#It is a cute color palette but (hopefully) in a way a middle aged man would find acceptable lmao

[moongothic]

Current crochet project is a blanket for dad (his crimbus present); since I want to make a Lorge Blanket for him and how these squares are Quite Tiny, I do need approx 1120 squares for a whole blanket (28x40 squares), so it’s going to be A Lot Of Work to get done (and there’s a high possibility I might end up making the blanket a little smaller), but I’m getting there!

Currently just enjoying how satisfying the lil squares look in that little box, all neatly organized. God knows that ain’t gonna last long though ‘cause I only have 1/4th of the blanket done there and I’m not gonna have the room to keep them organized like that forever lmao

[leggomylino]

Emin | yandere!artist!chenle

Genre: yandere, a bit of fluff, angst, a bit of comedy (just to relieve some tension)

Pairing: yandere!artist!chenle x baroness!reader

Word count: ~10.3k

Warning(s): deep angst, dark thoughts, violence, possible character death

Song: Leia by Yuyoyuppe (feat. Megurine Luka; here’s a really pretty piano arrangement!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-Ooh0e-fvk c: )

A/N: Requests are open! | Masterlist in bio!! | thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!! <3 | P.s....I wanted to portray Chenle as more of a soft/confused yandere?? Still possessive but more...respectful? Innocent? I think that’s the word(s) I’m looking for? Like he’s really unsure how to handle it? Idk hopefully you’ll get what I was going for… ^^”

~

[2:42 pm]

You were his safety. His peace. And that’s why he refused to let you go.

You were a rainbow, and they were all colorblind. But not him. Never him; to him, you were all the colors of the spectrum and more, so much more, so much more that he simply couldn’t contain it all in his fragile, broken body.

So he painted. That’s how he’d gotten his start as an artist.

He painted religiously. Each day was something new, something vibrant, something alive, bursting with color and warmth and emotion; so many emotions. Some days were painful; others were like a breath of fresh air. But he didn’t care if it hurt. He didn’t mind that it was slowly consuming his sanity, filling up every square inch of canvas in his mind. Like a moth to a flame, he’d do it all over in a heartbeat. Like a sailor to a siren at sea, he’d keep coming back for more, over and over and over again.

And on days he’d lost sight of that focus, on nights he couldn’t sleep, his body wracked with pain from the debilitating illness that the clerics still had yet to find a cure for, he’d draw the person he wished he could be.

He was strong, and handsome, and focused. He wasn’t sick; he was healthy, and determined and dedicated and sophisticated. He was loyal and brave and loving and so charismatic, so charming, there was no way you couldn’t notice him. He was your world; just like you were his.

Even if it wasn’t real. Even if he had to paint it himself.

It was all he wanted. It was all he had.

And for now, it was enough.

“Chenle~ I’m heading out now!”

Chenle blinked to life, waking himself back into reality. Reluctantly.

He smiled to the woman walking into the room, her wine red dress skirts swaying with each step she took towards her precious baby boy. Her one and only son, now that his older brother had gone off to enlist in the war effort.

“Okay, Mom.”

She sighed, resting a hand on her wrinkled cheek as she examined his most recent masterpiece. He was painting that girl; again. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright by yourself? Don’t forget you have that meeting with the Duchess today at five p.m.”

He sighed back as she ran her free hand through his messy orange hair, stained that way from all the many late nights painting to his heart's content. The room was never clean when he was hit with inspiration, and nothing was spared; not even his hair. His fingers were often so blue, the rivets embedded in murky varnish, the other villagers thought they were broken.

...That wasn’t far from the truth, but it was still a misconception all the same.

“I know. I’ll be fine. Take care on your trip.”

His mother smiled once more, placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. “I will, dear. You take care of yourself as well. Don’t stay up too late with...erm…”

“Emin.” He smiled much more brightly. “Her name is Emin.”

“...Yes...Emin.” She frowned, her shoulders sagging a bit. This wasn’t the first time he’d locked himself into his own false realities...he’d be gone for at least a few days.

But that was fine. He may not have much longer to live anyway; it was the least she could do but to play along with his delusional fantasies.

“Just remember to get yourself cleaned up before you present yourself at the palace. And don’t be late!”

“I won’t. Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

Cha-chunk.

“......”

The moment she’d left the small cottage, a sigh of relief escaped him, and he tilted his head back to face the sky...or rather, the low-hanging splintering wood ceilings.

All he wanted to do was paint and get lost in you. But he’d better start getting ready.

✦

He was scrubbing away the residue of last night’s oil pastels from beneath his fingernails when the image of you popped up in the window through the small broken looking glass of the washroom. He was sure he must be imagining things; after all, the visions of you had been quite strong lately.

Except this time he wasn’t hallucinating. It really was you.

“Chenle!”

“GAH!”

He flinched, dropping the small scrub brush in a state of panic, then whirled around to see you.

Your bright (e/c) eyes. Those rosy cheeks. That gorgeous hair.

He desperately wanted to melt into it, to mix his palette with yours. But he feared the result would be muddy...an unwanted color. He couldn’t risk tainting such beauty with his filth. “E-Emin...I mean, (y/n)...” Gosh, even just saying your name on his tongue was an indescribable joy. “(Y/n)...what are you doing here?”

You crinkled your nose the way you did when you knew something wasn’t right, and Chenle beamed, taking in your every small act of expression. “First tell me who on Earth this Emin fellow is. Do they bear such resemblance to me?”

“...” He nodded after a moment, sheepishly trying to hide the heat rising to his cheeks, but failed miserably. “It’s the name of my newest painting--”

“Oh my gosh!” You lit up brighter than the festival lights during the Fall Harvest, your head bobbing up and down giddily from the small space of a window. “You’re done already?! I wanna see I wanna see I wanna see! ...Please?”

You gave him your greatest puppy pout, the one he couldn’t resist. But you didn’t have to. Because eventually he would have caved anyway.

He picked up the brush off the ground, wishing he would have had more time to make himself presentable for you. Even if the two of you had been friends for a few years now, he still wanted to look his best for you...oh, but who was he kidding, really? It’s not like someone of your stature, the Baroness of Adderdale, would ever fall for a paint-stained dirt-scratcher like him...especially not one that probably only had a few months left to live. “Of course. I’ll open the door for you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay! I know you have a big meeting with Duchess Rowena soon, I’ll just--”

“Nonsense. You’re way more important.”

