#319: love is simple (love is easy)
Prompt: #319
Title: love is simple (love is easy)
Pairing: Chen/Suho
Rating: PG
Warnings: swearing, general ridiculousness
Word count: ~5300
Summary: Jongdae has expectations. Joonmyun breaks them.
The first time Jongdae meets Joonmyun, he's less than impressed. To be fair, Joonmyun had walked his horse straight into an unsuspecting Jongdae, and knocked him to the ground. Jongdae had picked himself off the ground in a fit of righteous anger. When Joonmyun tells the story, it's less righteous anger and more irrational pompousness, considering Joonmyun apologized three times and offered his hand for Jongdae to pull himself up.
("Shh," Jongdae usually hushes, pressing a finger to Joonmyun's lips, "I'm telling the story."
"Wrong," Joonmyun adds, but lets Jongdae continue.)
Jongdae had assumed that the stranger, dressed in fine clothes, was a merchant's son, never mind that only nobles had horses in the city. Even merchants couldn't afford to keep such beasts in their stables, preferring their ships and boats to land travel. He'd been at the castle for a year now, the castle physician, Yixing, sheltering him as a favor to his mother, and Jongdae had never seen this handsome stranger's face before. He'd have remembered that face.
Naturally, Jongdae had gone on to curse Joonmyun's father, mother, and horse-especially his horse-and stormed off before Joonmyun could do more than say, "I'm sorry," for the fourth time.
Jongdae doesn't expect to see Joonmyun again. He definitely doesn't expect him to be the prince, heir to the throne of Camelot. And, Jongdae most definitely definitely doesn't expect to meet him for the second time at the feast celebrating his return from his year abroad in the east.
Joonmyun looks startled to find Jongdae tending to his food and drink. "You," he says, loud enough that his cousin, Minseok-one of the few nobles Jongdae can stand and who'd given Jongdae a conspiratorial grin before the dinner-looks over curiously.
Jongdae freezes in the middle of his wine-pouring when he realizes who the prince really is. This has its benefits-perhaps Joonmyun's eyesight is based on movement-and its drawbacks, the first and foremost being that Jongdae accidentally lets his hands still for too long. Red wine spills over the rim of the cup, onto the fine tablecloth, and Jongdae snatches his hands back as Joonmyun jerks away. He can already hear Kyungsoo's admonishments for staining the cloth, but some of it is lost in the rush of blood in his ears.
"I'm so sorry," Jongdae blurts out, looking up and around for cloth to soak up the wine before it can do more damage. He sees Baekhyun pointing frantically at the next place over, and he reaches blindly over. In his haste, he knocks over another wine goblet, and on reflex, Jongdae uses magic to freeze the goblet before it clatters to the table.
It's probably not the best idea, considering the view of magic in the kingdom. Joonmyun's father had expressly banned the use of magic, which Jongdae hadn't heard before he set out for the castle. For Jongdae, this had meant little before meeting Joonmyun; the king rarely ventured into the bowels of the castle, which is where Jongdae spends most of his time, and the only other noble Jongdae ever comes into contact with is Minseok. Everyone else Jongdae knows mostly keeps their head down about that sort of thing, mostly because, as luck would have it, magic attracts other magic. Baekhyun is faerie royalty-distantly, very very distantly, but Baekhyun never lets Jongdae forget it-and Jongin has a little bit nymph from his father's side. Chanyeol's the only one of Jongdae's friends without, but honestly, Jongdae suspects there's a pinch of giant in him. Probably concentrated in his ears.
Fortunately, Baekhyun has a sort of sixth sense for when Jongdae is about to royally screw up, and he promptly drops the giant bowl of stuffing onto the ground, drawing the crowd's eye as the ceramic bowl shatters into a million pieces. Even Joonmyun looks over, and in that split second, Jongdae rights the goblet and seizes the napkin. When Joonmyun turns back, after Baekhyun's made his apologies and retreated respectfully back to the kitchens, Jongdae is carefully mopping up the spill, completely ordinary.
"So now you're the one apologizing?" Joonmyun says with a quirk of his lips. Jongdae’s hands are trembling, but there’s nothing but curiosity in the prince’s handsome face. Not a hint of disgust or desire to call Sehun to put Jongdae in cuffs and throw him into the cells in the castle’s basement. Which, honestly, were it happening to someone else and not Jongdae, he’d actually quite like to see, since Sehun-despite being tall and broad and terrifying at first glance-is flimsier than the noodles Kyungsoo cooks for the rest of them.
“Do you know Jongdae, Joonmyun?” Minseok asks, using his Noble-Court voice, even though warmth saturates into the question where it wouldn’t otherwise. Jongdae feels like throwing up; Jongdae knows how fond Minseok is of his younger cousin, even if he’s not demonstratively so. No doubt if Minseok knew Jongdae had cursed Joonmyun’s entire family and his horse, Minseok would hate him. Also, Jongdae had actually cursed the king. As in the all-powerful ruler of the kingdom.
“Very recently,” Joonmyun says with a small, secretive smile at Jongdae, like they’re sharing a joke. Like Jongdae’s knuckles haven’t gone white with gripping the soiled napkin in his fist. “We ran into each other at the drawbridge.”
The irony isn’t lost on Jongdae, but Minseok just smiles guilelessly and nods. Jongdae stands there awkwardly as Joonmyun beams up at him, clearly expecting a reaction. When there’s none forthcoming, Joonmyun deflates a little.
“Joonmyun. Did Lu Han send anything with you?” Minseok claims Joonmyun’s attention again, and Jongdae seizes this opportunity to grab what he can and flee the banquet hall. With the main course served, almost all the serving boys have disappeared into the kitchens, probably to feast on whatever Kyungsoo hadn’t deemed good enough for the prince and his guests. Jongdae can probably switch places with Baekhyun for dessert.
Baekhyun is expectedly getting reprimanded Very Sternly by a ferocious-looking Kyungsoo, his soup ladle gripped in his hand like a sword he’d like to run through Baekhyun’s thin chest. From the silent bubble surrounding the two of them in the middle of the chaotic kitchens, the lecture has been going on for a while. Kyungsoo still looks quite composed on the outside, but Jongdae watches as a muscle twitches in his forehead, and he shivers. Baekhyun is lucky he’s still standing.
“You owe me one,” Baekhyun says when Kyungsoo lets him go. Jongdae’s best friend looks harried and a little pale when he slumps next to Jongdae, and his palms are glowing. For all Baekhyun’s boasting of his royal lineage, the only magic he can really do is make himself glow, but he’s normally very controlled. Jongdae wonders what sort of punishments Kyungsoo’s holding over his head. “Actually, no. You owe me more than one. You owe me an entire country.”
Jongdae doesn’t have a country, but he does still have some of the cake Kyungsoo had baked for his birthday last week. “How about cake?”
“From your birthday?” Baekhyun’s eyes are shrewd, his lips pursed. Jongdae nods.
“Last piece,” he says enticingly.
“I’ll downgrade you to a manor in the woods,” Baekhyun says, looking a little less pale. Jongdae snorts. His best friend is so easy.
The third time Jongdae meets Joonmyun, it’s because Joonmyun’s summoned him to his room. Sehun looks extremely bored when he relays the message, hip cocked against the door frame, so Jongdae doesn’t think it’s anything bad, but the way Sehun trails behind him as he walks slowly up to Joonmyun’s room, sword clinking against his armor like coins, doesn’t reassure him the least.
