#9 [PG-13] Summer Rain (2/2)
WHEN THEY arrive at the cabin, the sun has almost disappeared over the horizon, the last of its rays peeking through the tops of the pine trees. There is no rain, but the air is colder than it is warm, the night lending a hand to fight the humidity.
Upon entering, the first thing Jongin does is set the man down on the bed, laying him down on the pillows, careful with his feet. The man had been silent the whole walk back, save for a few grunts of pain every few steps. Now, he lays there, looking at Jongin with tired clear eyes. The warmth in Jongin's chest is yet to vanish.
"I need to check you for more injuries," Jongin says, standing up. The man's eyes follow his movement. He may look tired, but his gaze is sharp. Jongin feels oddly scrutinized, not judged, but assessed. He moves to the table where he left his phone this afternoon. He notices he has over a hundred missed calls, and even more text messages. He groans, throwing his phone back on the table. Those idiots never stop. How they find his number so fast every time is beyond him. "I'll call my manager later, for now, let's get you out of your clothes and into something comfortable."
Truth be told, Jongin is bewildered. He played a doctor once, a drama three years ago. He wasn't lead then, it was a small role. He didn't know much about medical procedures, but he memorised a lot of terms. He was at the hospital set many days for those four months, sleep lacking, running on coffee that he hates so much. Jongin looks at the man lying down on the bed, dressed in all black, wondering how he was able to walk from the clearing back to the cabin with a mere limp in his steps. Why are there no broken bones? He was in pain, yes, but he was alright for the most part. Jongin had expected him dead. A fall that high? Surely, he would have suffered from far more injuries. If Jongin calls a doctor now, what will he tell them? It all seems too unreal.
Jongin decides to find out more first as he moves back to the bed and sits on the edge, hand reaching for the man's boots. "Let's get you out of these, yeah?" The man stays silent, eyes curious, watching.
Jongin knows the boots are handmade. There is no brand, the make a fine leather. He slides them off the man's feet, first the right, then the left. The boots are heavy, the soles thick. Obviously made for winter snow. Questions, so many questions.
Jongin moves slightly on the bed, scooting closer with a smile. The man just looks on, eyes curiouser and curiouser. Jongin really really likes his eyes, he decides. Jongin has seen a lot of eyes, has gazed at many, and he has found most of them liars, saying the opposite of what the faces they belong to say. Most actors are good with facial expressions, feigning sadness and happiness, love and hatred, but few are capable of talking with their eyes. Most of the time, Jongin sees flat eyes, unliving, robotic. They scare Jongin. But not this man's eyes. They are very round, almost too wide, but clear. Very clear. They are not flat, nor are they guarded. They are just clear eyes. Beautiful eyes.
Jongin blinks, feeling his cheeks warm. He has been staring too long. The man just looks on.
"Let's take off your cloak, it's warmer here," Jongin says as he reaches for the brooch fastening the man's cloak, fiddling with it to take it off. After a few failed attempts, he feels cold hands on his own, pushing his fingers away gently. Jongin watches as the man takes it off himself, making quick work of the lock, the gold shimmering more than ever with the light overhead. The man looks up at Jongin, a small smile on his face. Jongin can't help but smile in return, the warmth in his chest blossoming even more. "Er, thanks. It's my first time seeing something like it. I didn't know how to, uh, take it off," Jongin laughs, his hand scratching his neck sheepishly, as his other hand reaches for the brooch, thumb brushing against the gleaming surface, admiring. "Beautiful," he says, "it's very beautiful."
The man's brows furrows, as if thinking, he reaches for the brooch on his chest, fingers brushing against Jongin's. Jongin ignores the blush that spreads across his cheeks. "Beautiful."
"Yes, beautiful," Jongin smiles, trying his best not to think of the warmth where their fingers are touching. "What is it made-"
The man begins to move his other hand then, reaching towards Jongin's face. Jongin stills as he feels the other's palm on his cheek. The touch is warmer now, not as icy cold as it was before, though that might be because the warmth on Jongin's cheeks has roared into a flame, spreading across his face like wildfire.
"Beautiful," the man repeats, looking at Jongin with his clear clear eyes, honest and so sincere, his thumb gently caressing the skin he could touch on Jongin's face, red and blushing.
Something in Jongin's head clicks then.
"You can't understand me, can you?" Jongin realizes, the red in his cheeks turning to embarrassment. The man's brows furrow, as if thinking, mulling over Jongin's words in his head. Jongin sighs, "You can't."
The man drops his hand, a frown on his face, his clear eyes clouding with concern. Jongin smiles at him, a little sadly, understanding. He should have noticed earlier. The man was silent most of the time, repeating words he has heard Jongin say. Jongin wipes his face with his hand, shaking his head at himself. This day is just full of surprises.
"So you can't understand me?" Jongin asks, not expecting an answer. He notices the man is looking at his lips, intently watching the way he forms words, studying. "You really don't. Wow, okay." Jongin breathes.
The man just knits his brows further.
Jongin purses his lips. "Okay. Uh, I’m really not good at this. I’m sorry. But, how about we start with introductions? Names. I haven't told you my name yet. I'm Jongin," he says, pointing to himself. "Jong-In. Jongin. Jong-In," Jongin repeats, pronouncing each syllable clearly, finger jabbing at his own chest. "Jongin."
The man just looks at him at first, watching his lips. After a second, he says, "Jongin."
"Yes! Jongin! I'm Jongin," Jongin says a little excitedly. He then points his fingers to the man this time, "You?"
The man raises an eyebrow. Jongin smiles. He supposes some nonverbal cues are the same everywhere, regardless of language.
"Yes, you?" He points to himself again, "Jongin," then points to the man, waiting for him to understand.
The man's face lights up in understanding, "Kyungsoo. Kyung-Soo," he says with a smile, his lips forming a pretty heart, bow stretched and pink across his face. Jongin tries to fight the blush spreading across his own cheeks, but as before, he is unsuccessful. He chooses to ignore it.
"Kyungsoo," Jongin tries saying the name. "Kyungsoo. It's a pretty name. It suits you," Jongin says. Actually, Jongin would describe Kyungsoo as handsome, more so than pretty. His face has masculine features with his thick eyebrows, high nose and strong jaw. He is short in stature, yes, but Jongin could tell from wrapping his arms around him earlier that he is well built, arms strong and hands sure with their grip. But the word pretty also suits him, with his big wide eyes, clear and very very beautiful, to his pink lips, curving up into a heart-shaped smile. "Kyungsoo," Jongin repeats again, liking the way the two syllables roll off his tongue, easy and smooth.
Kyungsoo is smiling at him, a little tiredness showing across his face. Their fingers are still touching across the brooch on Kyungsoo's chest, the golden surface glinting up at them. Jongin smiles at this, moving to place his hand on top of Kyungsoo's properly. This time, the blush across his cheek is not unwelcome.
"Kyungsoo, how about we get you out of your clothes for real this time? Let’s clean your wound and then I'll cook us dinner afterwards and then you can sleep. I'll call my manager and we can take you to the nearest hospital. How's that?"
Kyungsoo's brows furrow for the upteenth time that night. Jongin chuckles lightly, holding and touching Kyungsoo’s hand, all traces of coldness gone from the other’s skin. He has a bit more color now, not the ghost-like whiteness from before. Jongin reaches out to smooth the creases on the other’s forehead with his thumb. Kyungsoo's eyes widen ever so slightly, a bit of red seeping into his cheeks. Jongin smirks, glad he's not the only one.
The anxiousness following Jongin all day is now long gone, disappeared, replaced by a lightness he has not felt outside of drama filmings, pretending in front of cameras to convince the audience of feelings he has not felt by himself before. It has always been fed to him, written in scripts in black and white-for his heart to flutter, for his cheeks to redden, for his heart to swell from happiness with just a simple smile. But here, there are no cameras, no directors and a hundred staff watching him, and yet he feels all of these and more. Such a short amount of time, not even a full day has passed, and Jongin’s heart is already fluttering for a stranger.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo murmurs, voice rough with tiredness, hand tugging at his cloak. He must be feeling too warm in his thick coat.
“Ah, yes, yes, sorry,” Jongin says sheepishly, finally moving, a silly smile on his face. Kyungsoo chuckles at him, the sound short and deep but Jongin hears it. His heart skips a beat.
Is it possible to be attracted to someone so much, so fast? Is this normal? He should post on Pann to ask, maybe.
Jongin gently tugs the cloak off, as he reaches for the coat, careful not to touch Kyungsoo’s wound. Kyungsoo just looks at him, a little sleepy smile on his face, gaze tender. Jongin’s heart forgoes skipping for a stutter.
Yes, Jongin should do that, he decides, as he carefully eases Kyungsoo out of his coat, blushing at the thought of undressing the man.
3
El Dorado; Spring 32BX
Lord Baekhyun is fuming. It is seldom he is angry, his demeanor always bright and happy, always a ready smile on his lips. But not right now. Today, he is livid.
The Golden Guard is gleaming in the early morning light, the castle walls a shimmering bright yellow, the Kingdom’s Gold hue, surface dancing with sparkles of white. The Lord of Light is very proud of his work but today, he pays it no mind. He passes by the other members of the council, their curious eyes following his lithe form as he strides up the center of the hall, long robe flowing behind him.
“Lord Chanyeol!” he calls, steps quick across the marbled floor. The Lord of Fire stops in his tracks, as does his companions, his counsel dressed in fiery red, as he is.
“Ah, Lord Baekhyun, a pleasant morning!” the Lord smiles at him, lips stretched in a wide grin. “I must say, the light today is particularly beautiful. Spring really is here! Excellent work, as always.”
“Of course, my work is always excellent,” Baekhyun laughs as he approaches, stopping right beside the taller man, grabbing ahold of the other’s elbow, pressing his chest closer against his arm. Baekhyun whispers, “Can I have a word?”
Lord Chanyeol’s smile falters, his eyes harden for a split second, only for him to laugh right after. Baekhyun doesn’t miss the change, however. His suspicions only grow stronger. “Of course, Lord Baekhyun! I can spare you a few minutes. What is it? What matters do you have in mind?”
Baekhyun looks around them, the Lord of Fire’s companions watching him, their eyes piercing, faces stone-hard and expressionless, a direct contrast to their Lord’s. “I would like to speak to you alone.”
“Alone? Why not here? I’m sure my advisors would love to-”
“Alone,” Baekhyun insists. Lord Chanyeol’s lips tighten into a thin line, staring down at Baekhyun. There was a time, long long ago, when they were little kids, him and the other Creator’s sons played in the castle’s garden during these Council Meetings. Down below, they would run around, playing heroes and royals under the rain with no care for the world as they waited for their fathers to finish their business with the King. It has always excited them to see each other, a meeting that occurred once every full turn. Sheltered in their own cities, it was the only time they get to be children, no advisors and madames following them around. But now, as grown adults, they no longer look forward to the meetings, the weight of the responsibilities Passed to them too heavy on their shoulders.
“Alright. Alone,” Lord Chanyeol finally says. He nods to his companions, sending them ahead. Baekhyun waits for them to disappear around the corner before he moves across the hall, down a flight of stairs and into an alcove, stopping by a coat of arms. He looks around before turning to face Chanyeol behind him.
“Why would you kill Milo?” Baekhyun starts.
Lord Chanyeol shrugs with a smile. “Why would I kill the King’s Keeper?”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“So why are you asking?”
“We were to execute him, anyway, for treason,” Baekhyun says through clenched teeth, trying his best to keep his voice even. “You could have at least given the old man some time with his family.”