The words were out there before he could take them back. But he wouldn’t have wanted to anyway, because it was nothing short of the truth. “Uh…” You nodded back to him, your face half-swallowed by the high-standing square hole in the wall, your eyes peeking just over the edge now as you climbed down from the crates you’d been standing on. “Okay, then. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Chenle opened the door for you not but a minute later, right on schedule, and you smiled now that you were able to see him up close.

There was a smear of green paint on his cheek. You pulled out a handkerchief from your dress pocket, fanning it open in one quick flick of the wrist and tenderly reached up to wipe his face clean.

You almost suspected that you missed a few spots from how red his face turned, his whole body tensing, eyes barely peeking out shyly behind closed lids. He’d always been such a bashful, apprehensive young man. But that was one of the many things you loved about him.

If only he knew. Maybe things could have gone differently than how they eventually would come to play out.

You’d just starting to retract your gesture when he stopped you, taking your hand gently in his and holding it against his cheek. Nuzzling his face against the silk fabric of your glove.

You laughed. “What are you, a cat?”

He murmured back a soft reply. “I wish I were, sometimes...maybe then I could focus on the things I really care about.”

This made you frown. “Like what?”

“Like...painting, and watching the sea reach out to the sky, and taking naps all day, and...you.”

“Chenle…”

“Hm?”

“How would you paint? You wouldn’t have thumbs.”

He gave you a playful smirk. “No, but it’d have a tail. I’d never have use for another brush again.”

“How would you sign your work?”

He held up his hand. “Paw print.”

“How is that any different from any old stray cat off the street?”

“Hmm…” He gave it some serious thought, making you smile from ear to ear. “...Oh!” He released your hand, resting a fist in his open palm in an action stating he’d thought of something. “...Two paw prints?”

“Chenle!” You busted out laughing, and it’s got to be one of the most blessed sounds he’d ever had the pleasure, no, the honor of being alive to hear; he felt faint upon hearing it, yet stronger all the same. It’s the sound that gave him strength and security when he needed it most, on nights when he thought the sickness that plagued his brittle bones really would deliver his soul to Heaven. The moment he remembered your voice...even if it was all in his feeble mind...all was well again.

“Are you going to invite me inside? It’s mighty hot out here in the sun.”

“Oh!” He hurriedly stepped aside, taking your hand to help you up the small step into the tiny aged cottage that had to be at least sixty years old. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. I’m used to you spacing out in the middle of a conversation by now.” You poked his nose, sending a charming smile his way that may as well have taken his heart had he not already given it to you. “I think it’s cute.”

The wink you sent him was the nail in the coffin.

“Ahh!” Your eyes caught sight of his studio set up in the far left corner of the room, and you lifted your skirts to dash your heel-clad feet across the splintering floorboards. The moment you got there your hands gripped the drape over the center canvas, but you remembered last minute it’s probably polite to ask first, even if it was a dear friend of yours.

Normally Chenle would have murdered anyone who dared to disturb his art without permission; but you were the lone exception. He could never bring himself to hurt you. “Go ahead.”

Excitedly you casted the veil away, and when your eyes met the girl in the painting you froze.

Because she was you. You were looking at a reflection of yourself.

Except you were way more beautiful than you ever imagined you could be. Why didn’t you look this good in real life?!

“Chenle...it’s…”

“Do you like it?” His eyes were full of excitement and adoration as he gazed upon the you in the painting. “Her name is Emin.”

“Emin…” You repeated the name like a foreign word. “...She…”

You paused for a considerable amount of time, just staring curiously at the work of art. Of course this wasn’t you; it was too beautiful to be. How could you be so vain as to think…?

You sighed, small and subtle beneath your breath. “...She’s beautiful.”

“Just like you.”

“Wh-What?”

When your eyes turned away from the fantasy version of you, they met the artist responsible, staring at you as if it was you who hung the moon in the sky each night. “She looks just like you. Beautiful.”

You couldn’t help the warm feeling spreading over your cheeks; you casted your gaze away before Chenle too could notice.

It was too late, of course, because he already had. It made him so happy to see you flustered and flattered so; he’d have to add it to his list of future Emin’s.

You were his after all.

✦

At precisely four o’clock you left Chenle to finish getting ready, though he was sad to see you go. It was a vision he never wished to see; you disappearing out of sight. What if he never saw you again…? You were always so busy with your responsibilities as Baroness of the state. And it was all his fault.

He shouldn’t have asked to paint your portrait out in the grassy fields beyond town square. Maybe then you wouldn’t have been discovered by those royal administrators, who were so captivated by your charming appearance (as they should have been) that they scooped you up and swept you off to the palace to be trained, paying off your family to buy you as their newest errand girl. Because that’s basically what you were in your role of Baroness; the only difference was that they actually fed and clothed and educated you properly in the art of sophistication and foreign affairs and how to be a proper lady.

It made him sick how they ran you ragged. Sicker than he already felt with this accursed illness he was born with.

Which is why he hadn’t hesitated to pay off a young chef-in-training to poison the roast duck going to the administrator’s office one evening whilst sneaking around the back gardens. Your life became a bit easier after that, and the two of you at least had more time to see each other...until they hired another administrator.

But it was alright. The young man was fresh off the boat from vocation school. He’d hired some local bandits to give the man a good scare, and ever since that day you’d had Tuesday afternoons and Saturday evenings free. Sundays after spiritual services were always a given, thank Heaven.

It was now four-thirty. He’d carefully gathered his materials and was on his way to the palace, bag in hand. He wore his best suit: a brown sewn vest over a cream-colored button-up shirt and long, plain-colored trousers. His orange hair was groomed to look as good as it would ever be.

He had to get this job. It was for himself, for his mother; with his brother out of the house, they had scarcely been able to pay the bills, and the new royal tax document was expected to be passed within the next coming weeks. He was the only one left to take care of her.

And then there was you. He would have done anything for you. If he did manage to land this position, he’d be able to see you more often; even if it was just a few fleeting glimpses from a studio window.

By the time he made it onto the palace grounds, chefs and gardeners scurried about in preparation for a celebratory occasion of some sort. He wondered what it could be…

Until a flyer smacked him right in the face, temporarily blinding him.