“Do you have to walk so slowly?” Sehun complains. Jongdae briefly weighs discovery over knocking Oh Sehun flat on his face; the former just barely wins out. Jongdae makes sure to walk even more slowly, though.
Finally, they make it to the door. Sehun doesn’t pretend not to be relieved and gestures for Jongdae to knock. Jongdae complies, feeling all of a sudden timid in front of the huge mahogany doors.
“Come in,” says Joonmyun, and Jongdae pushes through, leaving Sehun behind.
Joonmyun’s room is huge, as is fitting for a prince, but it’s not very elaborate. Understandable, considering Joonmyun has been gone for the past year, learning from the kingdom’s ally in the east. There are large trunks covering the floor of the bedroom, but Jongdae zeroes in on the prince, who’s sitting behind his desk. His dark hair is pushed back from his face, hair sticking up in odd places from fingers running through it, and he looks dwarfed by the desk in his room, like a child putting on his father’s clothes. Jongdae is endeared against his will for half a second before he remembers who Joonmyun is and who he is.
“Hi,” Joonmyun says. “Sorry about the mess.” He gestures vaguely at the trunks, and then at the papers on his desk. “Sit wherever, please. I just need to finish reading some of these.”
Jongdae sits. He doesn’t know what to say. In the short week Jongdae has been aware of Joonmyun’s tangible existence, Joonmyun has apologized to him no less than five times. Jongdae’s no expert on royal propriety, but he’s pretty sure apologizing to the help isn’t on the list of things princes are taught.
The silence stretches on, broken only by the rustling of papers as Joonmyun flips through them. Jongdae’s sitting stiff and rigid on one of Joonmyun’s trunks, his hands in fists resting on his thighs. He doesn’t know what to do with them, or any other part of his body, really, so Jongdae just settles for this. The anxiety from before hasn’t gone away.
Finally, Joonmyun sighs. He leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. It’s a very old-man-like thing to do, and it should look odd on Joonmyun, but it doesn’t.
“Your Highness?” Jongdae ventures tentatively. His voice cracks from disuse, and he flushes as Joonmyun looks up. Somehow, his handsomeness isn’t tempered by the dark circles under his eyes or the way his hair sticks up on the side.
“Just call me Joonmyun,” Joonmyun says. “You call Minseok by his first name, so you can call me by mine.” He smiles. Maybe it’s his eyes; they’re lovely, large and dark and full of warmth.
“Yes, sir,” Jongdae says, his tongue fumbling over the polite words. “Is there anything I’ve done?” Jongdae tries to wrack his brain for something, anything, but other than the usual hijinks with Baekhyun, he comes up with nothing. “I’m just asking because I need to get to Yixing’s office. He needs me to run errands.”
“No, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Joonmyun says reassuringly. Oddly enough, this doesn’t reassure Jongdae. “I just wanted to ask you something. That night, at the banquet-you stopped the goblet from falling, didn’t you?”
Jongdae can feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees almost instantly. His skin breaks out into goosebumps, and his heart starts knocking on his ribs like it wants to be let out.
“I-yes, I did,” Jongdae says, blinking very quickly. Joonmyun’s warm eyes suddenly seem like daggers, carefully carving into Jongdae’s skin. Jongdae wills himself not to flinch. “I have good reflexes, you see, and I-”
“No one’s reflexes are enough to freeze a goblet in mid-air,” Joonmyun interrupts. Jongdae lapses into terrified silence. Joonmyun is a prince, and he carries himself with the grace and authority of one. “I know what you did. And I know what you are.”
Jongdae is suddenly very aware of his breathing. Quick bird wing flutters, in through the nose and out through the mouth, his chest rising and falling in tandem. It’s funny that Jongdae’s never noticed before now, when his days and breaths are numbered.
His distress must show on his face, because Joonmyun immediately says, “Are you alright? You look like you’re about to faint.”
“I’m not going to faint,” Jongdae says from very far away. His voice doesn’t waver, but his face feels suspiciously devoid of blood. He looks down at his hands like he’s seeing them for the first time. The last time. He wonders if Joonmyun will do it himself-like a real king-or if he’ll have Sehun stick him. He hopes Sehun remembers where his heart is to make it quick.
“-not going to kill you.” Joonmyun’s voice sounds very alarmed and very close. Jongdae looks up.
Clearly, Joonmyun isn’t expecting Jongdae to move that quickly because he nearly topples over from where he’s kneeling in front of Jongdae. He crashes into another trunk and yelps. Jongdae barely has enough time to react before the door slams open. It’s Sehun, standing with an open stance, his hand on the pommel of his sword. He looks alarmed for a good two seconds before he realizes the only danger to Joonmyun is himself, and his face slowly slides back into indifference.
“You scared me,” Joonmyun accuses, hoisting himself up onto the trunk so he, too, is sitting on one. He doesn’t look like a prince like this, rubbing the back of his head with a silly, petulant expression. Jongdae lets himself hope a little.
“Do you mean it?” Jongdae asks.
“Did you not see me fall over?” Joonmyun asks.
“Not about-I meant about the killing me thing,” Jongdae says lamely, fear once again firing in his nerves. What if by bringing it up Jongdae changes his mind?
“Oh.” Joonmyun pauses and looks at Jongdae, slowly dropping his hand from his head. He doesn’t look like the type to sentence someone to death. His wrists are too delicate to hold the burden of that many lives. “Of course I meant it.”
Jongdae doesn’t believe him. “But I cursed your father,” he says in a whisper, afraid that even the walls have ears. It’s a crime punishable by death, to curse the king.
“To be fair, you had no idea who I was,” Joonmyun says with a tiny, wry laugh. “And it’s not like no one has ever cursed my father before.”
Jongdae squints suspiciously at Joonmyun. “But I-I ran into your horse!” Jongdae says, wildly flailing his hands. “What if I’d been an assassin? You offered me your hand, I could have poisoned you!”
To his credit, Joonmyun looks unphased at his servant rattling off ways to kill him. “Are you an assassin?” he asks. Jongdae shakes his head. “Did you have poison on you?” Another shake. “And besides, my horse can take a few glances here and there. You probably hardly registered to him.”
Relief mixed with indignation course through Jongdae’s veins. He definitely had made Joonmyun’s horse back up a couple steps. At least one. It was definitely off-balance. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Joonmyun,” Joonmyun corrects. “But there is one thing I want to ask of you, in return for your life.”
Jongdae’s relief turns bitter in his mouth, and Joonmyun quickly amends, “Not that you need to accept for you to live. It’s just-consider it a favor for the prince.”
Tempting. There are a lot of things Jongdae can do with a favor done for the prince. He imagines asking Joonmyun for a country for Baekhyun. Still, Jongdae doesn’t know what the parameters are for something like this. “What is it?”
Joonmyun smiles, and his face lights up. “I want you to be my advisor,” he says.
Jongdae laughs incredulously, but it dies away when Joonmyun looks at him uncertainly, like he’s missed the joke. “You can’t be serious,” he says.
“I am serious,” Joonmyun says. “You’re the perfect candidate.”
“Out of what potential pool?” Jongdae asks, a little derisive. “Your Highness-”
“Joonmyun.”
“-I can’t be your advisor. I’m not old enough.” Joonmyun’s father has a group of advisors, Jongdae knows. He sees them when he brings them their tonics, and he privately has a few suspicions about some of them. There’s no way there isn’t some sorcery going on, keeping them alive far past what should be natural. “And besides, I don’t know how to advise anyone. I can barely advise myself.”