“You old souls take too much time enacting your justice. You had no evidence. You were going to set him free, pardoned, relieved of his duties, given a vacation home by the edge while you appease the people, making up lies about the Crown Prince’s disappearance. Meanwhile, the King will pass away and who will take the throne? Ah, right. You, the next Family in line. Shouldn’t you be tried for treason, Lord Baekhyun?” Chanyeol says, that infuriating smile still in place, voice calm and condescending. Baekhyun cannot believe how far gone his old friend has become with greed. It takes all of his willpower not to strangle him. “I didn’t kill the man. Milo’s son is to blame. The torch fell down, set his house on fire. The scrolls have been closed. Were you not listening this morning? We discussed this with the Council. If I were you, I would spend less time worrying about the dead and more time looking for the living. Our poor prince! Missing!”
Baekhyun grits his teeth in frustration, staring at Chanyeol’s smiling face, a look of triumph in the other’s eyes. Baekhyun has never been good with politics. That’s Junmyeon’s forte, traveling around as Ambassador to the other Human planets-Krillo, Earth & Myos, sister planets to their own Exo, home to El Dorado.
When Milo and Kale arrived yesterday with the unfortunate news, the Council has been called for an emergency meeting. An ambush on the prince, planned and calculated, surely an insider’s work. While the news spread across the Kingdom, the council turned on Milo to take the blame. They asked and asked, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t deny the charges but he refused to disclose the true mastermind. And yet, this morning, as Baekhyun weaves the Light into the sky, they found Milo dead.
“He didn’t name you. He was loyal to you to the very end and yet you burn him and his sons,” Baekhyun swallows the lump in his throat. Chanyeol only blinks.
“I told you, I didn’t-”
“I know of your Family’s coal business with the Rogues, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun interrupts. Chanyeol had the decency to look surprised. They have stopped calling each other by their lone first names when they took their place in the Council, little kids playing in the castle gardens no more. It is the first time in years Baekhyun addressed the Lord of Fire as a friend, hoping to see a single sign of remorse for his corruption, “An endless winter, really? You burn the forests here for your coal to a captive market and then what? And what do the Rogues get in return? The throne? Who will rule us? That Rogue Sehun? He can’t even rule over his own pet!”
“You have no proof!” Chanyeol shouts, his voice ringing around the alcove, the sound bouncing against the walls. His face is red, his fists are clenched tight by his side, the perfect image of Fire, just like his city in the south.
“I don’t. I don’t have physical proof but it doesn’t matter. The Rouge Xiumin is dead now. He can’t control winter to sustain your business. Trees will start growing soon, Lord Yixing will be hard at work these coming years. No one will need coal for months.”
Chanyeol remains silent, fuming.
“Winter comes once a year, when we turn a full circle. Your Family is not lacking in gold. Why want for more, Chanyeol? Why make us suffer for more?”
“You have no proof,” Chanyeol repeats, “Milo is dead. Master Xiumin is dead. Master Chen is the next rightful King.”
“Why? Because you slept with him once?”
“I didn’t-” Chanyeol splutters, taking a step back. Baekhyun laughs.
“I have ears across the Kingdom. You slept with me once too, many turns ago, and yet you’re not too eager to make me the next King. Infact, you’ve taken to blackmailing me as the mastermind behind the ambush, as I would be next to take the throne with Kyungsoo gone.”
Chanyeol’s ears has turned a deep scarlet red, “You have no proof.”
“Keep repeating that,” Baekhyun is amused, the anger he was feeling subsiding, replaced by deep regret. His old friend, corrupted by greed and personal vendetta, “You never did like the prince.”
“He is not fit to be King.”
“Just because he doesn’t bow down to all of your demands does not make him unfit to rule the Kingdom. He is courteous to you, despite your attempts to make use of him in court. He lets you do as you please as long as you don’t take it too far. But you often take it too far.”
“He hates me.”
“We all do.”
“That isn’t-”
“Chanyeol, Milo has Passed his ability to Kale on their way back,” Baekhyun informs his friend, his voice soft with regret. “I am to leave with him this afternoon with Junmyeon to look for the prince.”
Chanyeol’s eyes are wide, “He couldn’t have! He wouldn’t have! You told me he was loyal to the very end!”
“He was. Milo didn’t name you. He might have hated the prince after you poisoned him with your stories, ideas rotten of how evil Kyungsoo is. But he still has the Kingdom’s best interest in mind. He knew he would die in your hands, long before we can appoint his replacement as Keeper and Pass his ability. Kale is very young, but he is eager to serve.”
Baekhyun does not take satisfaction from the way Chanyeol’s face turns pale, from the way his whole frame sags as he leans on the stone walls. He feels pity. Politics has taught him that you don’t fight your battles in the open. You do it silently. Discreetly. On paper. Baekhyun does not like war. It has taken their fathers years to calm the Rogue’s cities and keep them under the Kingdom’s rule. He does not want Chanyeol’s city to be an enemy of the crown.
“We will take the ship and head for Earth after noon,” Baekhyun says, as he steps towards the stairs from where they came. “We will land on Earth in a few day’s time. By then, the prince would have healed fully. I expect you to be on your best behavior when we return.”
“What will become of me?” Chanyeol asks quietly.
“I will not speak of this conversation with the Council. As you say, I have no proof. But I will not forget, Lord Chanyeol. I have ears around the Kingdom, please do remember. We will catch the Rogues soon with the Keeper out of your pocket. Your monopoly on the planet’s supply of coal has ended with Spring here. Prince Kyungsoo will be back soon, ready to take the throne as the next King. And you, you will do your duty as Lord of Fire, nothing more, nothing less.”
Chanyeol has his head down, silent for once.
“Very well. Good morn, Lord Chanyeol. I’ll see you in the hall,” Baekhyun makes for the stairs when Chanyeol speaks.
“Why Earth? Of all the planets he could have gone to, why Earth?”
Baekhyun thinks of the prince disappearing every afternoon, teleporting to Mt. Captcka, the only remaining mountain in the Kingdom with trees. He thinks of the volumes of books up in the prince’s chambers, all of Earth, populated with a race of Humans adept in technology, always tinkering and busy with their moving books and paintings. Baekhyun never understood Junmyeon’s stories of Earth, their people too busy with war, with monopolies as corrupt as Chanyeol is. And yet the prince has been so taken by the Ambassador’s stories of vast land covered with trees, of rain that falls plentiful from their sky. Baekhyun knows that if the prince isn’t in the Kingdom, as Milo has said, the first place he would escape to is the one place he has wanted to visit for years.
“Trees and rain,” Baekhyun says, not turning around. “The prince has always wanted to visit for the trees and the rain. Things you have taken from and deprived him for years.”
With that, the Lord of Light ascends the stairs, heart lighter than it has ever been.
4
Earth; Summer 2016
It has not rained since the first day.
Kyungsoo looks out of the cabin’s large window, out to the miles and miles of trees, as far as his eyes could see. Now that Kyungsoo can see them better, he sees that there is a mixture of various types, all different from the ones he is used to back home. There are some trees with tall and thick trunks, their leaves heart-shaped and a dark dark green, some with narrow trunks that reach high up to the sky, some are shorter with little leaves on tiny twigs that reach across and over, while others are with branches so numerous they sprawl low and hanging almost to the ground. Kyungsoo does not know their names, does not know how these humans call them, but the trees here are plenty, healthy, free to grow and live for many many years. He tries not to think of the trees back home, their days numbered. When he is King, he will do all that he can to repopulate the land with all the greens again. Kyungsoo smiles at the thought, his heart happily humming in contentment in his chest, watching the clear blue sky outside, blanketing the miles of green, white clouds littering the wide expanse of the lightest of blue.
He longs to go out and explore, to walk among the tree trunks on the ground, to teleport to the topmost branch of the tallest tree and look down on the endless green below, to feel the warm wind on his face, to feel freedom. Here on Earth, he is no prince, just a stranger on a strange land, responsibilities none, free time many. However, Kyungsoo is still too weak to do so. The ache in his limbs is gone, his body healing naturally, all broken bones set and straight as they were, but he has not completely healed. His power is still weak, it fizzles at his fingertips, static stuttering. He has tried exerting strength on a leaf, thin and small on his palm, his eyes set on it in concentration, imagining it bursting to crystal dust. It didn’t move. Even the simplest of actions, his strength could not suffice. He has tried the first night to copy the Earth’s human language, palm set on the man’s cheek, trying with all his might to seep words and meanings through his skin. He tried, but he couldn’t.
Kyungsoo’s ears redden, remembering the man’s red face under his touch, blush dusting across his cheeks. He looks to the other side of the cabin, where the man is currently standing, cooking them their breakfast, an Earth delicacy he calls ‘ramyun’.
Jongin. The man’s name is Jongin.
Kyungsoo has seen illustrations of the Humans of Earth, his books back home are clipped with diagrams and sketches in black and white, done in the hand of Ambassadors such as Lord Junmyeon, and the many many lines before him. They look similar to the race of humans in his own planet, save for the absence of their abilities. According to a book he has read, the tome as old as his Father King, the humans on Earth had abilities as well, long long ago. But instead of electing them to office to protect the lands, they were persecuted, hunted and burned at the stakes. Witches and warlocks, they were called. They were purged, until so few are left, in hiding now, a dying line. Lord Baekhyun had thought of the humans on Earth as brutal wildlings, fit to be banished to the edges. But Lord Junmyeon said they were warm people, if one is to truly know them. They had prejudices, yes, but what human doesn’t.
Kyungsoo looks at Jongin again. Back then, Kyungsoo had agreed with the Lord of Light, but now, he finds himself agreeing with the Ambassador.
Jongin had been a source of warmth that first night. He had dressed Kyungsoo’s open wound, the gash in Kyungsoo’s arm not as deep as it was when he found him, the healing stitching up the flesh slowly. Jongin had looked at it then, his eyes full of questions he didn’t ask. Kyungsoo wouldn’t have been able to answer, of course, but he had appreciated the silence.
Kyungsoo could understand bits and pieces of Earth language, single words he had read in his books, words he recognize but can’t put together. But Jongin had been patient with him, despite Kyungsoo’s inability to communicate with words. He had stayed beside him, helping him with his clothes, hand gentle and careful, touch warm and comforting. He had turned away when needed, when Kyungsoo took off his breeches, a dust of pink on his cheeks, the same color on Kyungsoo’s own.
That night, Kyungsoo had asked Jongin to stay with him, to keep him warm, to dispel any remaining cold from Xiumin’s freezes, nothing more. Jongin had agreed, immediately understanding Kyungsoo’s meaning when he gestured to the space beside him on the bed. And when they had settled for the night, with Jongin’s hands wound around him, his skin warm against Kyungsoo’s own, Kyungsoo knew it wasn’t simply for the cold, but for the companionship, and the need to touch.
Kyungsoo has never felt attraction so strong and easy as he felt that day, like a pull he could not resist, a path destined for him to take. Kyungsoo does not believe in fate, soulmates a silly concept to him, much to the dismay of Lord Baekhyun, a firm believer and advocate of the study of the cosmos, the stars and the planets aligning perfectly to dictate a person's future. Kyungsoo still does not believe, but he thinks he now knows why so many people do, why they go to the Lord of Light for readings into their future, wanting to know if their other half is just over the horizon. Kyungsoo now understands as he gazes at Jongin across the room, the man’s back broad and shoulders wide, long arms moving about the counter of bowls and makeshift fire, stirring the broth Kyungsoo has grown to like.
“Maquero,” Kyungsoo says outloud, eyes never leaving Jongin, who turns to him at the sound of his voice. The diagrams and illustrations in his books do Jongin no justice. Jongin’s back is beautiful but it does not compare to his face, chiseled like marble, sharp edges and smooth panes, perfect proportions from his eyes to the tip of his nose, to the bow of his full lips. Jongin looks like he was patterned from parchment drawn for builders to base their statues of, and he is the breathing living product of their days of hard work. Jongin raises an eyebrow at him, his hair a dark deep brown, tousled from sleep (and maybe, Kyungsoo’s fingers, he could not remember). Kyungsoo finds himself deeply submerged in shallow waters. He repeats, “Maquero, qui maquero.”