Startled, he took a few steps back, ripping the inked parchment away from his face. His eyes scanned the page curiously.

𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑵𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒉, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑵𝒊𝒏𝒂 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Chenle scoffed. Like he cared about the affairs of the royal elite or the country...

None of that mattered unless it involved you.

✦

“So,” Duchess Rowena Varner, next in line for the royal throne, declared. “You must be Chenle...Zhong, is it? Zhong Chenle?”

The said boy grinned politely from before her throne of sorts. A placeholder until she got her greedy hands on the real thing. “Yes, madam.”

“You shall address her as My Lady!” a royal guard barked.

The Duchess shook her head, chuckling a bit as she waved him off. “Now, now, it’s quite alright. Please, call me whatever you like. And might I say, what a handsome young boy you are!” She stood and paced over to the works of art displayed on silver easels. Real silver. Just an ounce of that would be enough to pay the house bills for an entire month, with a bit left to spare for a royal feast. “Quite talented as well. I reviewed your work the other day.” She smiled, stopping beside his most recent portrait of you: Emin No. 54. His most brilliant work of art to date. “This portrait titled “Emin” is especially beautiful.”

He remained smiling in return, pride swelling in his chest. “Yes, I think so as well.”

Her next question caught him off guard.

“Is she by chance, a lover of yours?”

He froze. His face grew hot; hotter than the sun, it had to be. The Duchess tittered, finding amusement at seeing a young boy turn so red.

“So she is, then? That’s quite sweet. I’m happy for you, I am.”

“...N-Not...Not exactly…”

“Oh, come now. It’s alright. But you know…” she pondered, reexamining the painting. “She looks rather familiar...like I’ve seen her somewhere before…”

“I think it’s ugly.”

Duchess Rowena gasped, and all eyes quickly turned to her daughter, the royal Viscountess.

“Nina!!” The Duchess scolded. “That’s very impolite! Apologize this instant. That’s not how a lady should speak.”

Nina huffed, tossing a long pigtail over her shoulder. “Well it’s true. Her nose is too big. And the eyes sort of creep me out. I’d be turning tail and running if I saw this girl in my dreams or out on the streets. More like my nightmares…”

The Duchess’ face was far worse than a frown, and she snapped her fan shut to emphasize her anger and disappointment, scowling down at her daughter’s abhorred behavior. “Oh, Nina…!” She turned her gaze down to the ridiculed artist with sorrow in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for my daughter. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s usually very sweet and polite, I assure you.”

“......” Chenle didn’t know what to say. All he knew in that moment was that he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, and it felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart-- no, that someone had stabbed Emin in the heart.

You. His Emin. The only thing he loved more than anything else in this world. More than his mother, or his brother, or his art supplies, or the beauty he found in every little thing this world has to offer…

The only reason he found such beauty was because of you. He saw you in everything. You were everywhere to him.

Something foreign and unabashed was painting a dark portrait on his insides…

And that portrait was titled The Death of Nina Varner.

✦

He waited just after dusk for the Viscountess to appear on her balcony for her ritual spoiled stargazing event. Each night she would wander out in a silk nightgown onto the balcony outside her room, tossing grapes and cheese and whatever late night snack she could get her snot-nosed hands on into that vexatious piehole of hers, all while shouting orders at the pitiful maids who were stuck with her that evening to braid her hair or rearrange the furniture or stop breathing so heavily and get her some more wine.

Chenle almost felt bad for them. Almost.

But he was much too busy kindling the fires of hatred he had for the witch who dared to insult his precious Emin.

He waited five swift breaths for the maids to take their temporary leave, then made his strike.

It was swift. Quick. A cursory stab to the heart. But it did the trick all the same; she hadn’t even much time to scream in terror as her body slumped to the marble stone floor, lifeless and in vain with a look of pure trepidation on her face.

It scared him how much joy and excitement it brought him to see her that way. But he didn't have time to admire his crafty work; in one rapid, fluent motion, he scampered off down the secret passage he’d bought the blueprints for at the Black Market in the shady part of town, a harsh coughing fit echoing down the narrow hall as he fled.

✦

The next day was meant to be spent orchestrating the Viscountess’s wedding as well as the arrival of Prince Jaemin. Which is why you were surprised to find that instead, that responsibility was no longer yours...and a new one was being passed down to you; or rather, promoted up to you.

“She what?!” you cried, horror-stricken in face. You could only imagine what the Duchess’s face must have looked like, to find her daughter’s dead body on the balcony floor. The maids almost had it worse, being the ones to discover the horrific display.

Even now you could hear Rowena’s cries and sobs as she mourned the murder of her only daughter. It broke your heart; the Duchess was such a sweet lady...a little greedy, yes, but still very kind. And sure, you never much cared for Nina. Everyone knew what an impish hellion she was, despite her mother insisting she was a good person...yet...you’d never once wished to see her drop dead.

...Okay, perhaps once, when she had shoved you into a closet and claimed that it was you who started a fire in the kitchen during a baking lesson, you did. But you hadn’t meant it literally…!

And now here you were, set to be crowned the new title of Viscountess. Set to be wed for the sake of the country to some prince whose name you scarcely remembered.

It was all too much. So sudden. So soon. You didn’t know if you could take it...you were barely managing to process it all after only half a cup of coffee; everything was passing you by the narrowest of margins.

You needed to talk to someone. Someone not on the inside. Someone you could trust. So the moment the royal guard who had delivered the news left your quarters, you ran off to find the one person you could think of, the first one to come to mind: Chenle.

He was waiting for you in the front garden, just as you’d ask a young pageboy to summon him there. His face was a desolate wasteland as it looked into yours. So he must have heard...news did travel fast.

“Chenle...I…” you sighed dejectedly. “I don’t know what to say. I never wanted this, I had no say, I promise I--”

“Don’t say anything.”

His eyes were a blazing fire when you gazed back up into them. It made you gulp nervously. “Wh-What do you mea--”

“Shhh...“

He was smiling then. Smiling...how could he smile at a time like this?

“I worked everything out. You don’t have to go to the funeral.”

“...What?”

