back down at the mask in his hands, fingering the intricate golden fringes, and then his lip was quivering and he bit back a choked cry, throwing himself into Yifan’s arms.
“How can everything be ruined so fast?” He asked between strangled sobs, clutching at Yifan’s shirt. Yifan could only hold him close, whispering empty words that did nothing for comfort. “I don’t know,” he repeated, over and over, as if somehow it would make things right, as if somehow it could be that simple.
Junmyeon reached up with shaky hands, placing them on Yifan’s cheeks and pulling him downwards to place one last tentative kiss on his lips. Yifan knew it was a bad idea, that Junmyeon’s father would probably round the corner any second, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that. All that mattered was Junmyeon: Junmyeon’s lips, Junmyeon’s hands, Junmyeon’s tears, Junmyeon’s sorrow. And so Yifan kissed him back, desperate to cling to what they had, desperate to take away that sorrow.
“You little-” Junmyeon was wrenched away from Yifan’s arms as his father appeared and pushed them apart. Yifan stumbled backwards, almost losing his footing as Sir Kim advanced towards him, his eyes lit with anger and contempt beyond belief. “If you touch my son one more time, so help me I will chop off your hands and feed them to my pigs,” he threatened, his eyebrows furrowing with a sinister smirk. “I heard swine just love the taste of queers.” Spitting spitefully in Yifan’s direction, he turned and led his son away.
Yifan clenched his fists and hung his head, forcing himself to stay silent because he knew that fighting back would only ignite more violence. Junmyeon’s father shoved his son towards the horses, forcing him to mount as he swung a leg and settled onto his own saddle. Junmyeon sat still, shooting Yifan one last, pleading glance, before his father cracked the whip on the behind of Junmyeon’s horse, frightening it into taking off into the night.
And then Junmyeon was gone, and Yifan hated himself for not trying harder to keep him.
-
The months passed in agony. Between Junmyeon’s absence and his father’s cold silence, Yifan felt himself slowly slipping away, locking himself inside his rooms for days on end, his only companion an empty midnight mask that drowned him in memories.
More often than not, Yifan dined in his chamber. Meals with his father were torturous, filled with heavy silence and distant glances, most filled with disappointment, disgust that filled Yifan with both pain and frustration, the pain of knowing that he had failed his father, the frustration of knowing that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t done anything except be himself; he hadn’t done anything except fallen in love.
Autumn came, the leaves falling golden against the crisp air, and suddenly the palace was bustling with preparations as the Masquerade approached once again. The whole place was more alive than ever: even Yifan’s father regained a little bit of the glimmer in his eye.
But to Yifan, the whole occasion was just one more reminder of what he no longer had. He recalled, somewhat bitterly, the excitement that had coursed through him for the same event, only four years ago, yet now it only loomed in the future, foreboding and throwing itself upon him much too fast.
There had been a flicker of hope when he had gone over the guest list, seeing the Kim family name on there and tracing it lightly with a disbelieving finger, but it soon dissipated. No doubt Sir Kim and his wife would arrive, leaving Junmyeon behind. His suspicions were soon confirmed when his father spoke to him briefly, the first time in months, his voice dead as he addressed the wall behind Yifan. “Don’t even ask. He won’t be there.”
And so the day of the masquerade found Yifan once more locked in his chambers, fiddling idly with a mask of midnight and wishing that the process of getting him ready for the dance could last forever. He also wished that the maids would stop acting so jittery around him, keeping their distance and eyeing him as if he was some sort of unknown species, but he’d gotten plenty of that from the past months, so he resigned to it, allowing them perfect his hair and trying not to let their stares bother him.
They ran away from him all too soon, leaving Yifan to sink into the corner of his bed as the minutes ticked by, the mask still clutched in his grasp. With a dry chuckle and a faint memory of four years ago, he slowly stood up and faced his mirror, carefully fastening the ribbons behind his head.
Junmyeon’s mask stared back, the proportions all wrong on Yifan’s face, screaming of pain, sorrow, heartbreak. The black clashed with his golden hair, the silver streaking from the eye sockets like tear tracks long since shed, fading into the night with buried memories. The ornament spoke of suffering, living with unacceptance, and Yifan gave a dry smile to his reflection, because perhaps the mask fit him perfectly after all.
If his father recognized the headpiece as Junmyeon’s, he said nothing, a smile already plastered into place as he greeted all his guests warmly, a hand on the small of Yifan’s back as he was introduced for a second time, with his father speaking proudly and and showing him off to the guests as if he was the perfect heir. It was almost easy for Yifan to believe his words, to pretend that everything was fine, until Yifan’s father would catch his eyes, his gaze hardening as he smiled emptily at his son.
As the evening progressed, Yifan tried hard to break from his father’s poisonous interactions, overwhelmed by the guests that pressed in on him curiously, seemingly oblivious to the destruction that was growing in Yifan. Every word his father uttered shattered a bit more of his control. He felt himself slowly suffocating; the lights were too bright and the drinks were just out of reach, yet his father kept him firmly to his side, his intentions all too clear: Yifan was not going to escape, though every lying smile just made him all the more determined to get away.
And then he saw the mask of flames.
There was no doubt that it was his: the very one he had worn four years back, the very one he had last seen in Junmyeon’s arms as he disappeared. Yifan sucked in a breath, the orange and gold burning into his eyes as he strained to see more, desperate to confirm the identity of the wearer. But it was no use: he was too far away, and soon the mask was swept away into the sea of guests.
Suddenly more alert than he had been for months, Yifan scanned the crowd, eyes narrowed as he searched once more for a glimpse of orange, but his attempts were met with disappointing results. He didn’t spot the fiery mask again until well into the night, far after the clock had chimed eleven, but eventually he caught sight of it once more, and there was no mistaking the petite figure, the auburn hair that curved around his face, the pale skin that gleamed unnaturally in the dimly lit room.
Hardly daring to believe his eyes, Yifan shook his head to clear his thoughts as he stared after the familiar figure, his eyes never leaving the other man's small frame. The evening was almost over, but Yifan needed to talk to him, needed to hear that voice again, even for just a moment. On edge, he let out a growl of frustration, waiting for a break in his father's concentration. Just one guest would do, one small conversation to occupy his father for enough time to slip away.
Ten minutes later he got his chance.