Beautiful, very beautiful.
“Are you staring again?” Jongin asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. Kyungsoo just smiles as he stands up, moving across the cabin towards him. Jongin smiles back, his eyes turning into crescents, face so open and welcoming. Kyungsoo loves that about him, how easily he can read him, like one of the books from his library back home. And like his books, Kyungsoo cannot help but grow attached to every one of Jongin’s pages.“Breakfast’s almost ready. Come and eat.”
Kyungsoo does not understand the words, of course, but he has learned to read the atmosphere, has learned to read the silence between them, like a special language for them both. He finds himself understanding what Jongin means, with words, without words. Often times, it is as if he could hear him in his own tongue, the Earth language sounding less foreign to his ears the more he hears it. Jongin isn’t a speaker, he seldom does, but he would sometimes talk to Kyungsoo as if he could understand. He would speak slowly, clearly, enunciating each word properly. There are times in his stories when his face would light up with child-like wonder, hand gesticulating in front of him like a dance. Kyungsoo can only imagine what he is saying, no context to help him understand, but still, Kyungsoo would listen attentively, hanging on his every sentences. Kyungsoo isn’t paying attention to the words, however, but to the sound of Jongin’s voice, deep and warm, a blanket of sound that wraps around Kyungsoo so exclusively, privately.
Kyungsoo walks next to Jongin on the counter, fetching the bowl and spoons, and these sticks they use to bring food to their lips. Kyungsoo has not yet learned how to use them, despite Jongin’s attempts at teaching him.
Kyungsoo hums, arms grazing against Jongin’s in the small space. It had made him blush the first time it happened, the first morning days ago, but today he doesn’t react to it, a familiar buzz in his skin, a pleasant tingle the spreads through him. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips.
Utensils gathered in his hands he begins laying them down on the table one by one, as Jongin brings over the pot of red steaming broth. They sit down together, Jongin’s long legs touching his calves underneath the table. Kyungsoo lifts the lid of the pot, the now familiar smell of ramyun filling the air.
“I added odeng today. And some onion and leeks. Kimchi too, an egg, two slices of cheese,” Jongin tells him as he takes Kyungsoo’s bowl and ladles it with soup. “You seem to really like it when I put cheese, and you enjoyed the odeng soup I cooked yesterday.” He adds some of the greens and the browns, sliced up into squares, using his sticks to transfer strands of noodles, careful not to spill. He hands it back to Kyungsoo, who takes the steaming bowl and digs his spoon in for a sip of the broth, a few vegetables finding their way in. Jongin looks at him expectantly.
Kyungsoo cocks his head to the side, chewing carefully. Back in the castle, he was taught how to appreciate good dishes, to taste each ingredient carefully, and then let the flavors come together as one in the end. He was taught to give praise where it is due but he was also taught to pretend he is enjoying the food even if it is not to his taste, to always compliment the cook for his efforts while being polite with constructive criticisms.
The soup today is the most delicious Kyungso has tasted the dish of but he decides to make Jongin wait. So he takes another spoonful, this time with some of this odeng, as Jongin calls it, and chews it slowly, putting on his practiced face of contemplation.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Do you hate it?” Jongin asks him, watching him worriedly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have added the kimchi. You don’t like that one? The sour vegetables?”
Kyungsoo hums, taking another sip. Jongin squirms in his seat as he takes a spoon to the pot to take a sip himself. His brows furrow in confusion when he does. “It tastes okay. I mean, more than okay, actually.” He looks a little flustered now. Kyungsoo thinks Jongin looks beautiful with his flushed skin, letting a little smile slip into his lips. Jongin looks beautiful in and with anything, Kyungsoo decides, hiding his smile behind his spoon. He briefly wonders, what Jongin would look like in Council robes, the white pristine cloth against his tanned skin, billowy and regal on his tall frame. Jongin notices his smile, however, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Wait, are you teasing me?”
Kyungsoo knows he has caught on. Kyungsoo just shrugs his shoulders and continues to eat, the smile not leaving his lips. He gestures to the pot in the middle of their table and says one of the first words he has learned, “Cold.”
Across from him, Jongin lets out a whine, like a petulant child, a new page of him that Kyungsoo finds as endearing as the others he has seen before. Kyungsoo answers with a smile, extending his legs under the table, tangling them with Jongin’s long ones, calves warm against Jongin’s own. This makes Jongin stop and sit still. Kyungsoo chuckles into his spoon, about to say another word he has learned, delicious, when he sees a flash of light outside. Kyungsoo’s pulse quickens.
He pushes his chair back, standing up, his heart beating faster with each step he takes. Behind him, he hears Jongin standing up as well. When he reaches the window and looks outside, the sky is no longer a light blue, but numerous shades of white and black, the clouds a heavy gray. Another flash of lightning, shortly followed by thunder and then the clouds let out the heavy rain, the sound of it like raining bullets on the roof.
Rain. Finally.
Kyungsoo looks at Jongin beside him, smile wide on his lips, heart hammering in his chest like a drum. Jongin looks at him with questions in his eyes. The same look he always gets when Kyungsoo is not looking, but Kyungsoo knows. He could feel Jongin’s curiosity, always present but never verbalized. Jongin talks to him about many things, things Kyungsoo does not understand but wants to. Jongin never asks questions, but Kyungsoo wants to give him answers, wants to tell him so many things, so many stories of his own.
Another flash of lightning.
Kyungsoo remembers the rogue Chen back in El Dorado with his lightning bolts, each of his hits keeping Kyungsoo awake through Xiumin’s freezes, charging him, restoring his strength little by little, until Kyungsoo could hear power buzzing in his ears.
He looks at Jongin beside him, then back outside to the pouring rain. He needs to do this, to restore his strength faster so he can use his abilities sooner, so he may put his palm on Jongin’s cheek and copy his language, to tell him how beautiful he is in so many words, to describe to him the beauty of his face to the beauty of his heart, to tell him how his warmth has thawed not only Kyungsoo’s cold skin but also the ice around his heart.
“Ih mayee yui,” Kyungsoo says, eyes boring deep into Jongin’s own, conveying his meaning, hoping for him to understand.
Wait for me.
Kyungsoo runs outside then, feet quick, steps hurried. He opens the door of the cabin, the sound of the rain louder now. Jongin calls his name behind him, but Kyungsoo does not turn around. He steps outside and under the rain, the heavy beat of water on his skin a welcome shower. He runs outside, closer to the trees, a slight limp still in his steps.
“Kyungsoo!”
Kyungsoo does not look back as he moves down the slope towards the forest, the coldness seeping into his clothes-Jongin’s clothes, the garment longer than his limbs, folded at the ends, but they’re comfortable. Kyungsoo loved sleeping in them. Now they are drenched, heavy on his body, chilling his skin with wetness so very cold. But it is a kind of cold he can endure. He has lived through years of winter, through snow and hail storms, chilling biting cold, through Xiumin’s freezes, like heat on his skin. This cold is nothing Kyungsoo cannot endure.
As he runs down, the heavy rain relentless against his back, he thinks of what else it means for his strength to be restored sooner. To be able to teleport again. To be able to go home. Home to his Kingdom, to his people, to his duties.
To leave Jongin.
“Kyungsoo!”
Jongin emerges from the cabin, stepping out and running after him, the rain pouring over his figure like a fountain from the heavens. Kyungsoo is right. Jongin does look good in anything, his clothes as drenched as Kyungsoo’s are, sticking to his torso, clinging like second skin to his arms and thighs. His hair is dripping wet, plastered to his forehead. Kyungsoo wants to run his fingers through the strands again, to feel the wetness through his fingers, strands sliding through his palm. Oh how Kyungsoo wants. But-
“Kyungsoo what are you doing?”
Jongin is a few meters away, the slope slippery. He is careful with his steps now, his running slowing down to a walk. Kyungsoo can see his concerned face through the gray rain. Jongin is drenched from head to toe, and yet he is worried of Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo feels warmth blossom in his heart, the kind he has learned to associate with Jongin, the kind that he feels every morning when he wakes up with the Light shining outside their window, Jongin’s chest pressed close against his face, the kind that he feels when Jongin would smile at him, eyes so tender and sincere, like Kyungsoo is the most precious to him in the world, greater than all of his gold and silver. This warmth is present now, spreading throughout his chest, a nice contrast to the chilling wetness of his skin.
Warmth, trees and rain.
Kyungsoo has found all of them.
He lets out a laugh, happiness bubbling from his heart to his throat, a lightness so foreign overtaking him. Back home, it has been nothing but cold winter days, cold winter nights, storms of hail and snow. The trees dwindling in number as forest after forest are burned to coal. And the rain, only a memory with the Kingdom under an endless winter.
Here on Earth, Kyungsoo has found the things he was looking for, the things he lacks, the things he has longed for.
He looks at Jongin, nearing him, a few feet away now, Kyungsoo’s own personal source of warmth. Kyungsoo’s heart pangs in his chest.
He raises his hand just as the clouds are split by a flash of light, concentrating what little strength he has to draw it towards him.
Warmth, trees and rain.
Kyungsoo has found them all, but now he has to say goodbye.
El Dorado is waiting for him. His Kingdom needs him.
When the lightning hits his outstretched palm, he sees Jongin’s eyes widen in shock, mouth calling his name but Kyungsoo does not hear him, the familiar power buzzing in his ears.
JONGIN feels the anxiousness from earlier this week envelope him once again, like a wave of water that drowns him with invisible force, pulling him under, under under. He breathes in heavily with effort, as if his lungs are not enough to provide for him anymore. In a way, there is truth to this. How else would he explain his difficulty in breathing, like air clawing out through his nose?
Jongin looks at Kyungsoo on the bed, still sleeping, the steady rise and fall of his chest a comfort to ease Jongin’s worry. He is waiting for the water in the pot to boil, cooking their now traditional meal of ramyun. It would do good for Kyungsoo to sip on hot soup after their impromptu shower in the rain.
Jongin has long stopped questioning things about Kyungsoo, the strange man that fell from the trees with his winter clothes and his open wound that healed quickly, with his strange language and his ability to make Jongin’s heart flutter with just a simple smile or look. Jongin has stopped asking questions in his head and instead, has let himself feel, let himself fall.
And so when Kyungsoo ran outside into the rain, Jongin merely followed out of worry, but somehow, he knew that it was different-with the way Kyungsoo’s eyes were wild with emotion when he turned to Jongin by the window, with the way Kyungsoo ran out with focus, not minding the heavy rain, his steps sure and determined, a path towards the forest set-Jongin felt afraid, an irrational fear that Kyungsoo would disappear in the rain the same way he came with it.
Jongin has lifted his unconscious body from the entrance to the forest, just before the trees start and the clearing ends, the worry in Jongin’s heart spreading through every vein in his body, blood coursing through him icy cold with fear. Jongin carried him up the slope, careful not to slip, steps slow but grounded. He wanted to move faster, get to the cabin faster, but everything seemed to be in slow motion. Jongin could feel that is on borrowed time, Kyungsoo heavy in his arms slipping between his fingers like sand. He gripped Kyungsoo tighter to his chest.
Both of them were dripping wet when they arrived back in the cabin, clothes drenched in summer rain. Jongin had set Kyungsoo on the bed, his eyes fluttering open then close, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jongin had undressed Kyungsoo, much like how he undressed him that first night, ridding him of his wet shirt and pants, and dressing him in dry comfortable clothes. The blush on Jongin’s cheeks was still present, hands shaking as he uncovered more and more of Kyungsoo’s pale skin, but his shyness was overpowered by his need to help Kyungsoo out of his wet clothes, to keep him warm and safe from catching a cold.