“I want you, though,” Joonmyun says, and Jongdae’s heart misses half a step. “I want to reform the laws my father made concerning magic use, but despite all the reading I’ve done”-Joonmyun sweeps a hand at his desk-”I will never be able to know what it’s like. I need someone knows firsthand what it’s like to be in this community, and I need someone who’s not afraid to tell me when I’m overstepping my boundaries.”
It’s on the tip of Jongdae’s tongue to say no. He has no business in politics or with the royal family. He’s meant to be a servant, Yixing’s messenger boy, and then return home to his mother when he’s amassed enough money to help her hire someone long-term to help her till the fields.
“You will be compensated, of course,” Joonmyun says, a little bit of weariness creeping into his voice. Jongdae doesn’t notice. He’s thinking of his mother and his farm and the payroll of a prince’s advisor compared to a prince’s serving boy.
“Okay,” Jongdae says. “I’ll do it.”
“That’s great,” Joonmyun says, sounding relieved. “Thank you. I’ll have the servants prepare your new room.”
Jongdae bows, even as he’s seated. “Thank you, your Highness.”
Joonmyun laughs tiredly, runs his fingers through his hair. “Joonmyun,” he tells Jongdae. “If we’ll be working together, please, call me Joonmyun.”
“Joonmyun,” Jongdae says hesitantly. The name curls strangely on his tongue, but the warm curl of his stomach in answer to Joonmyun’s smile feels just right.
The fourth time, it’s in Jongdae’s new room. It’s smaller than Joonmyun’s, naturally, but it’s larger than Jongdae’s ever had. Baekhyun had been jealous for all of two seconds at Jongdae’s good fortune before Jongdae had promised to let him come and sleep in his bed whenever he wanted. Baekhyun had promptly peeled off his shirt, sprawled over Jongdae’s new silk (silk!!) sheets, and fallen asleep.
Joke’s on Baekhyun; Jongdae would have let him anyway, though preferably without the stench of the stable. Jongdae fondly pats Baekhyun’s head and then gets to work on unloading his things. It’s a meagre amount; Jongdae couldn’t bring a lot of stuff from his farm to the castle, and he barely fills up a single trunk. He’s in the middle of pondering where to put his spellbooks when there’s a slight knock on the door.
“Come in,” Jongdae says distractedly.
“I just wanted to see how you were settling in,” Joonmyun says.
“I’m having trouble sorting my numerous belongings,” Jongdae says dryly, holding up his spellbook. Joonmyun’s eyes flick to Baekhyun’s sleeping form curiously, and Jongdae waves his hand. “That’s Baekhyun. He follows me everywhere. I’m trying to wean him off me, but he’s tenacious. Like a burr. Or a tick.”
Joonmyun laughs, and the remaining dregs of whatever discomfort he’d had slides off his back like water. He looks like a prince again, comfortable in his home, even if it’s Jongdae’s room. It’s okay, though; one of them at least should feel comfortable in this room. Excluding Baekhyun, who’s taken up snoring like it’s his single goal in life to be as annoying as possible.
“If you’re having trouble, you should have told me,” Joonmyun says. “I could have told Sehun to bring more guards down to carry that one trunk you have.”
Jongdae snorts at the picture of it: Sehun, Jongin and Chanyeol, their three giants, each with one hand under Jongdae’s lightweight trunk. Joonmyun beams at the sound, and Jongdae feels strangely satisfied, like he’s won something.
“Thanks, though,” Jongdae says. “I mean it.” He does; having his own room and being under Joonmyun’s protection means he can practice magic whenever he wants, and he gets a generous stipend to send home to his mother. Jongdae may not like the royal family, but its prince isn’t half-bad. Jongdae can give credit where credit is due.
Joonmyun grins, practically flushed with happiness, and Jongdae gets this funny little quiver in his stomach. A swoop, maybe. Jongdae blinks, and it’s gone, but Joonmyun is still there with his bedhead and funny little smile.
“You’re not what I expected, from a prince,” Jongdae says suddenly. “Especially, you know. Considering who I am.” And who your father is, Jongdae doesn’t add. The grin slips off Joonmyun’s face.
“Just because you can do magic doesn’t make you any less of a person,” Joonmyun says softly, but earnestly. “My friend, Zitao-he’s a magician too. One of the best soldiers they have in the east. I didn’t know enough about what my father was doing when he made that decree, but that doesn’t make it right. The only thing that can is me changing it.” He smiles again, softly, and Jongdae is suddenly struck again with how handsome Joonmyun is. “And your help, of course.”
Baekhyun chooses this moment to let out a huge, rasping snore that startles both Joonmyun and Jongdae, and Joonmyun laughs embarrassedly at his reaction. “I’ll just leave you to it, then,” he says before sweeping out of the room, leaving behind a tumultuous confusion roiling in Jongdae’s stomach.
Jongdae loses count of how many times they meet after that. He’s not sure what he expects from his advising job, but it’s not this. The king’s advisors don’t seem to have to do anything, just fawn after him, but Joonmyun is different, Jongdae’s starting to realize. He makes Jongdae work hard, drags Jongdae out of bed viciously sometimes, looking and acting like the prince he is. Joonmyun forces Jongdae to finish at least three different decrees every night. He demands perfection, and anything less is unacceptable.
But Joonmyun also makes Jongdae laugh helplessly into his hands, his stomach cramping up at his stories. He laughs in all the right places in Jongdae’s stories, listens intently when Jongdae’s speaking, like he’s the only person in the world. He gives Jongdae a few days off a week-mostly because as prince, Joonmyun is required to do princely things-and he doesn’t mind when any of Jongdae’s friends come visit him, even when they’re in the middle of working on something.
Some days, Jongdae will catch himself admiring the line of Joonmyun’s neck, or the way the sunlight streaming through the curtains dapples his face. Joonmyun is somehow even smaller than Jongdae, and Jongdae has never felt more content about his height.
“You look happy,” Kyungsoo remarks on one of Jongdae’s day off. Joonmyun is off discussing things with an ambassador from the east, and Jongdae knows how important this is to Joonmyun, having spent so long there. He remembers Joonmyun drawing a map of the city he’d stayed in with his friends, his finger drawing careful lines on the back of Jongdae’s palm. He shivers, and nearly cuts himself on the potato peeler. Jongdae had decided to help Kyungsoo in the kitchens and Kyungsoo had let him. They’re making Joonmyun’s favorite dish today at Jongdae’s request, and the kitchen rumbles along with its usual chaos.
“So do you,” Jongdae says. It’s not a lie. Kyungsoo isn’t very emotive, but it’s easy to see when he’s comfortable. His shoulders are less tense now, the furrow in his brow less visible. Jongdae doesn’t feel as worried about premature wrinkles for Kyungsoo now. “Is it because I’m gone? I didn’t realize I caused you so much trouble.” He grins.
“Stop deflecting,” Kyungsoo says, rapping Jongdae’s knuckles lightly with his own. “Jongin says Sehun says that you and Joonmyun practically sleep in the same room now.”
There’s an implication heavy in Kyungsoo’s voice. Jongdae ignores it and the tiny pleased feeling in his belly. Jongdae’s not sure when it got there, but he remembers when he was first aware of it. Joonmyun had been laughing at something, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his mouth gaped into an ugly smile, and Jongdae had thought, You should always be laughing. And then, I want to be the one to make you laugh. “It’s more convenient. And tell Sehun to mind his own business.”
“When has ever Sehun minded his own business? Anyway, more convenient than stepping across the hall into your own room?” Kyungsoo is merciless. “Your room is more empty than not nowadays.”
