#lyn-fanworks

[lynnt1ny]

You're Magic To Me: Ch. 2

Chapter Directory | Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 2 WC: 3.9k

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing?  After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.  --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

The Nightmare Begins 

After a week of gathering herbs from the surrounding forests and learning about a variety of afflictions and remedies, San felt pretty accustomed to life at the castle. It was hard-going at first: He still occasionally found himself lost in the maze of corridors, but he hadn’t run into any royals or knights after the first day, so he’d call it a win. 

Hongjoong was, as he was told earlier, the perfect mentor. San couldn’t have asked for better. Hongjoong clearly loved his work, and while San couldn’t quite replicate his passion for medicine, Hongjoong was a constant source of energy and inspiration. 

Every day, San looked forward to sitting by the fire with Hongjoong in the evenings, sometimes with Yeosang popping in to say hello. It was almost familial, and San finally felt like he had carved a place for himself in the castle. 

Hongjoong took care of most of the patients that had come in so far, but San was always there, watching. He was constantly in awe of how calm and gentle Hongjoong was with those who came in. Now, he knew exactly how Hongoong got both his position and well-rounded reputation. 

However, today, Hongjoong was going to attend to the King. 

San sat at one of the desks in the chamber, a book open in front of him. He deliberately avoided Hongjoong’s eye. He hoped today would be the exception to their new routine; hopefully, today, he wouldn’t have to go with him.   

Hongjoong walked over and placed a hand on San’s shoulder, and San gave him a tentative smile. 

“I suppose I won’t get this day off?” 

“No.” Hongjoong replied. “You must be able to treat the King if something happens while I’m away.” 

“You’re going away?” San asked. A knot of worry formed in his stomach. He didn’t think he’d be able to shoulder Hongjoong’s workload so early. 

But his worry disappeared as Hongjoong laughed. “Not now. But something may happen while I’m down in the lower villages or really, anywhere else other than the castle.” He smiled sympathetically. “That’s why you’re here, you know. I can’t be everywhere at once, and in case of an emergency…” he shrugged. 

And now, that’s how San found himself trailing behind Hongjoong, a crate of supplies in his arms and a furrow between his eyebrows. 

He couldn’t believe that he was mere footsteps away from meeting King Beomseok.  

Beomseok was well known even beyond the borders of Sinsu. While nobody said he was downright cruel, he was known to have a temper. He ruled with an iron fist, and he had brought Sinsu many years of prosperity, conquering lands and expanding the kingdom to great lengths. 

Far too soon, they stopped in front of a pair of fortified doors. A clump of guards stood there, nodding to Hongjoong as they walked past. 

“Remember to address him properly,” he whispered to San. “It’d be best to leave a good first impression.” 

San nodded, and Hongjoong knocked on the door. “Kim Hongjoong, Your Majesty,” he called out. “And my new apprentice.” 

“Yes, come in,” San heard a deep voice respond, muffled by the barrier. 

The doors creaked as the guards pushed them open, standing to the side to allow them entrance. San gulped as Hongjoong walked in, and he hesitated before following behind. By the end of this, he just knew that he’d  find a way to mess this up: he’ll drop the supplies, or he’ll trip over his own feet and make a fool of himself. Or worse of all: he’ll let his mouth run away again, just as it had with the Prince. 

The thought came to him then- Wooyoung wouldn’t tell his father about what happened earlier, right? Yes, he was only an apprentice, but not only had San spilt water all over his clothes, but he called him a twat of all things. 

 ‘If my father heard you saying things like that, he’d have you flogged.’

San knew he was breathing heavily now. He hoped the weight in his arms and the flight of stairs worked as a fair excuse, but he did what he does best: overthink things until it sent him into a panic. 

If Wooyoung did tell Beomseok, something would have happened by now, right? Yes, he was definitely overthinking this. There was no way Wooyoung even knew who he was, right? He didn’t remember saying his name...