Kyungsoo has been sleeping on the bed since then. The sun has set now, the sky outside a deep inky blue, thousands of stars dotting the vast expanse with twinkling silver. Lunch has passed by with Kyungsoo sleeping, Jongin eating bread with jam alone on the table, his appetite for ramyun not present without Kyungsoo to share the pot with.
Usually, Jongin would spend the afternoons with Kyungsoo outside, arm wound around him as they walk slowly along the clearing, getting Kyungsoo’s legs some exercise. Sometimes, Jongin would tell Kyungsoo stories-of his adventures as a rookie actor, ignored and looked down upon, of starving every day of his life because he refused to contract under influential brokers, offering him work in exchange of favors, of his rise to fame because of a clip of him dancing in an obscure cable variety show going viral, of the drama offers that came after, the movies, the cfs, of the fans that started growing in number, of the tours and the promotions, and the filming and the interviews, of getting tired of it all, but then remembering why he chose this job, a dream he has worked hard for since he was a child. Jongin told Kyungsoo everything, his innermost thoughts, complaints, fears, desires. There’s something comforting about being able to let out everything in the open, to have Kyungsoo listen to him despite Jongin knowing he couldn’t understand. He liked the way Kyungsoo would look at him with rapt attention, like what he’s saying is of utmost important. Jongin is used to being the center of attention, attention he dislikes. People would fake fawn over him to gain favor in his eyes, to be seen and associated with him. Individuals he has only met a second or two, talked to once or twice, would post pictures of them on their sns, claiming them to be the closest of best friends. The public eats it up, thinking Jongin is friends with so many of these stars, reporters and staff he barely knows. The truth is, Jongin only knows a handful, and is friends with fewer. Most of his colleagues he considers acquaintances.
But Kyungsoo is different. The attention he gives Jongin is genuine, it shows in his eyes and the sweet smile playing on his lips. Kyungsoo looks at him like he’s the center of his universe, and Jongin is okay with that.
The water is boiling now, Jongin dropping the noodles in the bubbling water, when he hears voices outside the door.
Jongin stills all movements, the anxiousness now back once again. He looks at Kyungsoo,stirring awake in their bed. Borrowed time. Somehow, Jongin always knew they were on borrowed time. His strange man who fell from the trees, never his to stay.
He waits.
One two three sharp knocks on his door.
“Who is it?” Jongin asks, caution and hesitation clear in his voice, ears straining to hear how many they were outside.
“Good evening. May we please have a word with you?” The voice is clean and crisp, his Korean clipped and accent foreign. Like Kyungsoo’s., Jongin thinks. His stomach drops, his chest hollows. He looks back at the bed, Kyungsoo is sitting up now, looking at Jongin curiously, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Who is it?” he calls again.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. Jongin turns to see him standing up, walking towards him in Jongin’s clothes, the sleeves covering his hands, the bottoms folded for his feet. Jongin refuses to let the pang in his chest be more than it is, refuses to let the hollowness spread all over his being. “Jongin?”
“Kyungsoo, some people are outside. I ought to call my manager,” Jongin says his go-to phrase, pre-programmed into his speech, but he knows it is no use. He knows his manager cannot help him keep his heart whole.
“Good evening, sir,” the voice outside says once more. Jongin sees Kyungsoo’s eyes go wide, surprise evident on his face. Kyungsoo recognizes the voice. He knows the people outside. “We would like-”
Kyungsoo rushes to the door, opening it before Jongin can move from his spot by the stove. Too late.
There are three people outside. Jongin watches as they step inside the cabin, the orange overhead light bathing them in a soft glow. They are dressed in identical suits, fabric of midnight black. Jongin doesn’t know what he was expecting. He was expecting something more flashy, perhaps robes, perhaps metallic foils. Whether it be an alternate dimension, a parallel universe or the outer space, Jongin expected Kyungsoo’s home to be more dramatic and dynamic, like Kyungsoo’s existence in Jongin’s life is. The entrance of these three seemingly normal men was not what he was expecting.
They line up infront of Kyungsoo, who has his back straight and his chin held high at an angle, looking every bit as regal and important as Jongin always imagined him to be, remembering his black clothes from when he found him in the forest, material thick and expensive looking. The first thing they do is kneel down on one knee in front of him, head bowed down to the ground, they murmur in a language Jongin does not understand.
Jongin thinks it looks a bit silly, Kyungsoo commanding these three men to stand up with the flick of his wrist, all while wearing Jongin’s oversized clothes, the garments hanging off his frame. He would have laughed if not for the solemn expressions on all of their faces, as they talk in hushed voices, volume and foreign tongue preventing him to understand. He settles for a smile instead.
Should he offer them water? Coffee? Tea?
Just as he was about to fetch them glasses, they call his name.
“Mr. Jongin,” it was the voice from before, coming from the man in the middle, his looks clean and sharp. “I’m Ambassador Junmyeon, liaison between Exo and the Earth. With me are Lord of Light Baekhyun and the Kingdom’s Keeper Kale,” he gestures to the two men behind him, both bowing in his direction as Jongin bows his head back. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Jongin takes the extended hand and shakes it, an eyebrow raising at hearing their titles, “Likewise.”
“Our Prince has told us you have taken good care of him,” the ambassador gestures to Kyungsoo, standing to the side with a smile. “However, he tells us you do not speak our language yet, nor he yours. I would like to ask your permission to do the transfer-”
Jongin sees Kyungsoo’s smile disappear in an instant, as he steps in front of the Ambassador, arm halting the other’s movements. The Ambassador immediately steps back, his head bowed in apology. Jongin just looks on, bewildered.
“Er, ask my permission for what?” he asks, just as Kyungsoo reaches his hand to Jongin’s cheek, like he did the very first night they met and the nights after that, the action and warmth from Kyungsoo’s palm never failing to make him smile and blush. But right now, with three other men in the room, the red on Jongin’s cheeks is a shade deeper and darker.“Kyungsoo-?”
Kyungsoo just looks up at him with that warm smile of his, his eyes sincere and clear as they always are, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin it could reach, a perfect reenactment of the first time he met him. And then Kyungsoo closes his eyes, the same time Jongin feels a tingling sensation where Kyungsoo’s palm meets his cheek, spreading to his temple. It feels relaxing, almost hypnotizing. He could feel something tangible passing through his skin.
When Kyungsoo opens his eyes, hand still on Jongin’s cheek, palm as warm as ever, the first thing he says with a grin is, “Hi, Jongin.”
Jongin grins back, “So you were only trying to learn my language that first time, is that it?”
Kyungsoo chuckles, eyes glinting with mischief. He steps closer, thumb still smoothing invisible lines on Jongin’s face. “Maybe,” he teases.
“And here I thought it was because you thought I was beautiful, like your golden brooch,” Jongin smiles down at him, stepping closer too, their chests touching now. Jongin wounds his arms around Kyungsoo, locking him in place. Borrowed time, he reminds himself. He smiles wider, trying his best to push down the anxiousness in his gut.“So Prince, huh? Does that mean I get to be your princess?”
Kyungsoo looks away, a bashful tint to his cheeks, his hand dropping to hold onto Jongin’s biceps, resting his against Jongin’s chest. “Queen, actually. No- King and King. You and me. If you want, of course,” hiding his face, clear embarrassment in his voice.
Jongin wants to say yes. He really does.
“I have a life here, Soo. A job I can’t just leave. I have scenes to film next week, a movie to promote in a month…” Jongin feels his borrowed time slipping faster than he can catch the strands.
Kyungsoo lifts his head and looks up at him, eyes as clear as ever, “Is that a no?”
“It’s a maybe.”
Kyungsoo nods, stepping away. Jongin is already regretting his decision. Can he take it back? But his dream and his life is here. Kyungsoo, however-
“I guess that leaves me with no choice.” Kyungsoo sighs deeply as he commands, “Please kneel down on one knee, Jongin.”
“Prince Do!” the Ambassador stumbles forward, breaking his silence. The three men has been quiet all these time, head bowed in their corner of the cabin, showing respect to their Prince and his privacy. For the Ambassador to speak up so indignantly, Kyungsoo’s request must be one he strongly objects to. Jongin looks to see the other two men are looking at them with wide eyes too. This night is also full of surprises, it seems. “You cannot! Your ability will be invaluable to you as King!”
“Are you questioning my decision, Lord Junmyeon?” Kyungsoo says with finality, his voice firm and sure, leaving no room for arguments. Power and authority comes naturally to him, Jongin realizes, seeing his hard gaze piercing through Lord Junmyeon. Jongin feels a surge of pride coming over him. Kyungsoo will be a great King.
“No, Your Highness,” the Ambassador says with a bow.
“Very well,” he turns his eyes to Jongin, gaze softening. “Jongin, down on one knee, please.”
This time, no one objects, but Jongin saw Lord Junmyeon’s hands curl into tight fists. Jongin needs to watch out for that man.
He kneels as he is told.
“Are you not to curious of what I am about to do?” Kyungsoo asks above him, voice gentle and sweet. “Jongin, are you not going to ask?”
Jongin is curious, yes, but this is Kyungsoo, his strange man who he has stopped questioning since long ago. If Kyungsoo said he has no choice but this after Jongin said to leave the Earth with him as his King, then Jongin is sure it is a choice that will benefit them both, a wise choice, a King’s choice.
So Jongin looks up at Kyungsoo and shakes his head, “No, Kyungsoo. I trust you.”
Kyungsoo looks stunned for a moment, a parade of emotion on his face. Jongin sees tenderness in his eyes and as he blinks the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, as he laughs lightly, breathlessly. “This is why I can’t bear not seeing you again. Because you accept me like no one else can.” He reaches down to cup Jongin’s cheek for the second time tonight, a smile so radiant on his face as he leans down, closer and closer still. Jongin isn’t breathing when Kyungsoo’s soft lips touch his own in a chaste kiss, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest, his cheeks aflame. “I’m glad you found me, Jongin. Now you can keep finding me again and again.”
When Kyungsoo straightens, he lays his palm on top of Jongin’s head, and says, “I Pass thee unto you, Teleportation.”
epilogue
El Dorado; Summer 40BX
Jongin is late.
Kyungsoo looks to the sky, impatiently tapping his foot on the marbled floor. The Council meeting is in a few minutes, the Light is almost up. Lord of Light Baekhyun has finally woken up, it seems. And yet, Jongin still nowhere to be seen.
When he hears a whish and a crash outside his chambers, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.
“Oh my god, Soo! I am so sorry I’m late!” Crash “Agh fuck! I thought you said you’d stop putting this goddamn coat of arms here!”
Kyungsoo can’t help but chuckle as he steps out, the King’s crown in his hand.
“And why are you late?”
“A taxi full of those crazy bitches was following my van, as always. I couldn’t just teleport from my van! My manager would freak out. You know how much he hates it when I do it where he can see.”
Kyungsoo sighs and steps closer, putting the heavy crown on his head. “C’mere, your robe is untied.”
Jongin stops rubbing the toe of his left foot, and straightens, walking towards his King. “Why are you smiling? Are you happy because of my pain?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head, looping the sash around Jongin’s neck into a tie, fingers familiar with the motions. “Just thinking how I was right.”
“About what?”
“How good you’d look in Council robes.”
“You always tell me I look good in anything.”
“And without anything.”
“Kyungsoo!”
Kyungsoo chuckles as he pats Jongin’s chest, the tie done, knot in place. He knows Jongin never bothers to learn how to do it properly because Kyungsoo likes doing it for him. He is not wrong.
“Come on, the Council is waiting, Lord Jongin.”
Jongin grins, “After you, King Do.”