“How would you know?” Jongdae asks, an eyebrow arched. “Only Baekhyun ever goes into my room.” Kyungsoo’s mouth clicks shut, and he stares very intently at the potato he’s peeling. Jongdae grins, scenting blood in the water.
“Despite the power of your glare, it won’t actually peel the potato for you,” he tells Kyungsoo in a sing-song voice.
“I didn’t miss you at all,” Kyungsoo says sullenly, stabbing viciously at the potato, and Jongdae laughs.
“Where do you put the money I give you?” Joonmyun asks apropos of nothing one night, after they’ve finished the cases. They’re sprawled out side-by-side on Joonmyun’s too-big bed, the papers around them in a messy pile. Another thing that surprises Jongdae is just how messy Joonmyun is. He doesn’t bother to tidy up at all, and there are still trunks that need to be unpacked scattered across the room and papers that need to be organized on the desk neither of them use.
“I send it through Yixing to my mother,” Jongdae says. Joonmyun knows little about Jongdae’s family life, because Jongdae doesn’t want to spoil anything by talking about them. There’s always a bitter taste left in Jongdae’s mouth when he thinks about his mother toiling in the fields alone every day while he’s here rolling around in silk.
Joonmyun makes a soft sound at the back of his throat and turns so he’s facing Jongdae. Jongdae obligingly turns his head to look at him. Like this, Joonmyun looks so young and not like a prince at all. Jongdae’s heart starts pounding.
“Is it hard for her back there?” Joonmyun asks. His lips are distractingly pink. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
Maybe it’s the exhaustion from a day’s worth of reading. Maybe it’s the way Joonmyun qualified, giving Jongdae a way out of he needs it. Maybe it’s nothing or maybe it’s everything.
“It’s better now,” Jongdae tells him, honestly. “But it’s been hard for her for a long time.”
Joonmyun hums tiredly. His blinks seem to be getting longer, and Jongdae watches his lashes kiss the top of his cheeks. “And your father?”
A deep breath. “He’s dead.” There’s more on the tip of his tongue, words tumbling over each other ready to leave his mouth, but he reins them in.
Joonmyun opens his eyes slowly. There’s no pity in them, and Jongdae’s grateful. He’s not sure if he could stand pity from Joonmyun.
“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun says evenly. Jongdae takes another deep breath, and to his horror, he feels it shudder in his chest.
“It’s not a big deal,” Jongdae says bitingly, refusing to let the sob catch in his throat. “I was thirteen. It was a long time ago.”
“Jongdae,” Joonmyun says, gently, “he was your father. It’s okay to still feel sad about it.”
Jongdae bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut. He opens his mouth to thank Joonmyun, to do what’s expected of him, but he guesses he’s been spending too much time with Joonmyun. “He was killed under the decree your father set,” Jongdae says.
Silence. Jongdae doesn’t dare to open his eyes. There’s a soft sigh from Joonmyun; it sounds weary and full of a life that he hasn’t lived yet. Joonmyun’s breath is warm on Jongdae’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun says again. There’s a light, tentative weight on Jongdae’s cheek, and Jongdae opens one eye. Joonmyun’s face is half-blurred, but the sorrow cuts through clearly. Joonmyun’s hand is dry, and his fingers sweep under Jongdae’s eyes. Jongdae opens both eyes in surprise when he feels a dampness being smeared over his cheeks. He’s crying.
“It’s not your fault,” Jongdae says. This at least he knows is true.
“My last name is on the parchment,” Joonmyun says. “My last name is on the seal. It is my fault. I’m so, so sorry.”
Jongdae closes his eyes, suddenly very, very tired. “Can I sleep here tonight?” Jongdae asks, barely moving his lips. He doesn’t normally ask, but it feels like something’s shifted between them. The earth has to recalibrate itself under the new weight of Jongdae’s secret. He’s half-afraid Joonmyun will say no, half-afraid that he’s spoiled everything by revealing his secret.
“Of course,” is Joonmyun’s answer, and he makes to pull away, but Jongdae, quick as lightning, grabs onto Joonmyun’s wrist. It’s so delicate under Jongdae’s fingers he thinks for a moment Joonmyun will break. But Joonmyun is stronger than that.
“Like this,” Jongdae says, eyes still closed. He’s braver in the dark. “Just… stay like this.”
“Okay,” Joonmyun says. He sounds like he’s smiling.
Jongdae blames Baekhyun because, by default, all terrible things in his life somehow lead back to Baekhyun. When they were younger, it was their parents’ ire. As serving boys, it was Kyungsoo’s ire. Now, it’s Jongdae accidentally blurting out that he’s in love with Joonmyun in his bed over a stack of papers they’re working on. Joonmyun is in the middle of telling a story about Zitao or Lu Han or whatever fantastic people he’s met in his life, and Jongdae feels so fond he could burst with it.
Joonmyun freezes in the middle of his story, his smile dropping off his face. Jongdae feels about three inches tall.
“Oh,” Joonmyun says. Jongdae wilts even further. “Oh” is possibly the worst reaction to a confession
Actually, second worst. Kyungsoo had actually told Baekhyun, “Thank you,” and then, “Can you please get the pepper now?”
“I realize this is awkward for you,” Jongdae starts. He never gets to finish.
Joonmyun kisses him. Just leans over the stack of papers and kisses him in the middle of his sentence. Jongdae is in shock for all about three seconds before instinct kicks in. The boy that he’s in love with his kissing him first, last, forever.
Jongdae kisses him back, cradling Joonmyun’s face in his hands. There’s a bit of awkwardness because of the position-curved awkwardly over the papers in the middle, both of them sitting cross-legged on the bed-but Jongdae forgets it almost immediately.
Joonmyun’s mouth is soft and a little chapped, and despite his first fevered move, he kisses awkwardly, like he doesn’t really know how to. This makes Jongdae irrationally pleased and also ven more determined to make this count; he pours everything he loves about Joonmyun into the kiss, the sweetness catching at his throat. Jongdae wants him to remember this.
Joonmyun makes a tiny pathetic mewling sound from the back of his throat, leaning forward and crushing the papers in the middle with his palms, chasing after Jongdae’s mouth, and Jongdae huffs a laugh into Joonmyun’s mouth as they break apart. Joonmyun looks wrecked, face flushed and lips red and slick with spit.
“Think you’ve messed up the papers,” Jongdae says.
“Fuck the papers, honestly,” Joonmyun replies. He flops down onto his duvet and beckons ridiculously to Jongdae. It shouldn’t be hot, but it really is. Yeah, Jongdae thinks. Fuck the papers.
Jongdae eagerly hunkers down next to Joonmyun, the two of them lying side by side, close enough that Jongdae can see every individual lash, every imperfection in Joonmyun’s skin. He’s looking forward to learning all of them.
“Hey,” Joonmyun says, softly, his breath fanning out over Jongdae’s lips. He smells a bit like flowers and also a bit like Jongdae. “Let’s stay like this.”
Jongdae grins. Laces his fingers with Joonmyun’s. “Okay,” he says. Goes back to kissing him. Jongdae wants Joonmyun to remember these too.
(Baekhyun writes him a letter a few weeks later. Thanks for the fucking manor. Kyungsoo loves the kitchen more than me.)
Author's note: OP, I feel like I deviated from the prompt too much, but I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit. Massive thank you to the mods who were so patient and great throughout this entire thing. Also, thank you so much to N who literally held my hand through this entire thing while I cried about it. You’re a star.