The King’s chambers were unlike anything San had seen before. Everywhere he looked, he could only see wealth and intricacies. The room itself was huge. Inside, it had a large bed in the corner, a table with neat stacks of paper adorning it, and a long dining table, gilded in gold. Wardrobes and shelves took up space along the walls, and everything was pristine. San didn’t think he’d be able to find one spec of dust. Overall, it seemed very practical, for living’s quarters, but it exuded a sense of affluence at the same time. 

The man himself sat at his table. He didn’t look like San imagined he would. The King had dark hair, like his son, and he wore simple attire at the moment. Deep-set wrinkles betrayed his age, and his eyes held a somber edge to them. Beomseok scratched thoughtfully at a trace of stubble on his chin and kept his focus on his work. The lack of attention only unnerved San even more. 

“Your Majesty,” Hongjoong began. “What can I do for you today?” 

Without looking up, Beomseok beckoned them closer and said, “Draw yourself some chairs and sit.” 

Hongjoong bowed deeply and took a chair from the dining table. San scurried after him to do the same. Before he knew it, he was uncomfortably close to the King, sitting across from him. He prayed that Beomseok wouldn’t pay him any attention.

“I’ve had the worst migraine today,” Beomseok finally said. He looked up at them then, and San felt a chill down his spine when his beady eyes landed on him. “Do you have a sufficient tonic that could help?” 

Hongjoong nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty, I do.” He gestured for San to hand him the crate of supplies. With nothing to do with his hands now, San wrung his fingers together, avoiding the King’s eyes.

“With all due respect, what has been causing you trouble, Your Highness?” Hongjoong said as he picked out a few bottles. “Learning the cause of a migraine is an easy way to fix it.”

San almost gasped at the question. It seemed too invasive to ask the King. A new batch of butterflies set loose in his stomach, and not the good kind.

However, Beomseok didn’t seem to be too bothered by the question. He even smiled at Hongjoong, like they were old friends. San shouldn’t be surprised at this point- as literally everyone had said, Hongjoong was friends with everyone, and it seemed the King was no exception. 

Suddenly, Hongjoong’s strangely calm demeanor in this situation made a lot more sense. 

“It’s my son,” Beomseok said. “He can’t seem to keep a manservant in his service. At this point, we’ve gone through all of the available servants I can trust with the job.” 

His words didn’t surprise San at all. Just from one meeting, San knew he wouldn’t want to be stuck with Wooyoung for long periods of time either. 

“It’s such a trivial matter, but it’s becoming such a nuisance that even I must get involved.” 

Hongjoong began mixing a small concoction in a cup. San vaguely recognized a few of the ingredients Hongjoong had put in the tonic, but his attention was too skewed to try to learn anything useful now.

 “Are they leaving on their own accord?” Hongjoong asked. 

Beomseok leaned back against his chair. San saw the King eyeing his fidgeting hands, and San now focused on keeping them still on his lap. 

“No, Wooyoung is getting rid of them himself. He claims they’re too boring. I’m afraid he’s set his standards too high for our working class,” Beomseok said. 

San winced, stealing another glance at Hongjoong, but the man had a smile on his face. “I’m sure he’ll find someone to take the position. There are many able-bodied men in the kingdom,” Hongjoong said.

“And here, the source of the problem,” Beomseok said. “He refuses to find a replacement. I will have to resort to finding one for him myself. It’s no job for a king.” Beomseok’s eyes turned dark for a second, and San could see a flash of rage there, so fleeting that he would have missed it if he were not paying close attention. “If I, the King himself, assigns Wooyoung a manservant, that position must stay permanently filled by that man, or consequences may be in order.” 

San’s breath hitched, the words sending a faint wave of fear over him. He understood why, though. It would be a blow to Bomseok’s reputation if Wooyoung sacked the one man the King picked out himself. Involving the King in such a trifling matter was bad enough. The whole thing made San’s head spin, and he understood the source of Beomseok’s migraine. 

“Well, I may not be able to help in the matter directly, but this is the least I can do,” Hongjoong said, handing the completed tonic to the King. “If there’s anything else I can do to help, don’t hesitate to call.” 

San felt relieved, as the conversation seemed to be ending, and they were soon to be on their way. The King only had to dismiss them, and he could go back and be anywhere but here. 