As they walk the halls hand in hand, outside the castle, miles and miles of mithrims and adaleids, weirls and gribours are being under the shower of the summer rain.
Upon entering, the first thing Jongin does is set the man down on the bed, laying him down on the pillows, careful with his feet. The man had been silent the whole walk back, save for a few grunts of pain every few steps. Now, he lays there, looking at Jongin with tired clear eyes. The warmth in Jongin's chest is yet to vanish.
"I need to check you for more injuries," Jongin says, standing up. The man's eyes follow his movement. He may look tired, but his gaze is sharp. Jongin feels oddly scrutinized, not judged, but assessed. He moves to the table where he left his phone this afternoon. He notices he has over a hundred missed calls, and even more text messages. He groans, throwing his phone back on the table. Those idiots never stop. How they find his number so fast every time is beyond him. "I'll call my manager later, for now, let's get you out of your clothes and into something comfortable."
Truth be told, Jongin is bewildered. He played a doctor once, a drama three years ago. He wasn't lead then, it was a small role. He didn't know much about medical procedures, but he memorised a lot of terms. He was at the hospital set many days for those four months, sleep lacking, running on coffee that he hates so much. Jongin looks at the man lying down on the bed, dressed in all black, wondering how he was able to walk from the clearing back to the cabin with a mere limp in his steps. Why are there no broken bones? He was in pain, yes, but he was alright for the most part. Jongin had expected him dead. A fall that high? Surely, he would have suffered from far more injuries. If Jongin calls a doctor now, what will he tell them? It all seems too unreal.
Jongin decides to find out more first as he moves back to the bed and sits on the edge, hand reaching for the man's boots. "Let's get you out of these, yeah?" The man stays silent, eyes curious, watching.
Jongin knows the boots are handmade. There is no brand, the make a fine leather. He slides them off the man's feet, first the right, then the left. The boots are heavy, the soles thick. Obviously made for winter snow. Questions, so many questions.
Jongin moves slightly on the bed, scooting closer with a smile. The man just looks on, eyes curiouser and curiouser. Jongin really really likes his eyes, he decides. Jongin has seen a lot of eyes, has gazed at many, and he has found most of them liars, saying the opposite of what the faces they belong to say. Most actors are good with facial expressions, feigning sadness and happiness, love and hatred, but few are capable of talking with their eyes. Most of the time, Jongin sees flat eyes, unliving, robotic. They scare Jongin. But not this man's eyes. They are very round, almost too wide, but clear. Very clear. They are not flat, nor are they guarded. They are just clear eyes. Beautiful eyes.
Jongin blinks, feeling his cheeks warm. He has been staring too long. The man just looks on.
"Let's take off your cloak, it's warmer here," Jongin says as he reaches for the brooch fastening the man's cloak, fiddling with it to take it off. After a few failed attempts, he feels cold hands on his own, pushing his fingers away gently. Jongin watches as the man takes it off himself, making quick work of the lock, the gold shimmering more than ever with the light overhead. The man looks up at Jongin, a small smile on his face. Jongin can't help but smile in return, the warmth in his chest blossoming even more. "Er, thanks. It's my first time seeing something like it. I didn't know how to, uh, take it off," Jongin laughs, his hand scratching his neck sheepishly, as his other hand reaches for the brooch, thumb brushing against the gleaming surface, admiring. "Beautiful," he says, "it's very beautiful."
The man's brows furrows, as if thinking, he reaches for the brooch on his chest, fingers brushing against Jongin's. Jongin ignores the blush that spreads across his cheeks. "Beautiful."
"Yes, beautiful," Jongin smiles, trying his best not to think of the warmth where their fingers are touching. "What is it made-"
The man begins to move his other hand then, reaching towards Jongin's face. Jongin stills as he feels the other's palm on his cheek. The touch is warmer now, not as icy cold as it was before, though that might be because the warmth on Jongin's cheeks has roared into a flame, spreading across his face like wildfire.
"Beautiful," the man repeats, looking at Jongin with his clear clear eyes, honest and so sincere, his thumb gently caressing the skin he could touch on Jongin's face, red and blushing.
Something in Jongin's head clicks then.
"You can't understand me, can you?" Jongin realizes, the red in his cheeks turning to embarrassment. The man's brows furrow, as if thinking, mulling over Jongin's words in his head. Jongin sighs, "You can't."
The man drops his hand, a frown on his face, his clear eyes clouding with concern. Jongin smiles at him, a little sadly, understanding. He should have noticed earlier. The man was silent most of the time, repeating words he has heard Jongin say. Jongin wipes his face with his hand, shaking his head at himself. This day is just full of surprises.
"So you can't understand me?" Jongin asks, not expecting an answer. He notices the man is looking at his lips, intently watching the way he forms words, studying. "You really don't. Wow, okay." Jongin breathes.
The man just knits his brows further.
Jongin purses his lips. "Okay. Uh, I’m really not good at this. I’m sorry. But, how about we start with introductions? Names. I haven't told you my name yet. I'm Jongin," he says, pointing to himself. "Jong-In. Jongin. Jong-In," Jongin repeats, pronouncing each syllable clearly, finger jabbing at his own chest. "Jongin."
The man just looks at him at first, watching his lips. After a second, he says, "Jongin."
"Yes! Jongin! I'm Jongin," Jongin says a little excitedly. He then points his fingers to the man this time, "You?"
The man raises an eyebrow. Jongin smiles. He supposes some nonverbal cues are the same everywhere, regardless of language.
"Yes, you?" He points to himself again, "Jongin," then points to the man, waiting for him to understand.
The man's face lights up in understanding, "Kyungsoo. Kyung-Soo," he says with a smile, his lips forming a pretty heart, bow stretched and pink across his face. Jongin tries to fight the blush spreading across his own cheeks, but as before, he is unsuccessful. He chooses to ignore it.
"Kyungsoo," Jongin tries saying the name. "Kyungsoo. It's a pretty name. It suits you," Jongin says. Actually, Jongin would describe Kyungsoo as handsome, more so than pretty. His face has masculine features with his thick eyebrows, high nose and strong jaw. He is short in stature, yes, but Jongin could tell from wrapping his arms around him earlier that he is well built, arms strong and hands sure with their grip. But the word pretty also suits him, with his big wide eyes, clear and very very beautiful, to his pink lips, curving up into a heart-shaped smile. "Kyungsoo," Jongin repeats again, liking the way the two syllables roll off his tongue, easy and smooth.
Kyungsoo is smiling at him, a little tiredness showing across his face. Their fingers are still touching across the brooch on Kyungsoo's chest, the golden surface glinting up at them. Jongin smiles at this, moving to place his hand on top of Kyungsoo's properly. This time, the blush across his cheek is not unwelcome.
"Kyungsoo, how about we get you out of your clothes for real this time? Let’s clean your wound and then I'll cook us dinner afterwards and then you can sleep. I'll call my manager and we can take you to the nearest hospital. How's that?"
Kyungsoo's brows furrow for the upteenth time that night. Jongin chuckles lightly, holding and touching Kyungsoo’s hand, all traces of coldness gone from the other’s skin. He has a bit more color now, not the ghost-like whiteness from before. Jongin reaches out to smooth the creases on the other’s forehead with his thumb. Kyungsoo's eyes widen ever so slightly, a bit of red seeping into his cheeks. Jongin smirks, glad he's not the only one.
The anxiousness following Jongin all day is now long gone, disappeared, replaced by a lightness he has not felt outside of drama filmings, pretending in front of cameras to convince the audience of feelings he has not felt by himself before. It has always been fed to him, written in scripts in black and white-for his heart to flutter, for his cheeks to redden, for his heart to swell from happiness with just a simple smile. But here, there are no cameras, no directors and a hundred staff watching him, and yet he feels all of these and more. Such a short amount of time, not even a full day has passed, and Jongin’s heart is already fluttering for a stranger.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo murmurs, voice rough with tiredness, hand tugging at his cloak. He must be feeling too warm in his thick coat.
“Ah, yes, yes, sorry,” Jongin says sheepishly, finally moving, a silly smile on his face. Kyungsoo chuckles at him, the sound short and deep but Jongin hears it. His heart skips a beat.
Is it possible to be attracted to someone so much, so fast? Is this normal? He should post on Pann to ask, maybe.
Jongin gently tugs the cloak off, as he reaches for the coat, careful not to touch Kyungsoo’s wound. Kyungsoo just looks at him, a little sleepy smile on his face, gaze tender. Jongin’s heart forgoes skipping for a stutter.
Yes, Jongin should do that, he decides, as he carefully eases Kyungsoo out of his coat, blushing at the thought of undressing the man.
3
El Dorado; Spring 32BX
Lord Baekhyun is fuming. It is seldom he is angry, his demeanor always bright and happy, always a ready smile on his lips. But not right now. Today, he is livid.
The Golden Guard is gleaming in the early morning light, the castle walls a shimmering bright yellow, the Kingdom’s Gold hue, surface dancing with sparkles of white. The Lord of Light is very proud of his work but today, he pays it no mind. He passes by the other members of the council, their curious eyes following his lithe form as he strides up the center of the hall, long robe flowing behind him.
“Lord Chanyeol!” he calls, steps quick across the marbled floor. The Lord of Fire stops in his tracks, as does his companions, his counsel dressed in fiery red, as he is.
“Ah, Lord Baekhyun, a pleasant morning!” the Lord smiles at him, lips stretched in a wide grin. “I must say, the light today is particularly beautiful. Spring really is here! Excellent work, as always.”
“Of course, my work is always excellent,” Baekhyun laughs as he approaches, stopping right beside the taller man, grabbing ahold of the other’s elbow, pressing his chest closer against his arm. Baekhyun whispers, “Can I have a word?”
Lord Chanyeol’s smile falters, his eyes harden for a split second, only for him to laugh right after. Baekhyun doesn’t miss the change, however. His suspicions only grow stronger. “Of course, Lord Baekhyun! I can spare you a few minutes. What is it? What matters do you have in mind?”
Baekhyun looks around them, the Lord of Fire’s companions watching him, their eyes piercing, faces stone-hard and expressionless, a direct contrast to their Lord’s. “I would like to speak to you alone.”
“Alone? Why not here? I’m sure my advisors would love to-”
“Alone,” Baekhyun insists. Lord Chanyeol’s lips tighten into a thin line, staring down at Baekhyun. There was a time, long long ago, when they were little kids, him and the other Creator’s sons played in the castle’s garden during these Council Meetings. Down below, they would run around, playing heroes and royals under the rain with no care for the world as they waited for their fathers to finish their business with the King. It has always excited them to see each other, a meeting that occurred once every full turn. Sheltered in their own cities, it was the only time they get to be children, no advisors and madames following them around. But now, as grown adults, they no longer look forward to the meetings, the weight of the responsibilities Passed to them too heavy on their shoulders.
“Alright. Alone,” Lord Chanyeol finally says. He nods to his companions, sending them ahead. Baekhyun waits for them to disappear around the corner before he moves across the hall, down a flight of stairs and into an alcove, stopping by a coat of arms. He looks around before turning to face Chanyeol behind him.
“Why would you kill Milo?” Baekhyun starts.
Lord Chanyeol shrugs with a smile. “Why would I kill the King’s Keeper?”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“So why are you asking?”
“We were to execute him, anyway, for treason,” Baekhyun says through clenched teeth, trying his best to keep his voice even. “You could have at least given the old man some time with his family.”