Title: love is simple (love is easy)
Pairing: Chen/Suho
Rating: PG
Warnings: swearing, general ridiculousness
Word count: ~5300
Summary: Jongdae has expectations. Joonmyun breaks them.
The first time Jongdae meets Joonmyun, he's less than impressed. To be fair, Joonmyun had walked his horse straight into an unsuspecting Jongdae, and knocked him to the ground. Jongdae had picked himself off the ground in a fit of righteous anger. When Joonmyun tells the story, it's less righteous anger and more irrational pompousness, considering Joonmyun apologized three times and offered his hand for Jongdae to pull himself up.
("Shh," Jongdae usually hushes, pressing a finger to Joonmyun's lips, "I'm telling the story."
"Wrong," Joonmyun adds, but lets Jongdae continue.)
Jongdae had assumed that the stranger, dressed in fine clothes, was a merchant's son, never mind that only nobles had horses in the city. Even merchants couldn't afford to keep such beasts in their stables, preferring their ships and boats to land travel. He'd been at the castle for a year now, the castle physician, Yixing, sheltering him as a favor to his mother, and Jongdae had never seen this handsome stranger's face before. He'd have remembered that face.
Naturally, Jongdae had gone on to curse Joonmyun's father, mother, and horse-especially his horse-and stormed off before Joonmyun could do more than say, "I'm sorry," for the fourth time.
Jongdae doesn't expect to see Joonmyun again. He definitely doesn't expect him to be the prince, heir to the throne of Camelot. And, Jongdae most definitely definitely doesn't expect to meet him for the second time at the feast celebrating his return from his year abroad in the east.
Joonmyun looks startled to find Jongdae tending to his food and drink. "You," he says, loud enough that his cousin, Minseok-one of the few nobles Jongdae can stand and who'd given Jongdae a conspiratorial grin before the dinner-looks over curiously.
Jongdae freezes in the middle of his wine-pouring when he realizes who the prince really is. This has its benefits-perhaps Joonmyun's eyesight is based on movement-and its drawbacks, the first and foremost being that Jongdae accidentally lets his hands still for too long. Red wine spills over the rim of the cup, onto the fine tablecloth, and Jongdae snatches his hands back as Joonmyun jerks away. He can already hear Kyungsoo's admonishments for staining the cloth, but some of it is lost in the rush of blood in his ears.
"I'm so sorry," Jongdae blurts out, looking up and around for cloth to soak up the wine before it can do more damage. He sees Baekhyun pointing frantically at the next place over, and he reaches blindly over. In his haste, he knocks over another wine goblet, and on reflex, Jongdae uses magic to freeze the goblet before it clatters to the table.
It's probably not the best idea, considering the view of magic in the kingdom. Joonmyun's father had expressly banned the use of magic, which Jongdae hadn't heard before he set out for the castle. For Jongdae, this had meant little before meeting Joonmyun; the king rarely ventured into the bowels of the castle, which is where Jongdae spends most of his time, and the only other noble Jongdae ever comes into contact with is Minseok. Everyone else Jongdae knows mostly keeps their head down about that sort of thing, mostly because, as luck would have it, magic attracts other magic. Baekhyun is faerie royalty-distantly, very very distantly, but Baekhyun never lets Jongdae forget it-and Jongin has a little bit nymph from his father's side. Chanyeol's the only one of Jongdae's friends without, but honestly, Jongdae suspects there's a pinch of giant in him. Probably concentrated in his ears.
Fortunately, Baekhyun has a sort of sixth sense for when Jongdae is about to royally screw up, and he promptly drops the giant bowl of stuffing onto the ground, drawing the crowd's eye as the ceramic bowl shatters into a million pieces. Even Joonmyun looks over, and in that split second, Jongdae rights the goblet and seizes the napkin. When Joonmyun turns back, after Baekhyun's made his apologies and retreated respectfully back to the kitchens, Jongdae is carefully mopping up the spill, completely ordinary.
"So now you're the one apologizing?" Joonmyun says with a quirk of his lips. Jongdae’s hands are trembling, but there’s nothing but curiosity in the prince’s handsome face. Not a hint of disgust or desire to call Sehun to put Jongdae in cuffs and throw him into the cells in the castle’s basement. Which, honestly, were it happening to someone else and not Jongdae, he’d actually quite like to see, since Sehun-despite being tall and broad and terrifying at first glance-is flimsier than the noodles Kyungsoo cooks for the rest of them.
“Do you know Jongdae, Joonmyun?” Minseok asks, using his Noble-Court voice, even though warmth saturates into the question where it wouldn’t otherwise. Jongdae feels like throwing up; Jongdae knows how fond Minseok is of his younger cousin, even if he’s not demonstratively so. No doubt if Minseok knew Jongdae had cursed Joonmyun’s entire family and his horse, Minseok would hate him. Also, Jongdae had actually cursed the king. As in the all-powerful ruler of the kingdom.
“Very recently,” Joonmyun says with a small, secretive smile at Jongdae, like they’re sharing a joke. Like Jongdae’s knuckles haven’t gone white with gripping the soiled napkin in his fist. “We ran into each other at the drawbridge.”
The irony isn’t lost on Jongdae, but Minseok just smiles guilelessly and nods. Jongdae stands there awkwardly as Joonmyun beams up at him, clearly expecting a reaction. When there’s none forthcoming, Joonmyun deflates a little.
“Joonmyun. Did Lu Han send anything with you?” Minseok claims Joonmyun’s attention again, and Jongdae seizes this opportunity to grab what he can and flee the banquet hall. With the main course served, almost all the serving boys have disappeared into the kitchens, probably to feast on whatever Kyungsoo hadn’t deemed good enough for the prince and his guests. Jongdae can probably switch places with Baekhyun for dessert.
Baekhyun is expectedly getting reprimanded Very Sternly by a ferocious-looking Kyungsoo, his soup ladle gripped in his hand like a sword he’d like to run through Baekhyun’s thin chest. From the silent bubble surrounding the two of them in the middle of the chaotic kitchens, the lecture has been going on for a while. Kyungsoo still looks quite composed on the outside, but Jongdae watches as a muscle twitches in his forehead, and he shivers. Baekhyun is lucky he’s still standing.
“You owe me one,” Baekhyun says when Kyungsoo lets him go. Jongdae’s best friend looks harried and a little pale when he slumps next to Jongdae, and his palms are glowing. For all Baekhyun’s boasting of his royal lineage, the only magic he can really do is make himself glow, but he’s normally very controlled. Jongdae wonders what sort of punishments Kyungsoo’s holding over his head. “Actually, no. You owe me more than one. You owe me an entire country.”
Jongdae doesn’t have a country, but he does still have some of the cake Kyungsoo had baked for his birthday last week. “How about cake?”
“From your birthday?” Baekhyun’s eyes are shrewd, his lips pursed. Jongdae nods.
“Last piece,” he says enticingly.
“I’ll downgrade you to a manor in the woods,” Baekhyun says, looking a little less pale. Jongdae snorts. His best friend is so easy.
The third time Jongdae meets Joonmyun, it’s because Joonmyun’s summoned him to his room. Sehun looks extremely bored when he relays the message, hip cocked against the door frame, so Jongdae doesn’t think it’s anything bad, but the way Sehun trails behind him as he walks slowly up to Joonmyun’s room, sword clinking against his armor like coins, doesn’t reassure him the least.