Beomseok’s gaze snapped to him, then. “Before you leave, Hongjoong, this is your new apprentice?” he asked. 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 

Beomseok scrutinized him, his narrowed eyes sending waves of panic over San. “Does he speak?” 

San’s breath hitched and he hurried to say, “Yes, I’m Choi San.” He stumbled over the words.

Hongjoong kicked his shin. 

“Your Highness,” San tacked on at the last second. “I arrived only a few days ago.” 

“Arrived?” Beomseok lifted a dark eyebrow and looked back at Hongjoong. San allowed himself to take a deep breath with those calculating eyes off of him. 

“I met his mother during one of my visits to the lower towns,” Hongjoong said. “We’ve become close, and I can assure you of his loyalty to the crown.” 

“I’ll hold you to it,” the King said. “But I’m afraid anything he does will reflect onto you, and any form of dissent on his end will damage your position in my court.” 

Hongjoong nodded, and for the first time since they walked in, his calm demeanor broke, and San could see his shoulders tense. 

The King laughed. 

“Don’t worry, old friend. I like him already. I can tell he has many qualities an apprentice, or servant, should have.” San let himself give the King a small smile at the words, though it felt forced to him and probably came across that way as well. 

“That’s very kind of you, Your Majesty,” Hongjoong said. 

The King nodded, and after a slight pause, he clapped his hands together. “Well, I believe that is all. You’re both dismissed.” 

Both San and Hongjoong stood, the former stumbling slightly, and took their leave after a quick bow. San let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding after they crossed the doorway, the guards watching as they made their way back to the physician’s chambers. 

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse,” Hongjoong said, closing the door behind them.

“That’s for sure.” 

“You know, you don’t have to be so afraid of him,” Hongjoong said. “As long as you’re in his good graces, there’s nothing to fear.” 

San thought back to his encounter with Wooyoung. He didn’t have the best track record with royals, and he definitely didn’t want to test that with the King. 

“I’m not sure if it’ll be easy for me to stay in his ‘good graces,’” San mumbled. 

The sun had begun its descent, and the familiar room was bathed in a golden glow. San fell back into one of the cots and let out a groan. He couldn’t help but let his eyelids droop, the events of the day wearing him thin. 

“Hey, I’m going to go fetch some soup from the kitchens. Why don’t you take some time to rest?” Hongjoong said, seeming unaffected by everything. 

“Gladly.” 

 (。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung was stressed. 

The knights were doing well in training, that was for sure, but there was something missing. There was a certain clumsiness to the blows and drills today, and every wrong movement caught Wooyoung’s eye. He found himself on edge for the entirety of today’s training. 

It didn’t help that there was no one there to clean or hold his equipment.  Of course, it was technically his fault, but who could blame him? The last few servants he’d gone through were completely worthless. 

But as much as he wanted the endless drills to end, he dreaded what would come after. His father had asked to dine with him after the session, and he never looked forward to those talks. 

Wooyoung weaved his way between his sparring knights. They were practicing simple drills, but tiring and repetitive ones at that. Drops of sweat dripped down their faces, and the field was full of heaving breathing and the clang of metal. The sky darkened, and Wooyoung knew he couldn’t drag this out any longer. 

“Hold,” he called out, and around him, the knights ceased in their actions. Wooyoung felt their attention shift to him, all eyes in his direction. “That will be all for today. Get some rest. We have a lot of kinks to work out tomorrow.” 

At the dismissal, the field cleared as the men dispersed. Wooyoung caught the eye of Jongho, one of his best knights, and he gave him a slight nod. Jongho had been the only knight who had come close to beating him in combat today. Wooyoung’s arms still ached from blocking his blows. Wooyoung saw a lot of potential in him, and he knew Jongho would grow to become one of Sinsu’s best. 

Wooyoung had a tight-knit group of knights whom he trusted the most, Jongho being one of them. While all of the knights swore loyalty to the King, there were a few whose allegiance fell to Wooyoung in the end. If Wooyoung ever were to defy his father, he knew those few knights would follow him to the ends of the earth.