With his father distracted by the Archduke of one of the western nations, Yifan quickly escaped into the crowd, maneuvering his way towards the center where he was certain he had seen the orange mask last. However, threading through the swaying dancers proved a more difficult feat than Yifan had anticipated, and he quickly lost sight of the feathery flames. With a heavy sigh, Yifan paused in the midst of the guests, his hopes slowly fading with the ticking of the clock.
“Looking for me?”
Yifan jolted in shock, spinning around to find Junmyeon. Junmyeon, standing right there before him with a beautiful smile that lit up the whole room, and Yifan gave a watery grin of his own, suddenly choking back tears as he enveloped the other in a tight hug. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“I missed you too, Yifan.” Junmyeon laughed, his eyes bright as he returned the embrace, clinging to Yifan’s shoulders and burying his face into Yifan’s warmth. The clock was striking midnight and guests around them were beginning the final dance, but none of that mattered because they were together, they were together and nothing would take them apart.
Yifan carefully reached up and unraveled the ribbons of the flaming mask that covered Junmyeon’s face, pulling it away as Junmyeon did the same to his. Shaky smiles met and Yifan leaned their foreheads together. “How did you get in here?”
Junmyeon chuckled, the sound ringing pleasantly in Yifan’s ears. “I followed my parents after they had left. With no one at home to watch me, it was easy to slip away.” He sighed a little, the grin slipping slightly. “Of course, it wasn’t long before he found me here, but there wasn’t really much he could do about it, you know? He’d never make a scene in public, it could ruin his reputation.” Yifan smiled sadly in understanding: his father had spent the evening pretending he still accepted his son, just to give a good appearance and please his guests.
Reaching his palms up to gently cup Junmyeon’s cheeks, a mischievous glint sharpened in Yifan’s gaze. “What say we ruin that reputation, hm?” he murmured, his breath tickling Junmyeon’s lips. Junmyeon’s eyes widened at the suggestion, hesitation clear on his face. But surely a few guests were already watching them curiously, so why not a few more. He nodded slightly, touching his nose to Yifan’s with a dangerous grin. “Perhaps our parents might be afraid of making a scene, but we’re pretty good at doing that already, aren’t we...”
Junmyeon trailed his sentence off and then they were kissing, lips colliding with desperation and longing built from too many months apart, too many days wasted away in suffering and unfair discrimination. Too many moments spent in regret and sorrow, too many wishes begging to see the other just once more. And as the crowds parted around them, backing away in shock, gasps and shouts echoing through the chamber and the music clattering to a halt, they didn’t care. They didn’t care, and they slowly parted and rested foreheads together again, breaths heavy and uneven.
Chaos and turmoil curled around them, sounding distant to their ears, and Junmyeon giggled stupidly while Yifan gave a happy smile, content with just having each other as their world fell apart.
--
Wu Yifan was twenty when he attended his father's masquerade for the last time.
The dance had been absolutely breathtaking to his young eyes. From his perch high above the crowd, Yifan watched in awe, taking in the sight of the stiff gentlemen, greeting each other in their finest ceremonial uniforms, and the graceful ladies that perched on each man’s arm, with flowing gowns that cascaded like waterfalls of every color across the ballroom floor. Sparkling with heavy diamonds that hugged their throats and dangled from their hair and ears, the women curtsied and chatted daintily with other females, silently comparing the jewels of their companions with suppressed haughtiness and pride. Hundreds of his father’s best servants lined the walls and mingled with the crowds, dutifully serving the nation’s largest gathering of wealth and status with impeccable posture and manners.
But what had truly left the young prince mesmerized were the masks. Each attendee, regardless of gender, bore a mask upon their face. Varying in size and color, the masks settled across the faces of the crowd, blurring identities and leaving each guest alone in a crowd of colorful strangers, always to find themselves inexplicably drawn to a certain other masked individual in the room, one that would leave them entranced and desperate for more, desperate to learn of the mystery behind the adorned decoration of feathers and gems. When the clock struck midnight, the final dance would begin, the jostling crowd becoming a single being, swaying gently in pairs to the melody of the orchestra, and each guest would remove their mask, revealing themselves to their partners in a final act of fate.
Or so Yifan believed. And as he sat high above the final dance, peering through the balcony rails in wonder, his feet dangling between, he wanted nothing more than to be one of the people below, to be able to wear a mask of his own. The dance seemed like another world, a place where reality had no meaning. It didn’t matter who was behind that mask, what their past was. There were no wrongs or rights, only faceless people hidden with intricate designs of gold and silver.
Sixteen-year-old Yifan was no less excited, though four more years tacked onto his shoulders had taught him to hide such careless emotion. With a respectful bow to his father and a leaping heart, Yifan remained quiet, determined to set a good reputation. As he had been heavily reminded, it would be the first time he would be publicly introduced as the Prince of the Wu family, and leaving his best impression would be of utmost importance.
The morn of November 21st was upon him in no time, and the whole palace was bustling with the usual preparations. Much to the young prince’s annoyance, he was whisked away to his quarters just after breakfast and subjected to preparation for the whole afternoon. After being scrubbed red and raw for an hour and having his hair coiffed to unnatural perfection for two more, the head maid curtsied politely and cheerfully announced that they were about halfway done with the process.
Three long and torturous hours later, Yifan’s servants were dismissed, finally leaving him to some much needed solitude. With great care, he lifted his mask up from its place on his bedside dresser, holding it delicately in his hands. The mask itself was a brilliant shade of burning orange, streaked with red and gold that glittered under the light, like the flame of a burning furnace. Like a Dragon, his father had told him, comparing it to the fierce symbol of their family name with pride hidden deep in his voice. You will learn to lead this kingdom with a strong hand. The mask was to be the mark of his right to inherit, as it was for his father and grandfather before him. It was a sign of power and maturity, and Yifan was anxious to prove himself worthy of such a beautiful headpiece.
There was a clanging of bells below, announcing the approaching time of the first arrival. Yifan closed his eyes and slowly tied the mask behind his head, feeling the silk ribbons fall gracefully to the nape of his neck. When he turned to the mirror with baited breath, he stopped short, staring at the reflection before him.