“You old souls take too much time enacting your justice. You had no evidence. You were going to set him free, pardoned, relieved of his duties, given a vacation home by the edge while you appease the people, making up lies about the Crown Prince’s disappearance. Meanwhile, the King will pass away and who will take the throne? Ah, right. You, the next Family in line. Shouldn’t you be tried for treason, Lord Baekhyun?” Chanyeol says, that infuriating smile still in place, voice calm and condescending. Baekhyun cannot believe how far gone his old friend has become with greed. It takes all of his willpower not to strangle him. “I didn’t kill the man. Milo’s son is to blame. The torch fell down, set his house on fire. The scrolls have been closed. Were you not listening this morning? We discussed this with the Council. If I were you, I would spend less time worrying about the dead and more time looking for the living. Our poor prince! Missing!”
Baekhyun grits his teeth in frustration, staring at Chanyeol’s smiling face, a look of triumph in the other’s eyes. Baekhyun has never been good with politics. That’s Junmyeon’s forte, traveling around as Ambassador to the other Human planets-Krillo, Earth & Myos, sister planets to their own Exo, home to El Dorado.
When Milo and Kale arrived yesterday with the unfortunate news, the Council has been called for an emergency meeting. An ambush on the prince, planned and calculated, surely an insider’s work. While the news spread across the Kingdom, the council turned on Milo to take the blame. They asked and asked, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t deny the charges but he refused to disclose the true mastermind. And yet, this morning, as Baekhyun weaves the Light into the sky, they found Milo dead.
“He didn’t name you. He was loyal to you to the very end and yet you burn him and his sons,” Baekhyun swallows the lump in his throat. Chanyeol only blinks.
“I told you, I didn’t-”
“I know of your Family’s coal business with the Rogues, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun interrupts. Chanyeol had the decency to look surprised. They have stopped calling each other by their lone first names when they took their place in the Council, little kids playing in the castle gardens no more. It is the first time in years Baekhyun addressed the Lord of Fire as a friend, hoping to see a single sign of remorse for his corruption, “An endless winter, really? You burn the forests here for your coal to a captive market and then what? And what do the Rogues get in return? The throne? Who will rule us? That Rogue Sehun? He can’t even rule over his own pet!”
“You have no proof!” Chanyeol shouts, his voice ringing around the alcove, the sound bouncing against the walls. His face is red, his fists are clenched tight by his side, the perfect image of Fire, just like his city in the south.
“I don’t. I don’t have physical proof but it doesn’t matter. The Rouge Xiumin is dead now. He can’t control winter to sustain your business. Trees will start growing soon, Lord Yixing will be hard at work these coming years. No one will need coal for months.”
Chanyeol remains silent, fuming.
“Winter comes once a year, when we turn a full circle. Your Family is not lacking in gold. Why want for more, Chanyeol? Why make us suffer for more?”
“You have no proof,” Chanyeol repeats, “Milo is dead. Master Xiumin is dead. Master Chen is the next rightful King.”
“Why? Because you slept with him once?”
“I didn’t-” Chanyeol splutters, taking a step back. Baekhyun laughs.
“I have ears across the Kingdom. You slept with me once too, many turns ago, and yet you’re not too eager to make me the next King. Infact, you’ve taken to blackmailing me as the mastermind behind the ambush, as I would be next to take the throne with Kyungsoo gone.”
Chanyeol’s ears has turned a deep scarlet red, “You have no proof.”
“Keep repeating that,” Baekhyun is amused, the anger he was feeling subsiding, replaced by deep regret. His old friend, corrupted by greed and personal vendetta, “You never did like the prince.”
“He is not fit to be King.”
“Just because he doesn’t bow down to all of your demands does not make him unfit to rule the Kingdom. He is courteous to you, despite your attempts to make use of him in court. He lets you do as you please as long as you don’t take it too far. But you often take it too far.”
“He hates me.”
“We all do.”
“That isn’t-”
“Chanyeol, Milo has Passed his ability to Kale on their way back,” Baekhyun informs his friend, his voice soft with regret. “I am to leave with him this afternoon with Junmyeon to look for the prince.”
Chanyeol’s eyes are wide, “He couldn’t have! He wouldn’t have! You told me he was loyal to the very end!”
“He was. Milo didn’t name you. He might have hated the prince after you poisoned him with your stories, ideas rotten of how evil Kyungsoo is. But he still has the Kingdom’s best interest in mind. He knew he would die in your hands, long before we can appoint his replacement as Keeper and Pass his ability. Kale is very young, but he is eager to serve.”
Baekhyun does not take satisfaction from the way Chanyeol’s face turns pale, from the way his whole frame sags as he leans on the stone walls. He feels pity. Politics has taught him that you don’t fight your battles in the open. You do it silently. Discreetly. On paper. Baekhyun does not like war. It has taken their fathers years to calm the Rogue’s cities and keep them under the Kingdom’s rule. He does not want Chanyeol’s city to be an enemy of the crown.
“We will take the ship and head for Earth after noon,” Baekhyun says, as he steps towards the stairs from where they came. “We will land on Earth in a few day’s time. By then, the prince would have healed fully. I expect you to be on your best behavior when we return.”
“What will become of me?” Chanyeol asks quietly.
“I will not speak of this conversation with the Council. As you say, I have no proof. But I will not forget, Lord Chanyeol. I have ears around the Kingdom, please do remember. We will catch the Rogues soon with the Keeper out of your pocket. Your monopoly on the planet’s supply of coal has ended with Spring here. Prince Kyungsoo will be back soon, ready to take the throne as the next King. And you, you will do your duty as Lord of Fire, nothing more, nothing less.”
Chanyeol has his head down, silent for once.
“Very well. Good morn, Lord Chanyeol. I’ll see you in the hall,” Baekhyun makes for the stairs when Chanyeol speaks.
“Why Earth? Of all the planets he could have gone to, why Earth?”
Baekhyun thinks of the prince disappearing every afternoon, teleporting to Mt. Captcka, the only remaining mountain in the Kingdom with trees. He thinks of the volumes of books up in the prince’s chambers, all of Earth, populated with a race of Humans adept in technology, always tinkering and busy with their moving books and paintings. Baekhyun never understood Junmyeon’s stories of Earth, their people too busy with war, with monopolies as corrupt as Chanyeol is. And yet the prince has been so taken by the Ambassador’s stories of vast land covered with trees, of rain that falls plentiful from their sky. Baekhyun knows that if the prince isn’t in the Kingdom, as Milo has said, the first place he would escape to is the one place he has wanted to visit for years.
“Trees and rain,” Baekhyun says, not turning around. “The prince has always wanted to visit for the trees and the rain. Things you have taken from and deprived him for years.”
With that, the Lord of Light ascends the stairs, heart lighter than it has ever been.
4
Earth; Summer 2016
It has not rained since the first day.
Kyungsoo looks out of the cabin’s large window, out to the miles and miles of trees, as far as his eyes could see. Now that Kyungsoo can see them better, he sees that there is a mixture of various types, all different from the ones he is used to back home. There are some trees with tall and thick trunks, their leaves heart-shaped and a dark dark green, some with narrow trunks that reach high up to the sky, some are shorter with little leaves on tiny twigs that reach across and over, while others are with branches so numerous they sprawl low and hanging almost to the ground. Kyungsoo does not know their names, does not know how these humans call them, but the trees here are plenty, healthy, free to grow and live for many many years. He tries not to think of the trees back home, their days numbered. When he is King, he will do all that he can to repopulate the land with all the greens again. Kyungsoo smiles at the thought, his heart happily humming in contentment in his chest, watching the clear blue sky outside, blanketing the miles of green, white clouds littering the wide expanse of the lightest of blue.
He longs to go out and explore, to walk among the tree trunks on the ground, to teleport to the topmost branch of the tallest tree and look down on the endless green below, to feel the warm wind on his face, to feel freedom. Here on Earth, he is no prince, just a stranger on a strange land, responsibilities none, free time many. However, Kyungsoo is still too weak to do so. The ache in his limbs is gone, his body healing naturally, all broken bones set and straight as they were, but he has not completely healed. His power is still weak, it fizzles at his fingertips, static stuttering. He has tried exerting strength on a leaf, thin and small on his palm, his eyes set on it in concentration, imagining it bursting to crystal dust. It didn’t move. Even the simplest of actions, his strength could not suffice. He has tried the first night to copy the Earth’s human language, palm set on the man’s cheek, trying with all his might to seep words and meanings through his skin. He tried, but he couldn’t.
Kyungsoo’s ears redden, remembering the man’s red face under his touch, blush dusting across his cheeks. He looks to the other side of the cabin, where the man is currently standing, cooking them their breakfast, an Earth delicacy he calls ‘ramyun’.
Jongin. The man’s name is Jongin.
Kyungsoo has seen illustrations of the Humans of Earth, his books back home are clipped with diagrams and sketches in black and white, done in the hand of Ambassadors such as Lord Junmyeon, and the many many lines before him. They look similar to the race of humans in his own planet, save for the absence of their abilities. According to a book he has read, the tome as old as his Father King, the humans on Earth had abilities as well, long long ago. But instead of electing them to office to protect the lands, they were persecuted, hunted and burned at the stakes. Witches and warlocks, they were called. They were purged, until so few are left, in hiding now, a dying line. Lord Baekhyun had thought of the humans on Earth as brutal wildlings, fit to be banished to the edges. But Lord Junmyeon said they were warm people, if one is to truly know them. They had prejudices, yes, but what human doesn’t.
Kyungsoo looks at Jongin again. Back then, Kyungsoo had agreed with the Lord of Light, but now, he finds himself agreeing with the Ambassador.
Jongin had been a source of warmth that first night. He had dressed Kyungsoo’s open wound, the gash in Kyungsoo’s arm not as deep as it was when he found him, the healing stitching up the flesh slowly. Jongin had looked at it then, his eyes full of questions he didn’t ask. Kyungsoo wouldn’t have been able to answer, of course, but he had appreciated the silence.
Kyungsoo could understand bits and pieces of Earth language, single words he had read in his books, words he recognize but can’t put together. But Jongin had been patient with him, despite Kyungsoo’s inability to communicate with words. He had stayed beside him, helping him with his clothes, hand gentle and careful, touch warm and comforting. He had turned away when needed, when Kyungsoo took off his breeches, a dust of pink on his cheeks, the same color on Kyungsoo’s own.
That night, Kyungsoo had asked Jongin to stay with him, to keep him warm, to dispel any remaining cold from Xiumin’s freezes, nothing more. Jongin had agreed, immediately understanding Kyungsoo’s meaning when he gestured to the space beside him on the bed. And when they had settled for the night, with Jongin’s hands wound around him, his skin warm against Kyungsoo’s own, Kyungsoo knew it wasn’t simply for the cold, but for the companionship, and the need to touch.
Kyungsoo has never felt attraction so strong and easy as he felt that day, like a pull he could not resist, a path destined for him to take. Kyungsoo does not believe in fate, soulmates a silly concept to him, much to the dismay of Lord Baekhyun, a firm believer and advocate of the study of the cosmos, the stars and the planets aligning perfectly to dictate a person's future. Kyungsoo still does not believe, but he thinks he now knows why so many people do, why they go to the Lord of Light for readings into their future, wanting to know if their other half is just over the horizon. Kyungsoo now understands as he gazes at Jongin across the room, the man’s back broad and shoulders wide, long arms moving about the counter of bowls and makeshift fire, stirring the broth Kyungsoo has grown to like.
“Maquero,” Kyungsoo says outloud, eyes never leaving Jongin, who turns to him at the sound of his voice. The diagrams and illustrations in his books do Jongin no justice. Jongin’s back is beautiful but it does not compare to his face, chiseled like marble, sharp edges and smooth panes, perfect proportions from his eyes to the tip of his nose, to the bow of his full lips. Jongin looks like he was patterned from parchment drawn for builders to base their statues of, and he is the breathing living product of their days of hard work. Jongin raises an eyebrow at him, his hair a dark deep brown, tousled from sleep (and maybe, Kyungsoo’s fingers, he could not remember). Kyungsoo finds himself deeply submerged in shallow waters. He repeats, “Maquero, qui maquero.”