He gave Yunho and Mingi a slight wave as he walked past. He carried his own equipment, and again, he cursed the servants he had dismissed. 

Wooyoung had a sneaking suspicion that this was what his father wanted to talk to him about- his obvious lack of a servant would be sure to turn some heads. Not only that, but his chambers were beginning to get cluttered with no one there to clean them. 

He reached the pavilion that housed all of their training equipment and tossed everything aside. Someone else would take care of it at some point. He struggled out of the armor, fiddling with all of the buckles and straps that he never took the time to familiarize himself with. Once again, that was a servant’s job, he thought with a frown. 

He needed to stop by his rooms and freshen up before meeting his father. On the way, his thoughts began to wander. He noticed that it happened a lot in the past week- He’d be busy doing something important — whether his own duties or an order from his father — and then a certain face would pop into his thoughts, usually accompanied with a snarky voice and an impish smile. 

The truth was, he still hadn’t recovered from his encounter with Dimples (the nickname sounded so stupid in his head, but in his defense, he didn’t have much to work with). 

There was something so irritating about him, yet there was something so compelling at the same time. Wooyoung found himself looking all the serving boys in the face now, hoping to catch a familiar one, but all he could see were the same, boring, submissive eyes.

There was one time he thought he heard Dimples’ voice, but when he rounded the corner, it was just Yeosang snickering to himself in the hallway, footsteps echoing in the opposite direction. He thought about asking Yeosang about it, but he decided against it. Yeosang would definitely press him on why he was asking, and Wooyoung wouldn’t have an answer for him. 

At one point, Wooyoung entertained the idea of having Dimples as his manservant instead of the usual fodder... And then he dropped the thought immediately. If he saw those eyes first thing every morning, he’d probably go insane. 

Those eyes made him want to punch a wall. 

But for now, he needed to forget about Dimples. He needed to dine with his father, and he needed to better himself as a prince for his people (minus Dimples; he could go rot in hell). 

When Wooyoung walked into Beomseok’s rooms, the King was already eating at the dining table. 

“You’re late,” his father said. A plate had already been prepared for Wooyoung at his father’s side: bread, cheese, a few vegetables, and a slab of beef, spiced so heavily that Wooyoung could smell it from the doorway.

“My apologies, I had a few complications,” Wooyoung said. 

Beomseok narrowed his eyes, and Wooyoung gulped. He waited until his father spoke again. 

“Come. Sit.” 

Wooyoung sat at the table and dug into the food. They settled into a silence. Wooyoung wouldn’t call it a comfortable one, but the King didn’t seem too irritated at the moment. Wooyoung felt his nerves settle. Next to him, Beomseok cleared his throat. 

“Hongjoong has a new apprentice,” his father said. “Have you met him?” 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Wooyoung said. He wasn’t close to Hongjoong- not like Yeosang or the rest of the bloody castle. Hongjoong even had Wooyoung’s father wrapped around his finger. Sometimes, Wooyoung thought Beomseok wished Hongjoong were his son instead of himself, but he cast those thoughts aside as soon as they came up. “I’m sure he’ll do well as long as Hongjoong keeps him out of trouble,” he added on. 

“I doubt he will get into any. He was the epitome of a perfect servant.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. Coming from his father, that was high praise. Something almost like jealousy turned his stomach, but he ignored it. 

“Oh? What makes you think so?” Wooyoung swallowed around his fork, his interest peaked about the new apprentice. To catch the King’s eye was a big deal. 

“He doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and to be an apprentice for Hongjoong, he must be somewhat competent,” the King said. “What more could you ask?” 

Oh. 

So this apprentice was just like the others. 

Wooyoung felt his curiosity drain immediately. Of course, that was all his father cared about. To be honest, those were the exact qualities he had sent the others away for. 

“Why, may I ask, are we talking about the physician’s apprentice? Is there another matter you wish to discuss?” 