Yifan barely recognized the boy that returned his gaze, the face before him merging with the mask of flames, the eyes taking on a glint of fire that danced with the intricate design of embedded orange gems. The mask gave the boy an air of maturity that seemed to heighten his stature, yet shined of youth and longing for something more than a life forever isolated in the palace, forever living out his father’s wishes, forever being the perfect prince the town wanted. The boy in the mask seemed to represent all the dreams that Yifan had never had the courage to consider. All the possibilities that Yifan had tried to bury, hidden in a dark corner of his soul that haunted him day and night
And yet somehow, the figure he saw in the mirror had a closer resemblance to the real Yifan than he did himself.
Too soon, he was standing beside his father in the extravagant ballroom, greeting and introducing himself to each guest that arrived, bowing and exchanging countless polite handshakes, kissing each lady’s hand and throwing out meaningless compliments. The guests loved him, fawning over his handsome features and perfect etiquette, and his father soaked it all in, laughing joyously with old friends of his. Can you believe how tall he is? And only sixteen too. He must have gotten his looks from his mother. True to his father’s wishes, Yifan retained his cool facade, standing tall and smiling minimally under the blazing designs of his mask.
Eventually, after all the guests had been ushered in and all the important ones greeted, his father excused himself from his side, leaving him in the crowds of people with a last word of advice to speak only when spoken to and not to cause any trouble. Yifan just nodded mutely at his father’s already retreating back, watching as he was quickly swallowed by the sea of people.
The gathering of people was possibly even more breathtaking up close, and much more real compared to staring longingly from the balcony. Yifan spent the time carefully making his way through the crowds, pausing often to bow and exchange simple formalities with some of the masked guests who remembered him from the door. The positive reaction to his presence was overwhelming, and by the time Yifan had made it to the other end of the room to take a much needed break from the guests, he was already feeling mentally exhausted, although the masquerade had yet to reach its peak.
With a heavy sigh, Yifan leaned against one of the small tables off to the side, careful not to upset the elaborate flower arrangement that threatened to spill out of its vase. As excited and nervous as he was for the event, the age difference between the him and the guests was rather intimidating and despite his tall demeanor, Yifan was definitely one of the youngest present at the occasion. He knew that some of the nobles had brought along their young daughters, most likely in anticipation that one of them would catch his attention, but as he scanned the room, his eyes didn’t land on any of those hopeful young women.
Instead, his gaze locked with a young male across the room.mso-bidi-font-family:"Comic Sans MS";color:red">
From a distance, Yifan was at first almost convinced the other was female, but closer inspection revealed shoulders just a little too broad, although the figure was petite enough to make him think twice. The boy could not have been any older than Yifan was, and he was dressed in a dark, ink-blue uniform, adorned with silver chains and ringlets that glimmered when the boy moved, a sure sign he was from a northern region, and likely a prince.
But what had really caught Yifan’s attention was the boy’s mask, a stunning ornament of pitch-black, sleek with raven curves that followed the sharp jawline with subtle elegance. Thin silver lines rimmed the eyes, fading away into swirls of glinting diamonds that splattered the headpiece like stars against a midnight sky. The mask itself seemed to mold into the face, enunciating every contour, the dark colors in stark contrast to the almost obscenely pale skin. It brought the emotions of the boy to life, speaking to Yifan of both happiness and misery, of mystery and untold secrets, and overall a longing for something else, something away from it all.
And as the boy returned his stare with a small, knowing smile, it was almost like looking at his reflection all over again.
Yifan was inexplicably drawn towards the other side of the room. He needed to know more about this boy who with just one glance had been so different and yet so similar to himself. Or perhaps, Yifan dared to consider, they were similar because they were different? Forbidden thoughts began to spread through his mind, filling Yifan with wary hope and overturning wishes that had been buried away long ago.
Trying to push his way through the mingling guests, Yifan soon found himself bombarded with greetings and questions on all sides, half-curious nobles who were more interested in winning favor with the king than actually getting to know his only son. With what seemed like an endless number of forced smiles and distracted answers, hastily excusing himself each time, he stumbled out of the crowd to his destination, feeling more than a little exasperated when the mysterious boy was no longer anywhere to be found. Angrily, Yifan ran one hand through his hair and leaned against the wall in defeat, tousling the perfectly styled result of many excruciating hours of preparation.
His disappointment was short-lived.
“Looking for me?” The boy appeared suddenly behind him, causing Yifan to jolt in surprise. He turned and leveled what he hoped was a stern glare at the other. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He hissed, causing the boy to chuckle delightedly and offer him a bright, disarming smile.
Yifan knew he was staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he raked his eyes appreciatively over the other boy, drinking in every detail. He was possibly even more breathtaking up close, with warm auburn hair that fell around his mask and a lively glimmer in his eyes, bringing strong emotion to his delicate features that gave poise to his small and fragile stature.
With his shoulders still shaking in silent mirth, the boy watched Yifan with an amused expression, waiting for him to say something more. Scowling, Yifan narrowed his eyes and pulled them away. “Name?” he inquired, willing his face to remain passive. The boy just smiled yet again and bowed politely.
“Kim Junmyeon, at your service.” Even his voice was entrancing, a soft chime that filled Yifan’s ears, flitting emotion through just four simple words. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Wu Yifan.”
“How do you know me?”
“You are the talk of the nation,” Junmyeon informed him lightly, the calm smile never leaving his face. “A better question would be to ask who doesn’t know you.”
“I don’t know me.” Yifan didn’t know why he said it, but as the soft words cut through the air, he knew it was the truth. Sighing and closing his eyes, Junmyeon’s smile became pained, burdened with understanding.
“It’s all right, I don’t know me either.”
With neither of them willing to conquer the swirling room, crowded to the brim with dancing royals who seemed to become increasingly tipsy by the minute, they stayed to the side and found a suitable, if not overly extravagant, handcrafted mahogany bench to rest on, spending hours exchanging casual words and occasional light touches that tingled on Yifan’s skin long afterwards.
Junmyeon was his opposite in every way, with his small frame and easy expressions, emotions falling easily on his face and kindness radiating from his every movement. In comparison to Yifan’s towering height, his every action guarded and stiff, they were nothing alike. And yet at the same time, they were. And although any darker, pressing topics were carefully avoided, Yifan could still see the coldness in Junmyeon’s eyes that surfaced as he told Yifan about his background.