“Do you have to walk so slowly?” Sehun complains. Jongdae briefly weighs discovery over knocking Oh Sehun flat on his face; the former just barely wins out. Jongdae makes sure to walk even more slowly, though.
Finally, they make it to the door. Sehun doesn’t pretend not to be relieved and gestures for Jongdae to knock. Jongdae complies, feeling all of a sudden timid in front of the huge mahogany doors.
“Come in,” says Joonmyun, and Jongdae pushes through, leaving Sehun behind.
Joonmyun’s room is huge, as is fitting for a prince, but it’s not very elaborate. Understandable, considering Joonmyun has been gone for the past year, learning from the kingdom’s ally in the east. There are large trunks covering the floor of the bedroom, but Jongdae zeroes in on the prince, who’s sitting behind his desk. His dark hair is pushed back from his face, hair sticking up in odd places from fingers running through it, and he looks dwarfed by the desk in his room, like a child putting on his father’s clothes. Jongdae is endeared against his will for half a second before he remembers who Joonmyun is and who he is.
“Hi,” Joonmyun says. “Sorry about the mess.” He gestures vaguely at the trunks, and then at the papers on his desk. “Sit wherever, please. I just need to finish reading some of these.”
Jongdae sits. He doesn’t know what to say. In the short week Jongdae has been aware of Joonmyun’s tangible existence, Joonmyun has apologized to him no less than five times. Jongdae’s no expert on royal propriety, but he’s pretty sure apologizing to the help isn’t on the list of things princes are taught.
The silence stretches on, broken only by the rustling of papers as Joonmyun flips through them. Jongdae’s sitting stiff and rigid on one of Joonmyun’s trunks, his hands in fists resting on his thighs. He doesn’t know what to do with them, or any other part of his body, really, so Jongdae just settles for this. The anxiety from before hasn’t gone away.
Finally, Joonmyun sighs. He leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. It’s a very old-man-like thing to do, and it should look odd on Joonmyun, but it doesn’t.
“Your Highness?” Jongdae ventures tentatively. His voice cracks from disuse, and he flushes as Joonmyun looks up. Somehow, his handsomeness isn’t tempered by the dark circles under his eyes or the way his hair sticks up on the side.
“Just call me Joonmyun,” Joonmyun says. “You call Minseok by his first name, so you can call me by mine.” He smiles. Maybe it’s his eyes; they’re lovely, large and dark and full of warmth.
“Yes, sir,” Jongdae says, his tongue fumbling over the polite words. “Is there anything I’ve done?” Jongdae tries to wrack his brain for something, anything, but other than the usual hijinks with Baekhyun, he comes up with nothing. “I’m just asking because I need to get to Yixing’s office. He needs me to run errands.”
“No, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Joonmyun says reassuringly. Oddly enough, this doesn’t reassure Jongdae. “I just wanted to ask you something. That night, at the banquet-you stopped the goblet from falling, didn’t you?”
Jongdae can feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees almost instantly. His skin breaks out into goosebumps, and his heart starts knocking on his ribs like it wants to be let out.
“I-yes, I did,” Jongdae says, blinking very quickly. Joonmyun’s warm eyes suddenly seem like daggers, carefully carving into Jongdae’s skin. Jongdae wills himself not to flinch. “I have good reflexes, you see, and I-”
“No one’s reflexes are enough to freeze a goblet in mid-air,” Joonmyun interrupts. Jongdae lapses into terrified silence. Joonmyun is a prince, and he carries himself with the grace and authority of one. “I know what you did. And I know what you are.”
Jongdae is suddenly very aware of his breathing. Quick bird wing flutters, in through the nose and out through the mouth, his chest rising and falling in tandem. It’s funny that Jongdae’s never noticed before now, when his days and breaths are numbered.
His distress must show on his face, because Joonmyun immediately says, “Are you alright? You look like you’re about to faint.”
“I’m not going to faint,” Jongdae says from very far away. His voice doesn’t waver, but his face feels suspiciously devoid of blood. He looks down at his hands like he’s seeing them for the first time. The last time. He wonders if Joonmyun will do it himself-like a real king-or if he’ll have Sehun stick him. He hopes Sehun remembers where his heart is to make it quick.
“-not going to kill you.” Joonmyun’s voice sounds very alarmed and very close. Jongdae looks up.
Clearly, Joonmyun isn’t expecting Jongdae to move that quickly because he nearly topples over from where he’s kneeling in front of Jongdae. He crashes into another trunk and yelps. Jongdae barely has enough time to react before the door slams open. It’s Sehun, standing with an open stance, his hand on the pommel of his sword. He looks alarmed for a good two seconds before he realizes the only danger to Joonmyun is himself, and his face slowly slides back into indifference.
“You scared me,” Joonmyun accuses, hoisting himself up onto the trunk so he, too, is sitting on one. He doesn’t look like a prince like this, rubbing the back of his head with a silly, petulant expression. Jongdae lets himself hope a little.
“Do you mean it?” Jongdae asks.
“Did you not see me fall over?” Joonmyun asks.
“Not about-I meant about the killing me thing,” Jongdae says lamely, fear once again firing in his nerves. What if by bringing it up Jongdae changes his mind?
“Oh.” Joonmyun pauses and looks at Jongdae, slowly dropping his hand from his head. He doesn’t look like the type to sentence someone to death. His wrists are too delicate to hold the burden of that many lives. “Of course I meant it.”
Jongdae doesn’t believe him. “But I cursed your father,” he says in a whisper, afraid that even the walls have ears. It’s a crime punishable by death, to curse the king.
“To be fair, you had no idea who I was,” Joonmyun says with a tiny, wry laugh. “And it’s not like no one has ever cursed my father before.”
Jongdae squints suspiciously at Joonmyun. “But I-I ran into your horse!” Jongdae says, wildly flailing his hands. “What if I’d been an assassin? You offered me your hand, I could have poisoned you!”
To his credit, Joonmyun looks unphased at his servant rattling off ways to kill him. “Are you an assassin?” he asks. Jongdae shakes his head. “Did you have poison on you?” Another shake. “And besides, my horse can take a few glances here and there. You probably hardly registered to him.”
Relief mixed with indignation course through Jongdae’s veins. He definitely had made Joonmyun’s horse back up a couple steps. At least one. It was definitely off-balance. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Joonmyun,” Joonmyun corrects. “But there is one thing I want to ask of you, in return for your life.”
Jongdae’s relief turns bitter in his mouth, and Joonmyun quickly amends, “Not that you need to accept for you to live. It’s just-consider it a favor for the prince.”
Tempting. There are a lot of things Jongdae can do with a favor done for the prince. He imagines asking Joonmyun for a country for Baekhyun. Still, Jongdae doesn’t know what the parameters are for something like this. “What is it?”
Joonmyun smiles, and his face lights up. “I want you to be my advisor,” he says.
Jongdae laughs incredulously, but it dies away when Joonmyun looks at him uncertainly, like he’s missed the joke. “You can’t be serious,” he says.
“I am serious,” Joonmyun says. “You’re the perfect candidate.”
“Out of what potential pool?” Jongdae asks, a little derisive. “Your Highness-”
“Joonmyun.”
“-I can’t be your advisor. I’m not old enough.” Joonmyun’s father has a group of advisors, Jongdae knows. He sees them when he brings them their tonics, and he privately has a few suspicions about some of them. There’s no way there isn’t some sorcery going on, keeping them alive far past what should be natural. “And besides, I don’t know how to advise anyone. I can barely advise myself.”