“The funeral. For the late Viscountess. You don’t have to go, I thought of a way out of it...so we can spend time together instead.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. So he really didn’t know, then…? “I’m sorry? Chenle--”

“Hush now, it’s going to be alright. I doubt anyone’s going to show up anyway.”

You gasped at that harsh remark. “Chenle! That’s a horrible thing to say! Even if she was a brat, she wasn’t...she didn’t deserve to…”

“Yes she did.”

...Your eyes snapped back to meet his, again, and this time they were devoid of any life. Vacant of all color.

He was serious. He really meant it.

You took a step back, suddenly feeling ill at ease and uncomfortable with the heavy change in atmosphere. “...How...How can you say that? How…”

The boy you thought you once knew shrugged, gazing off to the side nonchalantly. “Because...she insulted something that belongs to me.”

“That’s no reason to--!”

“She insulted you.”

The air left your lungs for a second. The pressure around you was rising. Did...Did he just say…?

Scowling, you furrowed your brow, crossing your arms before you to boot. “I-I’m not yours, Chenle. I don’t belong to you, or to anyone but the State of Adderdale...and, pretty soon, the Kingdom of Norwich…”

You felt your anger fleeing from you as feelings of anguish and anxiety rushed to take its place, leaving a hollow sensation of misery in its wake.

And it wasn’t just you. Chenle was feeling it as well, his face drooping until it sagged in an expression of crestfallen disbelief.

“What...What do you mean?” he asked. His whole attitude had suddenly changed in no less than a millisecond.

You glared back at him in regret that you had to be the one to tell him; but it was best coming from you. “With Nina gone, I’ve been recently appointed as the new Viscountess. And, furthermore…” You swallowed again, wishing you could take the words down as well. “...I am to marry the Prince of Norwich, in her place. I’m sorry, Chenle…” You sighed for the millionth time. “There’s nothing I can do. I have no say in any of this.”

You didn’t want to look at him in that moment, to see the sadness written all over his face. But you did. Because you had to be strong; especially if you’re going to be taking over as head Viscountess (though not for long...).

Chenle appeared as if he wasn’t feeling anything. Or maybe it’s that he didn’t know what to feel. In reality, he was absolutely, undeniably, without a doubt...melancholy. Hopeless. Lost. Completely despondent.

The same pageboy poked his head around the corner just then, shyly calling your name. You were being summoned to speak with the Queen about wedding invitations, and what kind of wine you would like served with the celebratory dinner.

There were no words that could form what you wished to express to your only real friend in that moment. So instead you said what it is you’d normally say after parting ways, had it been a regular, everyday encounter; and not the last.

“Goodbye, Chenle…”

And then you were gone. His worst nightmares coming true, seeing you vanish from sight.

He looked to the paintbrush in his hand. Broken just like his body. Just like his heart. He squeezed it tightly, as tightly as his frail bones would let him. Tighter, tighter, as if he could squeeze the entire past three minutes out of existence. Erasing all the words that were said, and starting over on a clean, blank canvas. But it didn’t work out that way; that’s not how life worked.

So instead he shut his eyes tightly, envisioning his happy place. The world where the two of you were always smiling, always laughing, always together, always, always…

...It was all his fault. Again. He was to blame for all of it; he was the reason you were rapidly fading from his life. His insecure actions had led to his own downfall.

He sighed, the breath fleeting like a dream deferred.

It was no longer enough.

✦

Three whole days. Three whole days he laid there, his body writhing in pain and agony at the dull ache that seeped through his bones, violent coughs rattling his lungs and rib cage. His throat was sore, his eyes dehydrated from leaking out all the water left in his body. It was painful, certainly, but...it was nothing compared to the apparent horror blatantly staring him in the face  that soon, very soon, you would be gone. For good. Forever. And he’d never see you again...only in his dreams, were he lucky enough to obtain them.

A flyer drifted in from the window, once again bringing itself to cover his tear-stained face.

𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝒀/𝒏) 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑵𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 // 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝒀/𝒏) 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔-𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕

A literal slap in the face. His hands shook violently as he tore the sheet into bite-sized pieces, seething with rage and despair that did nothing to help his coughing fit and overall health.

He turned his head to stare at his latest masterpiece, feeling color draining from the world around him, his walls crumbling and caving in.

You were no longer his Emin. You were no longer his.

He felt like he was losing his mind. “But...she’s mine,” he mumbled, reaching out a shaking hand to the you of his dreams. The one he stayed up for three days straight painting with all his heart and mind and soul, pouring out every last ounce of passion from his expiring fingertips stained forever blue, as was the life of an aspiring, tormented artist. “Emin is mine...she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s MINE!!”

In a flash of anger he knocked over a case of brush pens, then a few books, then his entire work desk. He began throwing canvases out the window, their blank slates an abhorred reminder mocking the bleak future he had to look forward to: a future without you.

“Emin...she’s...she...” Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, where he thought he had none left. “She’s mine...E...min...she’s...”

Gone. You were gone, lost to him now, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

...Or was there?

Hastily he reached to grab the flyer from before, then remembered it was in pieces all over the floor. He struggled for an hour putting it all back together, but once he had a mischievous grin found its way where originally no amusement could be found. A tiny, faint ray of hope amongst the coming darkness.

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 // 𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝟑𝒓𝒅

That was tomorrow. The Duchess must have convinced them to postpone the wedding for her daughter’s funeral. Which meant...

There was still time.

✦

With not a moment to lose Chenle rushed through the bustling palace walls, each hall as lively as the next as staff from every category of service hustled and hurried and scampered about, preparing for the wedding of the century.

Prince Jaemin had just arrived not but a few hours prior, and with his disguise as an errand boy Chenle had gotten all the right information and knew exactly where to find him.

Now he was just hoping he could get there fast enough, before someone knocked into him and revealed his dire plan.

Looking left, then right, he continued to weave in and out of the crowded hallway until he made it to the far end of the hall, making a stealthy left turn. He made his way down the steps to the kitchens, climbing into a dumbwaiter when no one was looking and working his way up the rope, grunting profusely with each feeble tug and the occasional cough. The moment he made it to the fifth floor he released a tired breath all at once, making sure the coast was clear before exiting the small chamber and trotting on lightfoot down the surprisingly quiet hallway given all the commotion downstairs.

His next task was to locate which one of these blasted guest rooms belonged to the Norwich prince. He had yet to get that far…

Knock knock knock.