Yifan had been correct in assuming the other boy was from the north. The Kim family, Junmyeon explained, ruled a smaller kingdom just northwest of the area, a vast region with few inhabitants due to the harsh chill that came with the year round blizzards of snow. His father was an old acquaintance of Yifan’s; they had fought side by side in a border skirmish some many years before either Yifan or Junmyeon had been born, although Yifan soon learned with some smugness that he was indeed older than the smaller boy, if only by half a year.
As the clock dragged closer to midnight, the mull of conversation slowly dropped to a low murmur as the pair sat side by side, apart from the mobs of shallow ladies and snobbish gentlemen, away from the loud shouts and merry dancing. The lights dimmed as softer songs began to play, singing out from the orchestra strings and calming the crowd into a gentle sway. The two boys fell into a comfortable silence, letting the soothing melodies wash away everything wrong with their lives. Letting it all drift away until they were the only ones left in the world, the only ones that mattered.
“Yifan,” Junmyeon’s whisper broke through the calming silence, his voice thoughtful and questioning.
“Mmm...?”
“Do you ever get tired of living a lie?” Junmyeon’s eyes were wide behind his mask, searching anxiously for Yifan’s own eyes. It was a silent plea, screaming with the desperate need for someone else to understand.
And Yifan did.
“Every day of my life.”
Junmyeon smiled weakly and turned his eyes to the dancing couples in the room, watching as each man and woman twirled by in each other’s arms. He brought his own arms up to wrap them around his small torso, suppressing a shiver. “Yifan,” he whispered once more, his voice cracking. “Are we... allowed to...?”
Yifan wrapped an arm around the other boy’s shoulders, pulling him closer and burying his nose in the soft auburn locks. “We have the same rights that they do.”
Junmyeon welcomed Yifan’s embrace, leaning into the warmth and hiding his face in Yifan’s neck. “Yifan,” he choked out, the words catching haltingly in his throat. “I don’t want to wear this mask anymore.”
Yifan knew Junmyeon wasn’t talking about the masquerade ornament.
“You don’t have to.”
The clock chimed midnight, clanging loudly through the ballroom and marking the beginning of the final dance of the night. Yifan tugged gently on the silk ribbon of his companion’s mask, willing the other to meet his gaze. “Junmyeon...”
The other boy swallowed nervously and nodded, wordlessly reaching to untie the strands of Yifan’s own headpiece. With shaking hands, the masks fell away, their faces becoming bare and unguarded, and wide eyes took in the sight of the other for the first time.
Yifan hesitantly cupped a hand around Junmyeon’s pale cheek, marveling at the smooth porcelain skin that seemed to burn under his touch. The other boy was absolutely beautiful, from his steadily reddening cheeks to his soft lips that Yifan trailed one thumb across, willing Junmyeon’s mouth to part just slightly, just enough to let in an unsteady intake of breath.
“Yifa-”
The words died instantly as Yifan brushed his lips timidly against Junmyeon’s, barely enough to be a kiss. His breath ghosted lightly over the other’s mouth as he pulled away almost immediately, embarrassed, and averted his eyes as Junmyeon spluttered brokenly, his mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to pull his thoughts together.
“Yifan what if they see us-”
But Yifan took hold of Junmyeon’s slender wrist, pulling the shorter boy to his feet and dragging him away, their masks forgotten on the bench. Turning into an archway that led away from the ballroom, Yifan ducked behind the pillars of the entrance, pulling Junmyeon down with him into the small corner that was hidden from the rest of the guests.
Far from prying eyes, Junmyeon was the one to initiate. Curling into Yifan’s lap, he leaned up to return the kiss, his mouth moving shyly at first against Yifan’s with inexperience. Yifan easily took control, running a hand through the hair at the base of Junmyeon’s neck and tilting the angle of the kiss and feeling Junmyeon’s lips mold pliantly with his own. Pulling away for a quick breath of air never lasted long, and each time they returned for more, meeting each searing kiss with more fervor than the last. Soft kisses merged into sharp nips, Yifan sucking in Junmyeon’s swollen lip in order to lap his tongue into the other’s mouth, reveling in the taste of desire that surfaced with every stifled moan and eager curl of hands in fabric.
And yet all too soon, the orchestra music was fading and they forced themselves to pull away, chests heaving and hearts racing with fast paced uncertainty mixed with overwhelming want. But the end of the evening was steadily approaching, and the fear of being seen weighed heavily on their minds.
Yifan reluctantly got to his feet, offering a hand to his companion that Junmyeon graciously accepted, a small smile crossing his features as his hand lingered in Yifan’s hold. He leaned up quickly to peck the other boy’s lips teasingly one last time, before they pulled away and returned to the main room, their masks falling back into place as they mingled once more with the guests.
Somewhere in between the bows and the handshakes, Yifan lost Junmyeon in the crowd, his auburn hair disappearing into the evening, leaving him with only a memory and a midnight mask forgotten on a bench.
-
Junmyeon haunted Yifan’s thoughts for months afterwards, filling his mind with soft smiles and soft lips that often turned into fantasies that plagued his young adolescent body, dreams of running hands down impossibly smooth skin that would end with Yifan lying awake at unfathomable hours of the morning, muffling moans of Junmyeon’s name into his pillow.
The thought of waiting four more years to finally see him again was unbearable. As the weeks passed, Yifan grew so restless and irritable that his father eventually demanded to know what could possibly be the matter over breakfast one morning. "You've been quiet ever since the masquerade," he said, eyeing Yifan thoughtfully, "I may be old, but my wit has not failed me yet. Something's bothering you, son."
Yifan set his utensils down, biting his cheek apprehensively. Telling the whole truth was completely out of the question: his father had much more important things to deal with than the horrification of learning that his only heir and beloved son was a queer. A bitter smile threatened to spread at the thought.
Yifan had already come to terms with the fact that he would never be normal under the judgemental eyes of society at a young age. Try as he might, he couldn't change who he was, and eventually he had given up, resigning and burying his sexual orientation far away from the surface. Yifan was good at lying: he lived one every day of his life.
But Junmyeon resurfaced in his mind as he opened his mouth to reply. The complete truth was unacceptable, but perhaps...?
"Father, I met... a friend. At the masquerade," he began hesitantly, watching his father's expression carefully for any sign of suspicion. When his father's brow just furrowed curiously, he took that as a safe sign to elaborate.
"He's another prince... of the Kim family? He said his father was an old acquaintance of yours." Fidgeting his hands in his lap, he sighed and added quietly, "It's just... I've never really had someone my age to talk to, before.”