“I want you, though,” Joonmyun says, and Jongdae’s heart misses half a step. “I want to reform the laws my father made concerning magic use, but despite all the reading I’ve done”-Joonmyun sweeps a hand at his desk-”I will never be able to know what it’s like. I need someone knows firsthand what it’s like to be in this community, and I need someone who’s not afraid to tell me when I’m overstepping my boundaries.”
It’s on the tip of Jongdae’s tongue to say no. He has no business in politics or with the royal family. He’s meant to be a servant, Yixing’s messenger boy, and then return home to his mother when he’s amassed enough money to help her hire someone long-term to help her till the fields.
“You will be compensated, of course,” Joonmyun says, a little bit of weariness creeping into his voice. Jongdae doesn’t notice. He’s thinking of his mother and his farm and the payroll of a prince’s advisor compared to a prince’s serving boy.
“Okay,” Jongdae says. “I’ll do it.”
“That’s great,” Joonmyun says, sounding relieved. “Thank you. I’ll have the servants prepare your new room.”
Jongdae bows, even as he’s seated. “Thank you, your Highness.”
Joonmyun laughs tiredly, runs his fingers through his hair. “Joonmyun,” he tells Jongdae. “If we’ll be working together, please, call me Joonmyun.”
“Joonmyun,” Jongdae says hesitantly. The name curls strangely on his tongue, but the warm curl of his stomach in answer to Joonmyun’s smile feels just right.
The fourth time, it’s in Jongdae’s new room. It’s smaller than Joonmyun’s, naturally, but it’s larger than Jongdae’s ever had. Baekhyun had been jealous for all of two seconds at Jongdae’s good fortune before Jongdae had promised to let him come and sleep in his bed whenever he wanted. Baekhyun had promptly peeled off his shirt, sprawled over Jongdae’s new silk (silk!!) sheets, and fallen asleep.
Joke’s on Baekhyun; Jongdae would have let him anyway, though preferably without the stench of the stable. Jongdae fondly pats Baekhyun’s head and then gets to work on unloading his things. It’s a meagre amount; Jongdae couldn’t bring a lot of stuff from his farm to the castle, and he barely fills up a single trunk. He’s in the middle of pondering where to put his spellbooks when there’s a slight knock on the door.
“Come in,” Jongdae says distractedly.
“I just wanted to see how you were settling in,” Joonmyun says.
“I’m having trouble sorting my numerous belongings,” Jongdae says dryly, holding up his spellbook. Joonmyun’s eyes flick to Baekhyun’s sleeping form curiously, and Jongdae waves his hand. “That’s Baekhyun. He follows me everywhere. I’m trying to wean him off me, but he’s tenacious. Like a burr. Or a tick.”
Joonmyun laughs, and the remaining dregs of whatever discomfort he’d had slides off his back like water. He looks like a prince again, comfortable in his home, even if it’s Jongdae’s room. It’s okay, though; one of them at least should feel comfortable in this room. Excluding Baekhyun, who’s taken up snoring like it’s his single goal in life to be as annoying as possible.
“If you’re having trouble, you should have told me,” Joonmyun says. “I could have told Sehun to bring more guards down to carry that one trunk you have.”
Jongdae snorts at the picture of it: Sehun, Jongin and Chanyeol, their three giants, each with one hand under Jongdae’s lightweight trunk. Joonmyun beams at the sound, and Jongdae feels strangely satisfied, like he’s won something.
“Thanks, though,” Jongdae says. “I mean it.” He does; having his own room and being under Joonmyun’s protection means he can practice magic whenever he wants, and he gets a generous stipend to send home to his mother. Jongdae may not like the royal family, but its prince isn’t half-bad. Jongdae can give credit where credit is due.
Joonmyun grins, practically flushed with happiness, and Jongdae gets this funny little quiver in his stomach. A swoop, maybe. Jongdae blinks, and it’s gone, but Joonmyun is still there with his bedhead and funny little smile.
“You’re not what I expected, from a prince,” Jongdae says suddenly. “Especially, you know. Considering who I am.” And who your father is, Jongdae doesn’t add. The grin slips off Joonmyun’s face.
“Just because you can do magic doesn’t make you any less of a person,” Joonmyun says softly, but earnestly. “My friend, Zitao-he’s a magician too. One of the best soldiers they have in the east. I didn’t know enough about what my father was doing when he made that decree, but that doesn’t make it right. The only thing that can is me changing it.” He smiles again, softly, and Jongdae is suddenly struck again with how handsome Joonmyun is. “And your help, of course.”
Baekhyun chooses this moment to let out a huge, rasping snore that startles both Joonmyun and Jongdae, and Joonmyun laughs embarrassedly at his reaction. “I’ll just leave you to it, then,” he says before sweeping out of the room, leaving behind a tumultuous confusion roiling in Jongdae’s stomach.
Jongdae loses count of how many times they meet after that. He’s not sure what he expects from his advising job, but it’s not this. The king’s advisors don’t seem to have to do anything, just fawn after him, but Joonmyun is different, Jongdae’s starting to realize. He makes Jongdae work hard, drags Jongdae out of bed viciously sometimes, looking and acting like the prince he is. Joonmyun forces Jongdae to finish at least three different decrees every night. He demands perfection, and anything less is unacceptable.
But Joonmyun also makes Jongdae laugh helplessly into his hands, his stomach cramping up at his stories. He laughs in all the right places in Jongdae’s stories, listens intently when Jongdae’s speaking, like he’s the only person in the world. He gives Jongdae a few days off a week-mostly because as prince, Joonmyun is required to do princely things-and he doesn’t mind when any of Jongdae’s friends come visit him, even when they’re in the middle of working on something.
Some days, Jongdae will catch himself admiring the line of Joonmyun’s neck, or the way the sunlight streaming through the curtains dapples his face. Joonmyun is somehow even smaller than Jongdae, and Jongdae has never felt more content about his height.
“You look happy,” Kyungsoo remarks on one of Jongdae’s day off. Joonmyun is off discussing things with an ambassador from the east, and Jongdae knows how important this is to Joonmyun, having spent so long there. He remembers Joonmyun drawing a map of the city he’d stayed in with his friends, his finger drawing careful lines on the back of Jongdae’s palm. He shivers, and nearly cuts himself on the potato peeler. Jongdae had decided to help Kyungsoo in the kitchens and Kyungsoo had let him. They’re making Joonmyun’s favorite dish today at Jongdae’s request, and the kitchen rumbles along with its usual chaos.
“So do you,” Jongdae says. It’s not a lie. Kyungsoo isn’t very emotive, but it’s easy to see when he’s comfortable. His shoulders are less tense now, the furrow in his brow less visible. Jongdae doesn’t feel as worried about premature wrinkles for Kyungsoo now. “Is it because I’m gone? I didn’t realize I caused you so much trouble.” He grins.
“Stop deflecting,” Kyungsoo says, rapping Jongdae’s knuckles lightly with his own. “Jongin says Sehun says that you and Joonmyun practically sleep in the same room now.”
There’s an implication heavy in Kyungsoo’s voice. Jongdae ignores it and the tiny pleased feeling in his belly. Jongdae’s not sure when it got there, but he remembers when he was first aware of it. Joonmyun had been laughing at something, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his mouth gaped into an ugly smile, and Jongdae had thought, You should always be laughing. And then, I want to be the one to make you laugh. “It’s more convenient. And tell Sehun to mind his own business.”
“When has ever Sehun minded his own business? Anyway, more convenient than stepping across the hall into your own room?” Kyungsoo is merciless. “Your room is more empty than not nowadays.”