“Your Highness?”

He whirled around and tripped his way behind a potted plant, almost spilling the chloroform in his pocket. A door he’d passed some twenty-odd steps ago was opened from the inside by a butler with a peculiarly sour look on his face.

The maid outside smiled kindly. “Pardon me, but all our errand boys are busy at this time. Her Majesty the Queen would like to have a word with His Highness, if that’s alright.”

“...” The young butler turned back into the room. “Yo, Jaemin. The old lady wants to talk to you.”

There was a hissing sound, followed by heavy footsteps before the boy was suddenly yanked back by his collar, a tall, handsomely dressed one taking his place instead. “Please forgive my idiot brother. He’s...a rare case.”

Mumbling could be heard in the background as the maid turned the whitest shade of pale Chenle had ever seen, bowing and apologizing profusely for not recognizing the youngest prince. In her defense, Chenle hadn’t of known either.

But that was besides the fact. His real target was now standing just a few feet away.

He hated how attractive he was. How he radiated an aura of regal perfection. It turned his insides into a dark, muddy green…

Somehow Jaemin had convinced the idiot brother with a smart mouth to take his place in seeing the Queen as a form of punishment (and to apologize for referring to her as an “old lady,” even if the hag was ancient beyond her years) and just before the door closed and the two witnesses had vanished around the corner, he made his move, dashing quickly and shoving his way--

...Right into the door. Thud.

He winced, praying to God his nose wasn’t broken just now. He should have known this guy probably lifted weights on a daily basis, where the only thing he ever lifted was a paintbrush.

He knocked, a hand still over his aching nose.

The moment the door opened he braced himself, whipping out the chloroform that...leaked in his pocket…

The last thing he remembered was the repeating curse he irately flung at himself: Drat, drat, drat…

✦

When he awoke some twenty minutes later, the first thing Chenle noticed was a handsome young man sitting at his bedside.

Great. He was having another nightmare.

But the young man’s nervous laughter proved that he was, in fact, awake, not dreaming.

“There have been far better applicated attempts on my life than the one you just tried to pull.”

The pauper took a deep breath, coughing on the exhale as he threw himself up into a sitting position, then on his knees, knife in hand.

He furrowed his brow a second later; why had the prince not disarmed him…?

Prince Jaemin merely smiled as bright and cleanly as sunshine on a crisp, cool day with the knife hanging inches away from his throat. He didn’t even budge.

Chenle scowled. “Why aren’t you frightened of me? Why didn’t you disarm me while I was unconscious? ...Why did you help me at all? Why not report me to the guard, or the executioner, or--”

“Executioner? My, what troublesome times these must be if you’re sentenced to execution for a simple act of violence.”

A simple act of…?

Chenle didn’t know whether to be confused or appalled. So he was both.

The look on his face must have been quite the spectacle, because the next moment Jaemin was chuckling kindly, as if they’d been having a basic conversation about the weather. “You sure do ask a lot of questions, I’ll give you that. As I mentioned before, you’re not the first poor sap who’s wanted me dead.” His eyes gleamed curiously then, almost taking on a new persona entirely. “Now let me ask you something. Why on Earth would you mention being hauled off to be...executed, of all things?”

Chenle’s whole posture drooped. His shoulders sagged. His breath hitched ever slightly, before being onset by a minor coughing fit.

Jaemin swiftly helped to ease him back onto the bed, but the ill boy fought back, thrusting the knife above his neck once more.

“D-Don’t…” He coughed again. “Don’t help me. I don’t need or want your help. I only want my Emin back. I’m not going to let you take her away from me…!”

“Emin?” The Prince frowned. “I don’t have anything like that...I’m afraid I don’t quite follow what you…!” Then his face lit up with realization. “Ah, wait, you mean that painting in the Duchess’ quarters?” His face began glowing with soft sort of realism. “It’s lovely. Did you paint that?”

“It’s a girl,” Chenle coughed, slowly coming out of his minor attack. “...and she has a name...her name is--”

“Emin,” Jaemin cooed, purred, slandered. As if he enjoyed the way it melted on his tongue the same way it brought the artist pleasure.

He glared, eyes growing dark. “Don’t say her name. You don’t get to say it! She’s mine, my Emin, and I won’t let you take her away from me. Even if I have to...even if I have to…”

“Kill me?”

He flinched, muscles tensing sharply beneath his borrowed clothes. “...Yes. Even if I have to kill you.”

Jaemin was all smiles again-- actually smiling. Did this guy have some sort of death wish? Was he mocking him right now? Challenging him, daring him to try?

Chenle had no idea. It was either that, or he was into some really weird stuff. “Why are you smiling like that? Tell me right now!”

“...You’re a demanding little thing.”

“Tell me, I said!”

“Hmm…” He breathed out through his nostrils, leaning back in the chair he’d pulled up beside the bed. “If you’d really wanted to kill me...you would have done so already. But you haven’t. We’re still talking, aren’t we?”

This hit Chenle harder than he was expecting it to; he practically felt the air deflate from his lungs, and he’d just managed to suppress his haggering coughing fit.

“And I daresay I’ve counted at least three prime opportunities you could have striked.”

“...I…”

The prince simpered, crossing one richly-clad foot over the opposite knee. “So why don’t you tell me about this...Emin of yours.”

Chenle was back to being angry and frustrated all over again. “Why should I? After this, I’ll never see her again…she’s going to be yours anyway...”

He clenched the knife in his hand. Jaemin pursed his lips into a curious pout.

“And why’s that? What do you mean, she’s going to be mine? I’m not interested in buying the painting if that’s what you--”

“Of course that’s not it! You’re going to be marrying her soon enough! You’re right, what you said before...there’s nothing I can do to save her from you…”

Jaemin’s face may as well have been pandora’s box. “What? What in the name of Sam Hill are you talking about? Why would I want to marry a painting…?”

Chenle deadpanned. At least the prince had looks going for him. “I’m not talking about the Emin of my dreams! I’m talking about the real one!”

“The...The real one…?”

“Yes!!”

“...Oh.”

He still didn’t get it. The artist facepalmed. “My Emin. She goes by…” He swallowed harshly, afraid to even speak your name aloud before the prince who’d be stealing you away. “...(y/n)...”