Much to Yifan's surprise, his father laughed heartily, slapping his knee and grinning at his son. "Why, Sir Kim is a wonderful friend of mine!" He exclaimed, leaning over to ruffle Yifan's hair with one large hand. "Why didn't you just say so, my boy? I'd be happy to invite him and his son to dine, goodness knows we need some company around here." Yifan gaped at his father, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. "Really, Father?" he asked, a hopeful smile breaking onto his face. "Could you really...?"
"I don't see why not. A palace can seem a rather lonely place with only two people to inhabit it."
Yifan hugged his father, unable to contain his excitement. "Thank you so much," he managed as he quickly pulled away, embarrassed. He hadn't embraced his father in years.
But his father just grinned wider, patting his son comfortingly on his back. Yifan returned the smile with one if his own, silently hating that he was unable to tell his father how much his kindness truly meant to him.
-
True to his word, Yifan's father sent an invitation to the north, and Yifan waited on edge as the days passed, waiting for any sign of a reply. To his great delight, the messenger returned only a week later, bearing good tidings, and preparations were made to greet his Majesty Kim and his son, who were to arrive within a fortnight-which was almost too long for Yifan despite the passing months he had already endured. He paced restlessly around the palace, anxious to finally see Junmyeon once more.
And then the day came and the butler was announcing the arrival and, as their guests were lead into the dining hall, as his father greeted his old friend with much enthusiasm and as they were directed to seats around the end of the engraved long-table that probably could’ve fit ten times the amount of people present, Yifan couldn’t pull his gaze away, because Junmyeon was there; Junmyeon was standing right there before him and suddenly it was as if all the months hadn’t passed and Yifan was absolutely entranced.
They didn’t dare greet each other in the presence of their fathers, instead settling with a nod from Yifan and a slight, knowing quirk of the lips from Junmyeon. They sat down across from each other, as Sir Kim took the seat adjacent from his father’s position at the head of the table. The majority of the courses were spent listening to the grownups talk jovially and answering politely to the older men when addressed, all the while watching the other closely. Yifan tried really hard not to molest Junmyeon with his eyes but it was a difficult feat, considering Junmyeon was doing pretty much just that with a stare so intense it made all of Yifan’s lucid dreams resurface from his sub-consciousness. Yifan bit his lip and shook his head to try to control his thoughts, glaring at Junmyeon who just smiled sweetly like he knew exactly what Yifan was thinking.
Eventually, as the final dishes were being cleared away, Yifan’s father dismissed the two boys with a bright laugh. “I know you two must want some alone time,” he said, waving a hand at them both. “Now shoo, while us men discuss adult stuff.”
Yifan and Junmyeon needed no more persuasion, and they both quickly jumped to their feet, bowing hastily and rushing out of the room. Yifan grabbed Junmyeon’s hand and pulled him down the corridors, determined to find a secluded spot far away from any servants that might be at work that evening.
As soon as he had pulled them both into a small nook in the far west tower, Junmyeon was on him, pressing tight against Yifan’s chest and kissing him forcefully, hands wound in the fabric of Yifan’s shirt. The kiss was desperate and heated, much more so than that first time so many months ago, and Yifan moved his mouth urgently against Junmyeon’s as his hands curled around the small of the other’s back. Every nerve of Yifan’s body tingled as their hips pressed together, moaning into Junmyeon’s kiss with surprise as he felt the other’s hardness pressing into him through the fabric. Parting for air, Junmyeon looked up at Yifan, his eyes darkened with need and face reddened with embarrassment. “I-” he stuttered and closed his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut ashamedly and burying his face into the crook of Yifan’s neck.
Yifan brought one hand up to thread his fingers gently through Junmyeon’s hair, pulling him closer. “I missed you so much, Junmyeon,” he whispered, breathing the words against Junmyeon’s ear, his voice rough. Junmyeon shivered and let out a low moan as Yifan moved his own hips against Junmyeon’s, letting his hardened length press in and giving away his obviously mutual need for the other. They rutted desperately against each other, overwhelmed with lust and desire, and Junmyeon keened in the back of his throat as he turned his head and allowed Yifan to rake his teeth down the pale expanse of his neck, leaving sensitive red bruises, nipping sharply at the exposed collarbones and sucking the adam’s apple the bobbed shakily as their arousals rubbed together.
Inexperienced and young, they both came in their pants, biting back sharp cries and breathing heavily as they clutched at each other. Yifan slowly fell to the ground, his thighs quivering weakly, and he leaned against the wall, pulling Junmyeon between his legs and into a tight embrace.
They sat there in silence, Junmyeon curled into Yifan’s chest, his head tucked firmly under Yifan’s chin as they both slowly calmed their breathing and reveled in each other’s warm embrace. Junmyeon eventually spoke up, murmuring softly into the air. “Yifan, I... these past months, you’re all I think about, I just-” he paused, sighing and snuggling in closer as Yifan wrapped his arms tighter around him. “I don’t know what to do.”
Yifan kissed the other boy’s head lightly. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said quietly, burying his nose into the soft auburn hair. “Just stay with me, Junmyeon.”
“You know I want to,” Junmyeon whispered, his voice muffled against Yifan’s shirt. A relaxed silence fell over them once more, a blanket that surrounded them with comfort in the growing darkness of the corridor. Neither wanted to acknowledge the passing time, reluctant to return to their fathers, who would no doubt eventually be looking for them in order to enforce curfew.
Junmyeon stirred slightly in Yifan’s arms, rotating so his back leaned into the other’s chest. His voice broke through the air once more, his tone hesitant and slow. “Yifan.”
“Mm.”
“Why is this wrong in their eyes?” He didn’t elaborate on his words. He didn’t need to.
Yifan hummed thoughtfully into Junmyeon’s hair. “What comes naturally to us is abnormal to others. And that... it scares them, the idea of something that is different.”
Junmyeon snorted quietly, unable to keep resentment out of his voice. “And so they lock us away? Pretend that we’re inferior, something to be looked down upon in disgust?” He laughed dryly, bringing his knees tight against his chest and huddling once more into Yifan’s warmth. “They call us sinners, but they’re the ones who use our differences to place themselves higher.”