Beautiful, very beautiful.
“Are you staring again?” Jongin asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. Kyungsoo just smiles as he stands up, moving across the cabin towards him. Jongin smiles back, his eyes turning into crescents, face so open and welcoming. Kyungsoo loves that about him, how easily he can read him, like one of the books from his library back home. And like his books, Kyungsoo cannot help but grow attached to every one of Jongin’s pages.“Breakfast’s almost ready. Come and eat.”
Kyungsoo does not understand the words, of course, but he has learned to read the atmosphere, has learned to read the silence between them, like a special language for them both. He finds himself understanding what Jongin means, with words, without words. Often times, it is as if he could hear him in his own tongue, the Earth language sounding less foreign to his ears the more he hears it. Jongin isn’t a speaker, he seldom does, but he would sometimes talk to Kyungsoo as if he could understand. He would speak slowly, clearly, enunciating each word properly. There are times in his stories when his face would light up with child-like wonder, hand gesticulating in front of him like a dance. Kyungsoo can only imagine what he is saying, no context to help him understand, but still, Kyungsoo would listen attentively, hanging on his every sentences. Kyungsoo isn’t paying attention to the words, however, but to the sound of Jongin’s voice, deep and warm, a blanket of sound that wraps around Kyungsoo so exclusively, privately.
Kyungsoo walks next to Jongin on the counter, fetching the bowl and spoons, and these sticks they use to bring food to their lips. Kyungsoo has not yet learned how to use them, despite Jongin’s attempts at teaching him.
Kyungsoo hums, arms grazing against Jongin’s in the small space. It had made him blush the first time it happened, the first morning days ago, but today he doesn’t react to it, a familiar buzz in his skin, a pleasant tingle the spreads through him. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips.
Utensils gathered in his hands he begins laying them down on the table one by one, as Jongin brings over the pot of red steaming broth. They sit down together, Jongin’s long legs touching his calves underneath the table. Kyungsoo lifts the lid of the pot, the now familiar smell of ramyun filling the air.
“I added odeng today. And some onion and leeks. Kimchi too, an egg, two slices of cheese,” Jongin tells him as he takes Kyungsoo’s bowl and ladles it with soup. “You seem to really like it when I put cheese, and you enjoyed the odeng soup I cooked yesterday.” He adds some of the greens and the browns, sliced up into squares, using his sticks to transfer strands of noodles, careful not to spill. He hands it back to Kyungsoo, who takes the steaming bowl and digs his spoon in for a sip of the broth, a few vegetables finding their way in. Jongin looks at him expectantly.
Kyungsoo cocks his head to the side, chewing carefully. Back in the castle, he was taught how to appreciate good dishes, to taste each ingredient carefully, and then let the flavors come together as one in the end. He was taught to give praise where it is due but he was also taught to pretend he is enjoying the food even if it is not to his taste, to always compliment the cook for his efforts while being polite with constructive criticisms.
The soup today is the most delicious Kyungso has tasted the dish of but he decides to make Jongin wait. So he takes another spoonful, this time with some of this odeng, as Jongin calls it, and chews it slowly, putting on his practiced face of contemplation.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Do you hate it?” Jongin asks him, watching him worriedly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have added the kimchi. You don’t like that one? The sour vegetables?”
Kyungsoo hums, taking another sip. Jongin squirms in his seat as he takes a spoon to the pot to take a sip himself. His brows furrow in confusion when he does. “It tastes okay. I mean, more than okay, actually.” He looks a little flustered now. Kyungsoo thinks Jongin looks beautiful with his flushed skin, letting a little smile slip into his lips. Jongin looks beautiful in and with anything, Kyungsoo decides, hiding his smile behind his spoon. He briefly wonders, what Jongin would look like in Council robes, the white pristine cloth against his tanned skin, billowy and regal on his tall frame. Jongin notices his smile, however, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Wait, are you teasing me?”
Kyungsoo knows he has caught on. Kyungsoo just shrugs his shoulders and continues to eat, the smile not leaving his lips. He gestures to the pot in the middle of their table and says one of the first words he has learned, “Cold.”
Across from him, Jongin lets out a whine, like a petulant child, a new page of him that Kyungsoo finds as endearing as the others he has seen before. Kyungsoo answers with a smile, extending his legs under the table, tangling them with Jongin’s long ones, calves warm against Jongin’s own. This makes Jongin stop and sit still. Kyungsoo chuckles into his spoon, about to say another word he has learned, delicious, when he sees a flash of light outside. Kyungsoo’s pulse quickens.
He pushes his chair back, standing up, his heart beating faster with each step he takes. Behind him, he hears Jongin standing up as well. When he reaches the window and looks outside, the sky is no longer a light blue, but numerous shades of white and black, the clouds a heavy gray. Another flash of lightning, shortly followed by thunder and then the clouds let out the heavy rain, the sound of it like raining bullets on the roof.
Rain. Finally.
Kyungsoo looks at Jongin beside him, smile wide on his lips, heart hammering in his chest like a drum. Jongin looks at him with questions in his eyes. The same look he always gets when Kyungsoo is not looking, but Kyungsoo knows. He could feel Jongin’s curiosity, always present but never verbalized. Jongin talks to him about many things, things Kyungsoo does not understand but wants to. Jongin never asks questions, but Kyungsoo wants to give him answers, wants to tell him so many things, so many stories of his own.
Another flash of lightning.
Kyungsoo remembers the rogue Chen back in El Dorado with his lightning bolts, each of his hits keeping Kyungsoo awake through Xiumin’s freezes, charging him, restoring his strength little by little, until Kyungsoo could hear power buzzing in his ears.
He looks at Jongin beside him, then back outside to the pouring rain. He needs to do this, to restore his strength faster so he can use his abilities sooner, so he may put his palm on Jongin’s cheek and copy his language, to tell him how beautiful he is in so many words, to describe to him the beauty of his face to the beauty of his heart, to tell him how his warmth has thawed not only Kyungsoo’s cold skin but also the ice around his heart.
“Ih mayee yui,” Kyungsoo says, eyes boring deep into Jongin’s own, conveying his meaning, hoping for him to understand.
Wait for me.
Kyungsoo runs outside then, feet quick, steps hurried. He opens the door of the cabin, the sound of the rain louder now. Jongin calls his name behind him, but Kyungsoo does not turn around. He steps outside and under the rain, the heavy beat of water on his skin a welcome shower. He runs outside, closer to the trees, a slight limp still in his steps.
“Kyungsoo!”
Kyungsoo does not look back as he moves down the slope towards the forest, the coldness seeping into his clothes-Jongin’s clothes, the garment longer than his limbs, folded at the ends, but they’re comfortable. Kyungsoo loved sleeping in them. Now they are drenched, heavy on his body, chilling his skin with wetness so very cold. But it is a kind of cold he can endure. He has lived through years of winter, through snow and hail storms, chilling biting cold, through Xiumin’s freezes, like heat on his skin. This cold is nothing Kyungsoo cannot endure.
As he runs down, the heavy rain relentless against his back, he thinks of what else it means for his strength to be restored sooner. To be able to teleport again. To be able to go home. Home to his Kingdom, to his people, to his duties.
To leave Jongin.
“Kyungsoo!”
Jongin emerges from the cabin, stepping out and running after him, the rain pouring over his figure like a fountain from the heavens. Kyungsoo is right. Jongin does look good in anything, his clothes as drenched as Kyungsoo’s are, sticking to his torso, clinging like second skin to his arms and thighs. His hair is dripping wet, plastered to his forehead. Kyungsoo wants to run his fingers through the strands again, to feel the wetness through his fingers, strands sliding through his palm. Oh how Kyungsoo wants. But-
“Kyungsoo what are you doing?”
Jongin is a few meters away, the slope slippery. He is careful with his steps now, his running slowing down to a walk. Kyungsoo can see his concerned face through the gray rain. Jongin is drenched from head to toe, and yet he is worried of Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo feels warmth blossom in his heart, the kind he has learned to associate with Jongin, the kind that he feels every morning when he wakes up with the Light shining outside their window, Jongin’s chest pressed close against his face, the kind that he feels when Jongin would smile at him, eyes so tender and sincere, like Kyungsoo is the most precious to him in the world, greater than all of his gold and silver. This warmth is present now, spreading throughout his chest, a nice contrast to the chilling wetness of his skin.
Warmth, trees and rain.
Kyungsoo has found all of them.
He lets out a laugh, happiness bubbling from his heart to his throat, a lightness so foreign overtaking him. Back home, it has been nothing but cold winter days, cold winter nights, storms of hail and snow. The trees dwindling in number as forest after forest are burned to coal. And the rain, only a memory with the Kingdom under an endless winter.
Here on Earth, Kyungsoo has found the things he was looking for, the things he lacks, the things he has longed for.
He looks at Jongin, nearing him, a few feet away now, Kyungsoo’s own personal source of warmth. Kyungsoo’s heart pangs in his chest.
He raises his hand just as the clouds are split by a flash of light, concentrating what little strength he has to draw it towards him.
Warmth, trees and rain.
Kyungsoo has found them all, but now he has to say goodbye.
El Dorado is waiting for him. His Kingdom needs him.
When the lightning hits his outstretched palm, he sees Jongin’s eyes widen in shock, mouth calling his name but Kyungsoo does not hear him, the familiar power buzzing in his ears.
JONGIN feels the anxiousness from earlier this week envelope him once again, like a wave of water that drowns him with invisible force, pulling him under, under under. He breathes in heavily with effort, as if his lungs are not enough to provide for him anymore. In a way, there is truth to this. How else would he explain his difficulty in breathing, like air clawing out through his nose?
Jongin looks at Kyungsoo on the bed, still sleeping, the steady rise and fall of his chest a comfort to ease Jongin’s worry. He is waiting for the water in the pot to boil, cooking their now traditional meal of ramyun. It would do good for Kyungsoo to sip on hot soup after their impromptu shower in the rain.
Jongin has long stopped questioning things about Kyungsoo, the strange man that fell from the trees with his winter clothes and his open wound that healed quickly, with his strange language and his ability to make Jongin’s heart flutter with just a simple smile or look. Jongin has stopped asking questions in his head and instead, has let himself feel, let himself fall.
And so when Kyungsoo ran outside into the rain, Jongin merely followed out of worry, but somehow, he knew that it was different-with the way Kyungsoo’s eyes were wild with emotion when he turned to Jongin by the window, with the way Kyungsoo ran out with focus, not minding the heavy rain, his steps sure and determined, a path towards the forest set-Jongin felt afraid, an irrational fear that Kyungsoo would disappear in the rain the same way he came with it.
Jongin has lifted his unconscious body from the entrance to the forest, just before the trees start and the clearing ends, the worry in Jongin’s heart spreading through every vein in his body, blood coursing through him icy cold with fear. Jongin carried him up the slope, careful not to slip, steps slow but grounded. He wanted to move faster, get to the cabin faster, but everything seemed to be in slow motion. Jongin could feel that is on borrowed time, Kyungsoo heavy in his arms slipping between his fingers like sand. He gripped Kyungsoo tighter to his chest.
Both of them were dripping wet when they arrived back in the cabin, clothes drenched in summer rain. Jongin had set Kyungsoo on the bed, his eyes fluttering open then close, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jongin had undressed Kyungsoo, much like how he undressed him that first night, ridding him of his wet shirt and pants, and dressing him in dry comfortable clothes. The blush on Jongin’s cheeks was still present, hands shaking as he uncovered more and more of Kyungsoo’s pale skin, but his shyness was overpowered by his need to help Kyungsoo out of his wet clothes, to keep him warm and safe from catching a cold.