Jaemin seemed to be getting an awful lot of amusement out of the visual display of embarrassment the painter showed. “(Y/n)? As in, Viscountess (y/n)?”

“Don’t speak her name!! At least have the decency to wait until I’m dead before you do…”

“Why on Earth would I want to do a thing like that?” He rolled his eyes. “You sure do talk a lot about execution and death. Do you want to die?”

Chenle had to think about this for a moment. Did he want to die? Technically, without you, he was nothing. Empty. A blank canvas with nothing to show.

Then, there was his mother...with his brother overseas, he was the only one working to support the two of them other than herself. As much as he loved you, he didn’t want to leave her all alone…

...Then again, it wouldn’t matter anyway. His life was on a clock right now, ticking much faster than the average, everyday man’s. He was going to die soon regardless.

“...it doesn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway.”

The princely man blinked. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, placing a blistered hand over his faintly beating heart. “I’m...sick. I was born weak, with a strange illness no cleric has ever seen before. There’s no cure for it either, I...I honestly wasn’t expected to live this long. It’s a miracle I’m even still alive right now…”

“That doesn’t answer my original query.”

“What? Yes it does—“

“No, it doesn’t.” Jaemin tsked, shaking his head. “I asked you, do you want to die. Not if you’re going to or not.”

“...” Violently, Chenle shook his head no. The elder of the two grinned.

“Good! Then we can start preparing you for the wedding right away. Oh, and I’ll get you some medicine as well. Judging by your symptoms you have a condition that’s rare but not unheard of in Norwich. So long as you don’t over exert yourself, I can have a brew cooked up and in your hands in about a week, maybe two...give or take.”

He nearly choked. This was a lot of information, but the one thing that really caught his attention was... “W...Wedding?”

So now he expected him to go? To watch (y/n) be married off? To officially strip the last few remaining pigments of color out of his life?!

Oh, he’d be there alright. But not—

“Yeah. You have to be present for your own wedding. It’s sort of a requirement, actually.”

...A re...A require…

His own wedding?!

Just then the youngest Prince of Norwich returned, popping a bubble of some sticky-sweet substance between his lips on his way in. Jaemin beamed in delight.

“Oh, Jisung, perfect timing. I need you to go back down and bring me a tailor. Anyone will do, so long as he’s qualified.”

“Tailor?” Jisung’s face was scrunched up in obvious puzzlement. “But I just got back up here! What the heck do you need a tailor for? And who the heck is he?” He pointed to Chenle, blowing another pink bubble and popping it with his teeth. “Y’know, Dad told you to--”

“Again, Jisung, Mark is not our father.” He chastised. “...But yes, I know what he said. That’s not it, though.” He gestured to Chenle as if to present a showcase prize. “This colorful young fellow is...he’s uh...er…” He scratched his ear. “What did you say your name was again?”

Chenle almost didn’t want to tell him. But then he really, really did. Because he thought he knew where this was going, and if he was right; which he was; he didn’t want to miss out on this one and only golden opportunity to save you, to save his entire world, and to finally, surely, be able to leave this world in peace once his time was soon to come...in case he didn’t happen to get that medicine in time. “Chenle.”

“Chenle...~” Jaemin nodded. “That’s a wonderful name. I like it, really. It suits the future Viscount of Adderdale rather nicely. Let’s see...Chenle. Sir Chenle! Siiir Chenle...yes, yes, I like it.” He rubbed his chin in thought with a few more nods.

Jisung stared at him like he was dumb as rocks. “Uh, hello? I don’t get it. You’re telling me that this--” he pointed to Chenle-- “--poor kid off the street is going to marry Viscountess what’s-her-name? And not you? Don’t you think Dad-- I mean, Mark, is gonna be...kinda sus? And pissed? Not to mention Renjun and Jeno…”

Jaemin shrugged. “Hey, what can I say? I’d hate to stand in the way of true love...it would be wrong to steal away this young man’s girl when he obviously adores her more than I ever could.”

He winked. Jisung groaned. “You can’t just slack off your duties for some angsty teen romance novel fling! You’re gonna get us both in trouble!”

“......” The elder shook his head, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair. “I knew I should have brought Hyuck, and not you. It’ll be good for him, they said. You’ll be doing us a favor, they said. Aiyaiyai…”

“Hey! Rude!”

“Just go bring me a tailor already! I’ll deal with our brothers when we get home, but I’m this sure at the very least, Jeno would agree with me.”

He held his fingers inches apart, and Jisung deflated a little, beginning to cave. His brother just kept on rambling.

“...We’ll have to get him cleaned up...and do something about that hair...I doubt any of my clothes will fit him, much less my wedding attire…”

Finally the youngest rolled his eyes, and as he shut the door behind him Chenle could hardly breathe. He just couldn’t believe it.

He was getting a second chance. He was going to marry his Emin.

✦

“Are you sure you understand the plan?”

“Yes.”

“And you know where to go when I give the signal?”

“Yes…”

“And you’re absolutely sure you--”

“Oh my gosh, Jaemin, he gets it already!” Jisung snapped. “Just hurry up and get out there before they start suspecting anything! I can’t believe I’m playing along with this…”

With a determined nod Jaemin took off out into the bustling chapel, everyone getting ready to take their places for the celebratory event. Because everything had to be just perfect, the Norwich Prince was directed to take his place in a back hallway, where he’d be escorted out onto the platform by high-ranking officials.

Chenle watched with nervous breadth. What if something went wrong? What if Jaemin changed his mind the moment he saw you walking out, looking like a waking dream? The personification of sheer beauty and ethereal godliness? A goddess among goddesses, Aphrodite herself?

He wouldn’t be able to take it. He’d have to stab himself in the heart and end it all right then and there--

“Hey.”

He looked over to Jisung, who was eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Stop being so overdramatic. You’re worse than Haechan when he’s drunk off his ass.”

“Who?”

He blew another bubble, allowing it to pop at the peak of his eye roll. “Never mind. Listen...you don’t have anything to worry about. Jaemin’s not like that. Whatever you were thinking. He’s a good guy, really...also...I uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, turning his eyes away. “I think you guys look good together. You and um…(y/n)?”