Yifan exhaled softly, tilting Junmyeon’s chin upmso-bidi-font-family:"Comic Sans MS";color:red"> to place a soft kiss on his lips. “I know,” he murmured against the other’s mouth as Junmyeon responded to the touch. “Junmyeon...” he pulled away, though just barely, his lips still within millimeters of the other boy’s kiss swollen ones. Reaching up one hand to caress a smooth, pale cheek, he smiled gently and rubbed a thumb in small circles under Junmyeon’s lidded eye. “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.”
Laughing quietly into the dimming evening, Junmyeon maneuvered his legs, turning to straddle Yifan’s waist as he leaned close and kissed Yifan once more, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck.
“I want you.”
-
When they returned to the dining hall, careful to first hide tell-tale signs and flatten their hair as best as possible, their fathers were just turning in for the night, and a servant was called upon to lead Junmyeon and his father to their respective guest rooms.
Hours later, long after the long halls of the palace had fallen into slumber, Yifan slipped into Junmyeon’s room and stayed until the first rays of light, holding Junmyeon close as hushed conversations turned to sleepy murmurs turned to quiet breathing, finding comfort in each other’s embrace.
-
Much to Yifan’s dismay, Junmyeon and his father departed the next day, promising to visit more often and in turn to invite the Wu family over to their own kingdom. Junmyeon gave Yifan a quick hug of farewell that only lasted a little too long for just-friends before the smaller boy pulled away, smiling up at Yifan with a quirk on his mouth being the only thing that gave away the true intentions behind his whispered “see you later.”
The visits soon became routine as months continued to pass, leaves falling from the trees and leaving branches bare, snow falling softly from grey skies and then melting into the fresh spring air as buds appeared once more and the two boys grew older. After the turn of Yifan’s eighteenth year, his father agreed to let him travel to Junmyeon’s kingdom on his own.
He arrived in the evening, appearing on Junmyeon’s doorstep shivering but bright-eyed, and after sharing a meal with the whole Kim family, he was pulled away to Junmyeon’s rooms where they collapsed onto the bed, pulling at clothes and covering each other in feverish kisses. Moans were bitten back and cries smothered as skin beaded with sweat slid sensually and Junmyeon’s fingers dug into Yifan’s back, inhaling sharply as Yifan thrust into him for the first time.
Later, when Yifan lay sleepily on top of Junmyeon, nuzzled into the crook of the other’s neck, Junmyeon ran his fingers idly through Yifan’s mussed golden hair, a contemplative look on his face. “Yifan,” he said slowly, threading his fingers through a particularly stubborn lock, “How long can this last?”
Yifan whined softly and kissed the crease between Junmyeon’s furrowed brows. “Forever.” He pressed his lips against the corner of Junmyeon’s mouth in an attempt to loosen the other’s expression, but Junmyeon’s frown remained and he turned his head toward his companion slightly, his eyes wide and anxious. “You heard my father earlier. They’re going to want us to marry and take charge eventually. If we don’t do something, they’re going to figure us out sooner or later... And then what?” Leaning his forehead into Yifan’s, he closed his eyes, taking a deep, quivering breath and exhaling slowly. “I don’t want to lose you...”
Yifan rolled onto his side, pulling Junmyeon close. “We’ll figure something out,” he promised.
But he wasn’t so sure.
-
Junmyeon had been right to worry. As Yifan approached his nineteenth year, his father became restless, determined to find a suitable wife for his heir. Every conversation they shared was always the same, his father beginning with, “Yifan, have you found one? Any young lasses catch your fancy?” and Yifan could only smile distantly and shake his head. “Not yet, father.”
And then the balls began to occur. Anxious for his only son to find a partner, his father began holding more festive occasions than ever before, purposefully inviting all his acquaintances and their young daughters.
Of course, he also invited the Kims, who they were now on very good terms with, so each house-party ended up quite counterproductive. The women all stormed away in huffs and pouted dangerously from the corners of the room, distraught gazes longingly watching the two handsome princes that only seemed to have eyes for each other.
But as the number of failed matchmaking attempts mounted higher and higher, his father grew worried, and Yifan and Junmyeon knew it would only be a matter of time before the worry turned to suspicion.
-
It was a cold February evening, the beginning of their twentieth year, when it all came crashing down.
They were on the engraved mahogany bench, the one they had met on years ago, shoulders brushing and hands loosely entwined. Yifan leaned back and stared out at the now empty expanse of the room, recalling it being filled with swirling guests that night, gracefully dancing in their glamorous gowns and masks. And then suddenly his eyes widened and he turned to Junmyeon in realization. “I never returned your mask to you...”
Junmyeon chuckled, his eyes creasing around the edges as he grinned up at Yifan. “That’s all right,” he said, amusement still coloring his voice, “I let my mask fall for you that night anyways. It seems appropriate that you should keep it.”
Yifan placed a light, chaste kiss on Junmyeon’s lips, his own quirking into a small grin. “Does that mean I should give you mine?” He asked, bringing their connected hands up to press his mouth to Junmyeon’s knuckles gently."Comic Sans MS";mso-bidi-font-family:"Comic Sans MS";color:red">
Junmyeon just leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling as he returned Yifan’s affections with a slight peck on the cheek. “If you would like.”
And as innocent as the interaction was, a young maid witnessed it with terrified eyes from the entranceway of the room, her mop falling to the floor with a loud clatter as she clasped a hand to her mouth and dashed away.
The noise filled the room, disrupting the two young men, and Junmyeon jolted, catching a glimpse of the servant’s retreating back and turning to Yifan fearfully as the other closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold stone wall. “Yifan what if she goes to our fathers-”
“She will.” Yifan cut Junmyeon off, pulling him close to his side and taking a slow, calming breath. Junmyeon squirmed, panicking in Yifan’s arms. “What should we do, they can’t see us like this, Yifan they’ll kill us, they’ll-” But Yifan cut him off once more, hiding Junmyeon’s face in his neck and breathing in the scent of Junmyeon’s hair that he loved so much.
“I don’t want to run from this,” He whispered quietly into the other’s ear, rubbing circles on his back to calm Junmyeon’s trembling form. “Just stay with me a little longer, Junmyeon... just give me these last few moments with you.”
Junmyeon let out a choked sob and nodded weakly, wrapping his arms around Yifan’s neck and staying there, letting Yifan cling to him as time ticked away, counting down the end of their forever.