“How would you know?” Jongdae asks, an eyebrow arched. “Only Baekhyun ever goes into my room.” Kyungsoo’s mouth clicks shut, and he stares very intently at the potato he’s peeling. Jongdae grins, scenting blood in the water.
“Despite the power of your glare, it won’t actually peel the potato for you,” he tells Kyungsoo in a sing-song voice.
“I didn’t miss you at all,” Kyungsoo says sullenly, stabbing viciously at the potato, and Jongdae laughs.
“Where do you put the money I give you?” Joonmyun asks apropos of nothing one night, after they’ve finished the cases. They’re sprawled out side-by-side on Joonmyun’s too-big bed, the papers around them in a messy pile. Another thing that surprises Jongdae is just how messy Joonmyun is. He doesn’t bother to tidy up at all, and there are still trunks that need to be unpacked scattered across the room and papers that need to be organized on the desk neither of them use.
“I send it through Yixing to my mother,” Jongdae says. Joonmyun knows little about Jongdae’s family life, because Jongdae doesn’t want to spoil anything by talking about them. There’s always a bitter taste left in Jongdae’s mouth when he thinks about his mother toiling in the fields alone every day while he’s here rolling around in silk.
Joonmyun makes a soft sound at the back of his throat and turns so he’s facing Jongdae. Jongdae obligingly turns his head to look at him. Like this, Joonmyun looks so young and not like a prince at all. Jongdae’s heart starts pounding.
“Is it hard for her back there?” Joonmyun asks. His lips are distractingly pink. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
Maybe it’s the exhaustion from a day’s worth of reading. Maybe it’s the way Joonmyun qualified, giving Jongdae a way out of he needs it. Maybe it’s nothing or maybe it’s everything.
“It’s better now,” Jongdae tells him, honestly. “But it’s been hard for her for a long time.”
Joonmyun hums tiredly. His blinks seem to be getting longer, and Jongdae watches his lashes kiss the top of his cheeks. “And your father?”
A deep breath. “He’s dead.” There’s more on the tip of his tongue, words tumbling over each other ready to leave his mouth, but he reins them in.
Joonmyun opens his eyes slowly. There’s no pity in them, and Jongdae’s grateful. He’s not sure if he could stand pity from Joonmyun.
“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun says evenly. Jongdae takes another deep breath, and to his horror, he feels it shudder in his chest.
“It’s not a big deal,” Jongdae says bitingly, refusing to let the sob catch in his throat. “I was thirteen. It was a long time ago.”
“Jongdae,” Joonmyun says, gently, “he was your father. It’s okay to still feel sad about it.”
Jongdae bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut. He opens his mouth to thank Joonmyun, to do what’s expected of him, but he guesses he’s been spending too much time with Joonmyun. “He was killed under the decree your father set,” Jongdae says.
Silence. Jongdae doesn’t dare to open his eyes. There’s a soft sigh from Joonmyun; it sounds weary and full of a life that he hasn’t lived yet. Joonmyun’s breath is warm on Jongdae’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun says again. There’s a light, tentative weight on Jongdae’s cheek, and Jongdae opens one eye. Joonmyun’s face is half-blurred, but the sorrow cuts through clearly. Joonmyun’s hand is dry, and his fingers sweep under Jongdae’s eyes. Jongdae opens both eyes in surprise when he feels a dampness being smeared over his cheeks. He’s crying.
“It’s not your fault,” Jongdae says. This at least he knows is true.
“My last name is on the parchment,” Joonmyun says. “My last name is on the seal. It is my fault. I’m so, so sorry.”
Jongdae closes his eyes, suddenly very, very tired. “Can I sleep here tonight?” Jongdae asks, barely moving his lips. He doesn’t normally ask, but it feels like something’s shifted between them. The earth has to recalibrate itself under the new weight of Jongdae’s secret. He’s half-afraid Joonmyun will say no, half-afraid that he’s spoiled everything by revealing his secret.
“Of course,” is Joonmyun’s answer, and he makes to pull away, but Jongdae, quick as lightning, grabs onto Joonmyun’s wrist. It’s so delicate under Jongdae’s fingers he thinks for a moment Joonmyun will break. But Joonmyun is stronger than that.
“Like this,” Jongdae says, eyes still closed. He’s braver in the dark. “Just… stay like this.”
“Okay,” Joonmyun says. He sounds like he’s smiling.
Jongdae blames Baekhyun because, by default, all terrible things in his life somehow lead back to Baekhyun. When they were younger, it was their parents’ ire. As serving boys, it was Kyungsoo’s ire. Now, it’s Jongdae accidentally blurting out that he’s in love with Joonmyun in his bed over a stack of papers they’re working on. Joonmyun is in the middle of telling a story about Zitao or Lu Han or whatever fantastic people he’s met in his life, and Jongdae feels so fond he could burst with it.
Joonmyun freezes in the middle of his story, his smile dropping off his face. Jongdae feels about three inches tall.
“Oh,” Joonmyun says. Jongdae wilts even further. “Oh” is possibly the worst reaction to a confession
Actually, second worst. Kyungsoo had actually told Baekhyun, “Thank you,” and then, “Can you please get the pepper now?”
“I realize this is awkward for you,” Jongdae starts. He never gets to finish.
Joonmyun kisses him. Just leans over the stack of papers and kisses him in the middle of his sentence. Jongdae is in shock for all about three seconds before instinct kicks in. The boy that he’s in love with his kissing him first, last, forever.
Jongdae kisses him back, cradling Joonmyun’s face in his hands. There’s a bit of awkwardness because of the position-curved awkwardly over the papers in the middle, both of them sitting cross-legged on the bed-but Jongdae forgets it almost immediately.
Joonmyun’s mouth is soft and a little chapped, and despite his first fevered move, he kisses awkwardly, like he doesn’t really know how to. This makes Jongdae irrationally pleased and also ven more determined to make this count; he pours everything he loves about Joonmyun into the kiss, the sweetness catching at his throat. Jongdae wants him to remember this.
Joonmyun makes a tiny pathetic mewling sound from the back of his throat, leaning forward and crushing the papers in the middle with his palms, chasing after Jongdae’s mouth, and Jongdae huffs a laugh into Joonmyun’s mouth as they break apart. Joonmyun looks wrecked, face flushed and lips red and slick with spit.
“Think you’ve messed up the papers,” Jongdae says.
“Fuck the papers, honestly,” Joonmyun replies. He flops down onto his duvet and beckons ridiculously to Jongdae. It shouldn’t be hot, but it really is. Yeah, Jongdae thinks. Fuck the papers.
Jongdae eagerly hunkers down next to Joonmyun, the two of them lying side by side, close enough that Jongdae can see every individual lash, every imperfection in Joonmyun’s skin. He’s looking forward to learning all of them.
“Hey,” Joonmyun says, softly, his breath fanning out over Jongdae’s lips. He smells a bit like flowers and also a bit like Jongdae. “Let’s stay like this.”
Jongdae grins. Laces his fingers with Joonmyun’s. “Okay,” he says. Goes back to kissing him. Jongdae wants Joonmyun to remember these too.
(Baekhyun writes him a letter a few weeks later. Thanks for the fucking manor. Kyungsoo loves the kitchen more than me.)
Author's note: OP, I feel like I deviated from the prompt too much, but I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit. Massive thank you to the mods who were so patient and great throughout this entire thing. Also, thank you so much to N who literally held my hand through this entire thing while I cried about it. You’re a star.