He casted him a sideways glance for confirmation, and when Chenle nodded, he returned the gesture. “Yeah, (y/n)...I saw you guys together, out in the front garden a few days ago...my ship arrived here before my brother’s. He took too long getting ready, so I set off without him.” He shrugged. “Anyway...the two of you seemed to be having a disagreement of sorts, but...I don’t know, the way you were staring at each other, deep into the other’s eyes, I could tell you were really close. Like an old flame or something.”

...An old flame...Chenle didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but— he was at a loss for words.

Then the youngest prince said something that really took his breath away. “Y’know...I think that, maybe, you and me could have been great friends if we’d grown up together.” He smiled, a small one, but one nonetheless. “I know this is kind of sudden, since we barely know each other, but...I think I would have liked that. You should come visit us in Norwich sometime. You’d love it there, honestly— the Winters are beautiful.”

It was out there so suddenly, so kindly worded, Chenle didn’t know how to process it all. Him? Having friends? He’d been sick his whole life, the only people ever paying him any kind of attention being his mother and his brother when he’d been around and...of course, you...the day you found him laying out on the street within an inch of his life, and you rescued him from certain death, he immediately knew you were the one. He’d instantly fallen in love with you. Those feelings only grew and grew over time…

However...the thought of having a friend…

He didn’t think he knew the answer. But the palette in his mind was equipped with a bright, yellow color, and he found himself nodding meekly before he knew what he was doing.

Jisung tilted his head back in a pleased indication that he’d gotten the message of what Chenle had meant to say, even though no words would come to him; after all, the boy was an artist, not a poet. “I should probably take my seat. Good luck out there.”

With a pat on the back, he crossed the threshold.

Now all that was left was for him to wait.

✦

It’d be an understatement to say that you were nervous. Because you weren’t; you were more than nervous, you were practically horrified.

You’d thought you could handle it. Really, you did. But the moment it actually started happening, it was instantly all too much; only now it was ten times worse, because it was actually happening in real time.

First the music started to play, a gorgeous symphony of organs and strings. The Queen had even hired a quartet of flautists to play in harmony to the familiar chorus of Canon in D Major. The flower girl made her entrance first, tossing flower petals down the aisle and into the waiting audience. They gushed and cooed over how cute she was, muttering comments of how handsome of a boy the ring bearer behind her would grow up to be, though he was practically more of a man than a boy...that ring bearer being…

...Zhong Chenle? What?!

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of him, striding into the room with such perfect posture and well-to-do attire. He looked like a prince out of a fairytale novel.

But what on Earth was he doing here…?

“My Lady, it’s time,” called a maid. You had a hard time peeling your eyes away, but you were able to nonetheless with a bit of effort on both yours and the maids parts as they pulled you away to your proper waiting station outside.

It broke your heart that he’d gotten himself roped into this, and you had no idea how he’d done it, but maybe after this, at least, you could send him off with a proper goodbye…

✦

He’d been too nervous. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to do something.

So the second the melody of Beetovhen’s chorus flitted about the room, he snatched the rings from a boy waiting nearby, stumbling his way in right behind a small flower girl and immediately righting the way he carried himself.

He could feel Jaemin’s eyes on him from the far off hall where he peeked behind a curtain, pleading for him to turn back. He could hear Jisung’s ragged breathy sigh, calling him an idiot.

But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t. This was all for you...and anyway, it was too late to change anything about the choice he’d made now.

He paused at the foot of the altar, going to the opposite side where the men waited as traditional Adderdale weddings he’d witnessed in his lifetime. Then he took a deep, shaky breath, fighting back the urge to cough as a tickle made its way to the back of his throat.

Not now. Not now. Please, not now.

The small orchestra suddenly broke out into the Norwich national anthem, and Jaemin made his appearance, walking tall and proud and princely to stand at his place atop the altar; temporarily, that is.

He sent Chenle a sly wink from where the boy stood just two feet behind him.

“It’s alright. We can still make this work out. I know you must be incredibly nervous right now; I would be, too, were I the one getting married today.”

Curse the man. Chenle couldn’t help but smile.

Then it was the moment everyone had been anticipating: as the Norwichian anthem came to a whole-noted close, a circle of guards surrounding the chapel stepped forward from their placement along the surrounding walls in unison, saluting as the King and Queen entered, followed by the Duchess and a few other nobles Chenle never paid enough attention to remember the names of. They each took their seats, and then...then…

The most beautiful harmonic arrangement began to play, and everyone quieted straightaway, the room falling instantly silent as a gentle hush fell over the crowd. The familiar melodic tune of Here Comes The Bride circled round and round the room, and within seconds all eyes were on what had to be...what surely was...he just…

He wasn’t a poet, as was mentioned before. There were simply no words yet in existence to describe how...how…

You were perfect. That’s the best way he could think to paint it; and speaking of paint, he wanted to capture this moment so badly on canvas and…

No. In reality, he wanted you all to himself. He didn’t want anyone to see you looking so beautiful, for fear that they may steal you away from him as the palace did years ago, and as Jaemin almost had (or would have) that very day.

You approached the aisle at a slow, leisurely pace, crisp and clean and glowing with pristine perfection as two more flower girls hurried before you, and an ensemble of maids held up the trail of your dress and veil whilst shadowing at your heels.

Chenle desperately wanted to knock them all over and scurry out of there with you in his arms. If only he were strong and brave enough to do a thing like that…

The urge to cough was getting worse. He tried clearing his throat beneath the guise of the fluttering chorus, but that only seemed to make the need more prominent.

As you finally made your way up the altar steps, it was then that he simply couldn’t take it anymore. Something in him went black, shutting down, and he…

He collapsed.

✦

A series of gasps and astonished cries reverberated off the chapel walls and stained glass windows as the boy you hardly recognized hit the ground with a pain-filled grunt.

Acting quickly Prince Jaemin nearly threw himself down to help your dearest friend, pushing guards and other palace help out of the way when they tried to draw near. You yourself tossed the bouquet of wildflowers the Queen had insisted you carry (the national flower of Norwich) over your shoulder, a few stuck-up and self-centered bridesmaids scrambling to catch it and squealing excitedly about which of the other princes were available to marry.

Jisung had shut them up pretty fast with a rude remark, but you were too focused on the topic at hand to hear exactly what it was.