They could hear the angry footsteps long before their fathers came into view, both of the older men wearing similar scowls as they approached their sons. Junmyeon quickly detached himself from Yifan’s hold, scooting away and gripping the edge of the bench, his knuckles white and his body tense.
Junmyeon’s father was absolutely livid. “I always knew you were a little faggot,” he sneered, hoisting his son up by the collar, his words spitting into Junmyeon’s face. Junmyeon winced and hung his head, saying nothing, but Yifan snarled and pushed the older man away. “Touch him one more time and I swear-”
“Yifan.”
There was a touch on his shoulder and Yifan turned to see his own father, who looked up at him with a pained expression gracing his wrinkled features. Though he was much more composed than Junmyeon’s father, his quiet tone rang out clearly into the tense air.
“Yifan, tell me it isn’t true.” The words, barely more than a whisper, were filled with hurt and unspoken betrayal. Yifan closed his eyes, unable to meet his father’s broken gaze. Taking a shaky breath, he carefully, deliberately, entwined his fingers with Junmyeon’s own. Wishing for the impossible.
But then his father looked away, averting his eyes and Yifan felt like he was splitting in half as the only parental figure he had ever known, the man who had always looked after him, with his booming laugh and endless praise, was turning his back, shutting Yifan out.
“Please remove your son from my kingdom,” his father said slowly, addressing the seething man next to him with a voice that was emotionless and cold. “I am sorry things have to end like this.” He said no more, leaving with a sweep of his cloak and dead footsteps that echoed piercingly throughout the room.
Junmyeon’s father had a tight grip on his son once again, yanking his shoulder in a painful motion and hissing harsh, harassing words in his ear as he dragged him away, away from Yifan, and then Yifan was alone, his eyes wide and unseeing as he did the only thing left that made sense anymore.
He forced his legs to move, first taking painful steps that slowly broke into a brisk walk, and then sprinting through the hallways as he raced to his chambers, slamming doors and rummaging through dressers before he eventually found the mask of flame that he had hidden away, tucked into a drawer next to Junmyeon’s. With shaking fingers, he delicately held up the fiery headpiece, tracing the soft lines of gold and orange and remembering the first time he had put it on, the first time he had laid eyes on Junmyeon, and it only brought angry tears to his eyes that he blinked at furiously, throwing the mask onto his bed and sinking into the mattress next to it, his head cradled in his hands.
It was all his fault, he knew, for holding on to something he could never have, for ignoring the dangers, for giving in to false hope that maybe it could be okay, that it could all work out because that’s what always happened in stories, right? The prince always got the princess in the end, and everything would fall into place.
But there had never been any stories about two princes. And Yifan knew that it didn’t matter how much they loved each other because in the end it would always be the same: they would always be stared at in disgust, would always be looked at as something abnormal, something that didn’t belong.
And no matter how many masks they used to hide, it wouldn’t change the fact that what they had would never be accepted. But that wasn’t important, Yifan had convinced himself. It didn’t matter, as long as they had each other.
Except now they didn’t have each other.
And Yifan stood up from his bed, letting the quiet tears fall from his eyes as he grabbed the mask and left the room, determined to find Junmyeon one more time.
-
He caught up to Junmyeon just as they were leaving, his father having been all too happy to follow through with his Majesty Wu’s suggestion. Yifan ran up as they were saddling the horses, too out of breath to do anything but shove the mask into Junmyeon’s arms. The other looked up, wide eyes blinking in shock, and Yifan gave him a small smile, pushing his hair back from his face in a nervous habit. Junmyeon looked back down at the mask in his hands, fingering the intricate golden fringes, and then his lip was quivering and he bit back a choked cry, throwing himself into Yifan’s arms.
“How can everything be ruined so fast?” He asked between strangled sobs, clutching at Yifan’s shirt. Yifan could only hold him close, whispering empty words that did nothing for comfort. “I don’t know,” he repeated, over and over, as if somehow it would make things right, as if somehow it could be that simple.
Junmyeon reached up with shaky hands, placing them on Yifan’s cheeks and pulling him downwards to place one last tentative kiss on his lips. Yifan knew it was a bad idea, that Junmyeon’s father would probably round the corner any second, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that. All that mattered was Junmyeon: Junmyeon’s lips, Junmyeon’s hands, Junmyeon’s tears, Junmyeon’s sorrow. And so Yifan kissed him back, desperate to cling to what they had, desperate to take away that sorrow.
“You little-” Junmyeon was wrenched away from Yifan’s arms as his father appeared and pushed them apart. Yifan stumbled backwards, almost losing his footing as Sir Kim advanced towards him, his eyes lit with anger and contempt beyond belief. “If you touch my son one more time, so help me I will chop off your hands and feed them to my pigs,” he threatened, his eyebrows furrowing with a sinister smirk. “I heard swine just love the taste of queers.” Spitting spitefully in Yifan’s direction, he turned and led his son away.
Yifan clenched his fists and hung his head, forcing himself to stay silent because he knew that fighting back would only ignite more violence. Junmyeon’s father shoved his son towards the horses, forcing him to mount as he swung a leg and settled onto his own saddle. Junmyeon sat still, shooting Yifan one last, pleading glance, before his father cracked the whip on the behind of Junmyeon’s horse, frightening it into taking off into the night.
And then Junmyeon was gone, and Yifan hated himself for not trying harder to keep him.
-
The months passed in agony. Between Junmyeon’s absence and his father’s cold silence, Yifan felt himself slowly slipping away, locking himself inside his rooms for days on end, his only companion an empty midnight mask that drowned him in memories.
More often than not, Yifan dined in his chamber. Meals with his father were torturous, filled with heavy silence and distant glances, most filled with disappointment, disgust that filled Yifan with both pain and frustration, the pain of knowing that he had failed his father, the frustration of knowing that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t done anything except be himself; he hadn’t done anything except fallen in love.
Autumn came, the leaves falling golden against the crisp air, and suddenly the palace was bustling with preparations as the Masquerade approached once again. The whole place was more alive than ever: even Yifan’s father regained a little bit of the glimmer in his eye.
But to Yifan, the whole occasion was just one more reminder of what he no longer had. He recalled, somewhat bitterly, the excitement that had coursed through him for the same event, only four years ago, yet now it only loomed in the future, foreboding and throwing itself upon him much too fast.