Kyungsoo has been sleeping on the bed since then. The sun has set now, the sky outside a deep inky blue, thousands of stars dotting the vast expanse with twinkling silver. Lunch has passed by with Kyungsoo sleeping, Jongin eating bread with jam alone on the table, his appetite for ramyun not present without Kyungsoo to share the pot with.
Usually, Jongin would spend the afternoons with Kyungsoo outside, arm wound around him as they walk slowly along the clearing, getting Kyungsoo’s legs some exercise. Sometimes, Jongin would tell Kyungsoo stories-of his adventures as a rookie actor, ignored and looked down upon, of starving every day of his life because he refused to contract under influential brokers, offering him work in exchange of favors, of his rise to fame because of a clip of him dancing in an obscure cable variety show going viral, of the drama offers that came after, the movies, the cfs, of the fans that started growing in number, of the tours and the promotions, and the filming and the interviews, of getting tired of it all, but then remembering why he chose this job, a dream he has worked hard for since he was a child. Jongin told Kyungsoo everything, his innermost thoughts, complaints, fears, desires. There’s something comforting about being able to let out everything in the open, to have Kyungsoo listen to him despite Jongin knowing he couldn’t understand. He liked the way Kyungsoo would look at him with rapt attention, like what he’s saying is of utmost important. Jongin is used to being the center of attention, attention he dislikes. People would fake fawn over him to gain favor in his eyes, to be seen and associated with him. Individuals he has only met a second or two, talked to once or twice, would post pictures of them on their sns, claiming them to be the closest of best friends. The public eats it up, thinking Jongin is friends with so many of these stars, reporters and staff he barely knows. The truth is, Jongin only knows a handful, and is friends with fewer. Most of his colleagues he considers acquaintances.
But Kyungsoo is different. The attention he gives Jongin is genuine, it shows in his eyes and the sweet smile playing on his lips. Kyungsoo looks at him like he’s the center of his universe, and Jongin is okay with that.
The water is boiling now, Jongin dropping the noodles in the bubbling water, when he hears voices outside the door.
Jongin stills all movements, the anxiousness now back once again. He looks at Kyungsoo,stirring awake in their bed. Borrowed time. Somehow, Jongin always knew they were on borrowed time. His strange man who fell from the trees, never his to stay.
He waits.
One two three sharp knocks on his door.
“Who is it?” Jongin asks, caution and hesitation clear in his voice, ears straining to hear how many they were outside.
“Good evening. May we please have a word with you?” The voice is clean and crisp, his Korean clipped and accent foreign. Like Kyungsoo’s., Jongin thinks. His stomach drops, his chest hollows. He looks back at the bed, Kyungsoo is sitting up now, looking at Jongin curiously, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Who is it?” he calls again.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. Jongin turns to see him standing up, walking towards him in Jongin’s clothes, the sleeves covering his hands, the bottoms folded for his feet. Jongin refuses to let the pang in his chest be more than it is, refuses to let the hollowness spread all over his being. “Jongin?”
“Kyungsoo, some people are outside. I ought to call my manager,” Jongin says his go-to phrase, pre-programmed into his speech, but he knows it is no use. He knows his manager cannot help him keep his heart whole.
“Good evening, sir,” the voice outside says once more. Jongin sees Kyungsoo’s eyes go wide, surprise evident on his face. Kyungsoo recognizes the voice. He knows the people outside. “We would like-”
Kyungsoo rushes to the door, opening it before Jongin can move from his spot by the stove. Too late.
There are three people outside. Jongin watches as they step inside the cabin, the orange overhead light bathing them in a soft glow. They are dressed in identical suits, fabric of midnight black. Jongin doesn’t know what he was expecting. He was expecting something more flashy, perhaps robes, perhaps metallic foils. Whether it be an alternate dimension, a parallel universe or the outer space, Jongin expected Kyungsoo’s home to be more dramatic and dynamic, like Kyungsoo’s existence in Jongin’s life is. The entrance of these three seemingly normal men was not what he was expecting.
They line up infront of Kyungsoo, who has his back straight and his chin held high at an angle, looking every bit as regal and important as Jongin always imagined him to be, remembering his black clothes from when he found him in the forest, material thick and expensive looking. The first thing they do is kneel down on one knee in front of him, head bowed down to the ground, they murmur in a language Jongin does not understand.
Jongin thinks it looks a bit silly, Kyungsoo commanding these three men to stand up with the flick of his wrist, all while wearing Jongin’s oversized clothes, the garments hanging off his frame. He would have laughed if not for the solemn expressions on all of their faces, as they talk in hushed voices, volume and foreign tongue preventing him to understand. He settles for a smile instead.
Should he offer them water? Coffee? Tea?
Just as he was about to fetch them glasses, they call his name.
“Mr. Jongin,” it was the voice from before, coming from the man in the middle, his looks clean and sharp. “I’m Ambassador Junmyeon, liaison between Exo and the Earth. With me are Lord of Light Baekhyun and the Kingdom’s Keeper Kale,” he gestures to the two men behind him, both bowing in his direction as Jongin bows his head back. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Jongin takes the extended hand and shakes it, an eyebrow raising at hearing their titles, “Likewise.”
“Our Prince has told us you have taken good care of him,” the ambassador gestures to Kyungsoo, standing to the side with a smile. “However, he tells us you do not speak our language yet, nor he yours. I would like to ask your permission to do the transfer-”
Jongin sees Kyungsoo’s smile disappear in an instant, as he steps in front of the Ambassador, arm halting the other’s movements. The Ambassador immediately steps back, his head bowed in apology. Jongin just looks on, bewildered.
“Er, ask my permission for what?” he asks, just as Kyungsoo reaches his hand to Jongin’s cheek, like he did the very first night they met and the nights after that, the action and warmth from Kyungsoo’s palm never failing to make him smile and blush. But right now, with three other men in the room, the red on Jongin’s cheeks is a shade deeper and darker.“Kyungsoo-?”
Kyungsoo just looks up at him with that warm smile of his, his eyes sincere and clear as they always are, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin it could reach, a perfect reenactment of the first time he met him. And then Kyungsoo closes his eyes, the same time Jongin feels a tingling sensation where Kyungsoo’s palm meets his cheek, spreading to his temple. It feels relaxing, almost hypnotizing. He could feel something tangible passing through his skin.
When Kyungsoo opens his eyes, hand still on Jongin’s cheek, palm as warm as ever, the first thing he says with a grin is, “Hi, Jongin.”
Jongin grins back, “So you were only trying to learn my language that first time, is that it?”
Kyungsoo chuckles, eyes glinting with mischief. He steps closer, thumb still smoothing invisible lines on Jongin’s face. “Maybe,” he teases.
“And here I thought it was because you thought I was beautiful, like your golden brooch,” Jongin smiles down at him, stepping closer too, their chests touching now. Jongin wounds his arms around Kyungsoo, locking him in place. Borrowed time, he reminds himself. He smiles wider, trying his best to push down the anxiousness in his gut.“So Prince, huh? Does that mean I get to be your princess?”
Kyungsoo looks away, a bashful tint to his cheeks, his hand dropping to hold onto Jongin’s biceps, resting his against Jongin’s chest. “Queen, actually. No- King and King. You and me. If you want, of course,” hiding his face, clear embarrassment in his voice.
Jongin wants to say yes. He really does.
“I have a life here, Soo. A job I can’t just leave. I have scenes to film next week, a movie to promote in a month…” Jongin feels his borrowed time slipping faster than he can catch the strands.
Kyungsoo lifts his head and looks up at him, eyes as clear as ever, “Is that a no?”
“It’s a maybe.”
Kyungsoo nods, stepping away. Jongin is already regretting his decision. Can he take it back? But his dream and his life is here. Kyungsoo, however-
“I guess that leaves me with no choice.” Kyungsoo sighs deeply as he commands, “Please kneel down on one knee, Jongin.”
“Prince Do!” the Ambassador stumbles forward, breaking his silence. The three men has been quiet all these time, head bowed in their corner of the cabin, showing respect to their Prince and his privacy. For the Ambassador to speak up so indignantly, Kyungsoo’s request must be one he strongly objects to. Jongin looks to see the other two men are looking at them with wide eyes too. This night is also full of surprises, it seems. “You cannot! Your ability will be invaluable to you as King!”
“Are you questioning my decision, Lord Junmyeon?” Kyungsoo says with finality, his voice firm and sure, leaving no room for arguments. Power and authority comes naturally to him, Jongin realizes, seeing his hard gaze piercing through Lord Junmyeon. Jongin feels a surge of pride coming over him. Kyungsoo will be a great King.
“No, Your Highness,” the Ambassador says with a bow.
“Very well,” he turns his eyes to Jongin, gaze softening. “Jongin, down on one knee, please.”
This time, no one objects, but Jongin saw Lord Junmyeon’s hands curl into tight fists. Jongin needs to watch out for that man.
He kneels as he is told.
“Are you not to curious of what I am about to do?” Kyungsoo asks above him, voice gentle and sweet. “Jongin, are you not going to ask?”
Jongin is curious, yes, but this is Kyungsoo, his strange man who he has stopped questioning since long ago. If Kyungsoo said he has no choice but this after Jongin said to leave the Earth with him as his King, then Jongin is sure it is a choice that will benefit them both, a wise choice, a King’s choice.
So Jongin looks up at Kyungsoo and shakes his head, “No, Kyungsoo. I trust you.”
Kyungsoo looks stunned for a moment, a parade of emotion on his face. Jongin sees tenderness in his eyes and as he blinks the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, as he laughs lightly, breathlessly. “This is why I can’t bear not seeing you again. Because you accept me like no one else can.” He reaches down to cup Jongin’s cheek for the second time tonight, a smile so radiant on his face as he leans down, closer and closer still. Jongin isn’t breathing when Kyungsoo’s soft lips touch his own in a chaste kiss, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest, his cheeks aflame. “I’m glad you found me, Jongin. Now you can keep finding me again and again.”
When Kyungsoo straightens, he lays his palm on top of Jongin’s head, and says, “I Pass thee unto you, Teleportation.”
epilogue
El Dorado; Summer 40BX
Jongin is late.
Kyungsoo looks to the sky, impatiently tapping his foot on the marbled floor. The Council meeting is in a few minutes, the Light is almost up. Lord of Light Baekhyun has finally woken up, it seems. And yet, Jongin still nowhere to be seen.
When he hears a whish and a crash outside his chambers, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.
“Oh my god, Soo! I am so sorry I’m late!” Crash “Agh fuck! I thought you said you’d stop putting this goddamn coat of arms here!”
Kyungsoo can’t help but chuckle as he steps out, the King’s crown in his hand.
“And why are you late?”
“A taxi full of those crazy bitches was following my van, as always. I couldn’t just teleport from my van! My manager would freak out. You know how much he hates it when I do it where he can see.”
Kyungsoo sighs and steps closer, putting the heavy crown on his head. “C’mere, your robe is untied.”
Jongin stops rubbing the toe of his left foot, and straightens, walking towards his King. “Why are you smiling? Are you happy because of my pain?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head, looping the sash around Jongin’s neck into a tie, fingers familiar with the motions. “Just thinking how I was right.”
“About what?”
“How good you’d look in Council robes.”
“You always tell me I look good in anything.”
“And without anything.”
“Kyungsoo!”
Kyungsoo chuckles as he pats Jongin’s chest, the tie done, knot in place. He knows Jongin never bothers to learn how to do it properly because Kyungsoo likes doing it for him. He is not wrong.
“Come on, the Council is waiting, Lord Jongin.”
Jongin grins, “After you, King Do.”
As they walk the halls hand in hand, outside the castle, miles and miles of mithrims and adaleids, weirls and gribours are being under the shower of the summer rain.