“Chenle!” you cried, lifting the limp boy in your arms. “Oh, Chenle...please say something…!”

This was it. You were afraid something like this might happen one day. But you’d never thought it would be so soon...Chenle’s illness was no surprise to you; you’d known about it for quite some time. In fact, it was you that had secretly been funding a portion of his monthly checkups with a palace cleric, a silent agreement you’d made with his grateful mother.

And now it was really happening. He was dying right here in your arms. You hated that your brain immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion, but...what else could it be? He’d never had a fit this bad before...not that you knew of, at least.

Chenle simpered up at you weakly as a tear crossed the distance from your cheek to his, reaching up an unsteady hand to caress away the tears. Your face shouldn’t be sullied with worry over his sake. “D...Don’t cry…” His chest heaved violently, feeble frame shivering between each ragged cough. “...I’ll be...okay...I…” He took a deep, deep breath. You held onto yours.

And then it was said. The words you never thought you would ever hear, never thought you wanted to hear, never thought you would be the one to say:

“I love you, Chenle. I love you so much...”

Tears were pouring down your face now, his shivers contaminating your body as you shook along with him, exposing your heart and soul over the dying young artist.

“Please don’t leave. Stay with me...wherever you go, I’ll go, and wherever you stay, I too will stay...I don’t care if you’re sick, or that you come from a broken family, or that you’re poor, or dirty, or weak. You’ve always hated that about yourself, but none of that matters to me...you’re just Chenle to me. Just Chenle...I’ll...I’ll be your sword and shield, your strength and shelter. I’ll follow you to the ends of this very Earth, and I...I love you, Chenle...it would be my honor to take care of you, for the rest of our days. Just don’t leave me…!”

Your eyes were squeezed shut at this point, trying to stop the flood of facepaint from raining off the thundercloud of emotion that was currently your face, and when Chenle’s hand fell limp in yours you gasped, throwing your eyes open…

And seeing that he was sitting up. Calming down. Gathering himself.

He...wasn’t dying…?

Jaemin heaved a heavy-laden sigh relief as he pulled out a needle from the boy’s opposite arm. “Thank the good Lord you brought an emergency antidote with you...nice one, Jisung.”

Another blonde-haired boy sighed. “Well, you know, really Renjun forced it on me, but...y’know.” He shrugged.

Profoundly, you turned your attention back to Chenle. He was looking at you with stars in his eyes.

Suddenly everything you had just revealed deep down in the recesses of your heart came swinging back to whop you in the face, and you just knew you must have resembled the reddest tomato out back in the royal vegetable garden. You attempted to once more hide your blushing face--

Of course, Chenle had other ideas in mind. Of course, he had cupped your messy tear-stained face, placing a...kiss…?!

You melted into it, and so did he, the colors and clarity and butterflies all swirling together. For now you were receiving a reality neither of you had ever thought to be possible, and now, finally, he was able to mix his palette with yours. And it wasn’t a mess as he feared; it was a beautiful masterpiece.

Jaemin was the first one to applaud, and soon, hesitantly at first, the rest of the chapel began to follow.

“I’d say you may now kiss the bride, but uh...it appears to be a little too late for that,” he jested. His brother frowned, rolling his eyes with another blow of gum.

“Ya think?”

“...”

He smirked, popping the bubble in his face and everyone gasping with laughter as it exploded there.

“Shut up.”

✦

“Hey, wife?”

“Yes, Chenle?”

He frowned, his face sagging at the ends. “You’re supposed to say, husband.”

“Oh,” you laughed, moving on to the next exhibit as the two of you walked around the new art studio, hand in hand, taking in each and every piece of the artist’s work on display. “Sorry, sorry. Ahem…” You started again. “Yes, husband?”

Chenle hummed happily, his whole face beaming with pure joy and delight. He seemed to be spacing out, tossing his head from side to side as if doing a little jig in his mind.

“...Chenle. Chenle? Helloooo…?” You waved your hand in front of his face, and he winced, snapping back to you quickly with the goofiest grin you’d ever seen.

He really was so cute. “Yes, (Y/n)? I mean, wife?”

You shook your head. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Tell you…? Oh, yeah!” He continued to stare at you a bit too intently. “Have I told you I love you today? Because I do. And I just want to make sure that you know how much I--”

You let out a sound that was a cross between a groan and more laughter, wrapping an arm around his as the two of you continued to stroll around the winding halls. “Yes, Chen--”

He gave you a deadpan.

“...I mean, husband. Husband.” you assured him. “Yes, you have. This would be the twenty-eighth time now.”

He gave a smug and satisfied smirk that was all too cute on his yet again paint-stained face. The moment the medicine from Norwich had come in, Chenle’s health had rapidly improved, and he was able to paint in a way you’d never witnessed him do before: peacefully. Happily. Content. It was a marvelous sight to behold.

Despite the lack of another knot tied uniting the lands of Norwich and Adderdale, negotiations and trade among the two lands had been carrying on better than ever; swimmingly, in fact. You and Chenle were set to visit Norwich Palace for a business meeting and tea within the coming weeks. They all couldn’t have been more pleased with the outcome of things; according to a recent letter from Jaemin, who was now a good friend of yours, their brother’s had wished you and Chenle the best of luck and sent you their love and blessings in the new relationship. Apparently their brother Hyuck had even cried a little...but in his defense, the prince wrote, the boy was rather drunk.

The two of you came to stop before Chenle’s latest masterpiece: Emin No. 59. A portrait of the girl who looked like you in a wedding gown suspiciously similar to yours, standing with dignity and grace atop the chapel altar, surrounded by birds and squirrels and other wildlife, the sun shading colors of the rainbow upon her skin...he may as well have titled the piece Snow White.

“Say, Chenle...ah, husband...” You pursed your lips profusely in an overzealous pout. “You never told me: why do you call her that? Why Emin?”

“......” Chenle was quiet all of ten seconds as he formed his response. He smiled tenfold, putting all previous glee to shame, the light from the coming sunset casting small spotlights through cracks in the palace curtains that highlighted all your best features; which would have been all of you, to him at least. “Because…” he replied, taking your hands into his and kissing your knuckles softly. Something he’d be doing everyday, every waking moment he saw you, for the rest of his life. “You’re Emin. My Emin...and you’re all mine.” ღ