There had been a flicker of hope when he had gone over the guest list, seeing the Kim family name on there and tracing it lightly with a disbelieving finger, but it soon dissipated. No doubt Sir Kim and his wife would arrive, leaving Junmyeon behind. His suspicions were soon confirmed when his father spoke to him briefly, the first time in months, his voice dead as he addressed the wall behind Yifan. “Don’t even ask. He won’t be there.”
And so the day of the masquerade found Yifan once more locked in his chambers, fiddling idly with a mask of midnight and wishing that the process of getting him ready for the dance could last forever. He also wished that the maids would stop acting so jittery around him, keeping their distance and eyeing him as if he was some sort of unknown species, but he’d gotten plenty of that from the past months, so he resigned to it, allowing them perfect his hair and trying not to let their stares bother him.
They ran away from him all too soon, leaving Yifan to sink into the corner of his bed as the minutes ticked by, the mask still clutched in his grasp. With a dry chuckle and a faint memory of four years ago, he slowly stood up and faced his mirror, carefully fastening the ribbons behind his head.
Junmyeon’s mask stared back, the proportions all wrong on Yifan’s face, screaming of pain, sorrow, heartbreak. The black clashed with his golden hair, the silver streaking from the eye sockets like tear tracks long since shed, fading into the night with buried memories. The ornament spoke of suffering, living with unacceptance, and Yifan gave a dry smile to his reflection, because perhaps the mask fit him perfectly after all.
If his father recognized the headpiece as Junmyeon’s, he said nothing, a smile already plastered into place as he greeted all his guests warmly, a hand on the small of Yifan’s back as he was introduced for a second time, with his father speaking proudly and and showing him off to the guests as if he was the perfect heir. It was almost easy for Yifan to believe his words, to pretend that everything was fine, until Yifan’s father would catch his eyes, his gaze hardening as he smiled emptily at his son.
As the evening progressed, Yifan tried hard to break from his father’s poisonous interactions, overwhelmed by the guests that pressed in on him curiously, seemingly oblivious to the destruction that was growing in Yifan. Every word his father uttered shattered a bit more of his control. He felt himself slowly suffocating; the lights were too bright and the drinks were just out of reach, yet his father kept him firmly to his side, his intentions all too clear: Yifan was not going to escape, though every lying smile just made him all the more determined to get away.
And then he saw the mask of flames.
There was no doubt that it was his: the very one he had worn four years back, the very one he had last seen in Junmyeon’s arms as he disappeared. Yifan sucked in a breath, the orange and gold burning into his eyes as he strained to see more, desperate to confirm the identity of the wearer. But it was no use: he was too far away, and soon the mask was swept away into the sea of guests.
Suddenly more alert than he had been for months, Yifan scanned the crowd, eyes narrowed as he searched once more for a glimpse of orange, but his attempts were met with disappointing results. He didn’t spot the fiery mask again until well into the night, far after the clock had chimed eleven, but eventually he caught sight of it once more, and there was no mistaking the petite figure, the auburn hair that curved around his face, the pale skin that gleamed unnaturally in the dimly lit room.
Hardly daring to believe his eyes, Yifan shook his head to clear his thoughts as he stared after the familiar figure, his eyes never leaving the other man's small frame. The evening was almost over, but Yifan needed to talk to him, needed to hear that voice again, even for just a moment. On edge, he let out a growl of frustration, waiting for a break in his father's concentration. Just one guest would do, one small conversation to occupy his father for enough time to slip away.
Ten minutes later he got his chance.
With his father distracted by the Archduke of one of the western nations, Yifan quickly escaped into the crowd, maneuvering his way towards the center where he was certain he had seen the orange mask last. However, threading through the swaying dancers proved a more difficult feat than Yifan had anticipated, and he quickly lost sight of the feathery flames. With a heavy sigh, Yifan paused in the midst of the guests, his hopes slowly fading with the ticking of the clock.
“Looking for me?”
Yifan jolted in shock, spinning around to find Junmyeon. Junmyeon, standing right there before him with a beautiful smile that lit up the whole room, and Yifan gave a watery grin of his own, suddenly choking back tears as he enveloped the other in a tight hug. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“I missed you too, Yifan.” Junmyeon laughed, his eyes bright as he returned the embrace, clinging to Yifan’s shoulders and burying his face into Yifan’s warmth. The clock was striking midnight and guests around them were beginning the final dance, but none of that mattered because they were together, they were together and nothing would take them apart.
Yifan carefully reached up and unraveled the ribbons of the flaming mask that covered Junmyeon’s face, pulling it away as Junmyeon did the same to his. Shaky smiles met and Yifan leaned their foreheads together. “How did you get in here?”
Junmyeon chuckled, the sound ringing pleasantly in Yifan’s ears. “I followed my parents after they had left. With no one at home to watch me, it was easy to slip away.” He sighed a little, the grin slipping slightly. “Of course, it wasn’t long before he found me here, but there wasn’t really much he could do about it, you know? He’d never make a scene in public, it could ruin his reputation.” Yifan smiled sadly in understanding: his father had spent the evening pretending he still accepted his son, just to give a good appearance and please his guests.
Reaching his palms up to gently cup Junmyeon’s cheeks, a mischievous glint sharpened in Yifan’s gaze. “What say we ruin that reputation, hm?” he murmured, his breath tickling Junmyeon’s lips. Junmyeon’s eyes widened at the suggestion, hesitation clear on his face. But surely a few guests were already watching them curiously, so why not a few more. He nodded slightly, touching his nose to Yifan’s with a dangerous grin. “Perhaps our parents might be afraid of making a scene, but we’re pretty good at doing that already, aren’t we...”
Junmyeon trailed his sentence off and then they were kissing, lips colliding with desperation and longing built from too many months apart, too many days wasted away in suffering and unfair discrimination. Too many moments spent in regret and sorrow, too many wishes begging to see the other just once more. And as the crowds parted around them, backing away in shock, gasps and shouts echoing through the chamber and the music clattering to a halt, they didn’t care. They didn’t care, and they slowly parted and rested foreheads together again, breaths heavy and uneven.
Chaos and turmoil curled around them, sounding distant to their ears, and Junmyeon giggled stupidly while Yifan gave a happy smile, content with just having each other as their world fell apart.
--
Wu Yifan was twenty when he attended his father's masquerade for the last time.