“That’s just the thing. You’ve exhausted all of our options,” the King said. “You know exactly where this conversation is going, Jung Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung desperately tried to think of excuses to get out of this, but the whole ordeal was useless. “But he already has a position?” he said. His voice grew squeaky the way it usually does when he gets nervous; a trait he’d spent years trying to beat out of his system to no avail. “He has a good place in court. Stripping him of that would be cruel.” 

The King shook his head. “A place in the royal household is respected, even as a servant.” He took a sip of wine. “And I think we can all agree that Hongjoong is too young to have an apprentice now. It isn’t urgent.”

Wooyoung grimaced.

“You leave me no choice, Wooyoung. You’ve rejected our best servants, and this is a problem that needs to be resolved quickly. I don’t have time to mull over the choices for you.” Beomseok’s voice grew agitated, and Wooyoung shrank back. “I am the King. This is not something I should be doing for you. If I hear that you’re unsatisfied, there will be consequences for both of you.” 

Wooyoung set his fork down, his appetite lost. “Hongjoong was clearing out his storage for an apprentice,” he mumbled. “Are you going to kick him out of his living quarters as well?” 

Beomseok scoffed. “That’s a matter he’ll have to settle with Hongjoong. I don’t have time to care.” 

Wooyoung’s fists clenched on his lap, and his nails bit into his palms. He knew he needed a servant, but this seemed… so unfair. If his father had met the apprentice only a few days later, yes, Wooyoung would probably be stuck with someone just as incompetant, but at least it would be a proper servant- not someone who had come to their kingdom to learn a dignified practice. He couldn’t help but feel a strong pang of sympathy, something his father would ridicule him for if he knew. 

“I am calling for him tomorrow and giving him one day to prepare. You can expect him the day after,” Beomseok said. 

After a sigh of defeat, Wooyoung nodded. He could never argue with his father on something like this. He’ll have to live with it. Who knows, maybe the apprentice won’t be that bad. Hongjoong picked him, after all. Wooyoung will have to make the most of it. 

“Can I at least have his name?” he asked. He stared down at the half-eaten plate. A part of him was glad his meals would once again be hand delivered, but the guilt; it wouldn’t go away. 

The King paused for a moment. “I think he said his name was San.” Another sip of wine. “Ah, yes, I remember now. Choi San.” 

Choi San. 

“Is he good looking at least?” Wooyoung asked in an attempt to lift the mood. His father didn’t have the best sense of humor, or any at all, for that matter, but he could try. 

Beomseok seemed to catch on, though, and he hummed, slouching a little in his chair. “How would I know?” 

“No apparent qualities? That’s a shame. I hope you aren’t sticking me with a troll,” Wooyoung muttered. He took his own sip of wine and scrunched up his face at the taste. 

The King sighed, and to Wooyoung’s surprise, he gave in. 

“He has black hair.” 

“And?” Wooyoung leaned forward, eager to know more about this apprentice that had left such a good impression on his father. 

“What else do you want to know?” 

“I don’t know...  black hair doesn’t tell me much,” Wooyoung said. 

Beomseok thought hard for a moment, and his next words would haunt Wooyoung through the following day.

“Well, his cheeks dimple easily, I guess. Honestly, son, I don’t know what you want from me.” 

Oh.

“That’s enough idle chit chat.” Beomseok said. He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. “You’ll meet him soon enough. Now that the matter is settled, you’re dismissed.” 

Wooyoung nodded and stumbled to his feet in a daze. There’s no way. 

There’s no way. 

He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. This had to be a coincidence. There was no way Dimples was the physician’s apprentice and his... his soon to be manservant. 

But if it was Dimples…. 

Why did Wooyoung’s ears burn at the thought?

[duckprintspress]

Download the Free DPP Zine: November Edition

The latest edition of the Duck Prints Press zine is now available! It includes information about the Press, where to find us on social media, how to support us, and excerpts from the following titles coming soon…

Hockey Bois by A. L. Heard

Novel (approx. 120,000 words). Contemporary M/M Romance.

Nick Porter has always loved hockey. Ever since he can remember, it’s been his favorite thing in the world. It’s too bad he never learned to play, he’d tell himself, but it was too late to do it now. Adults don’t just magically learn to skate and join a hockey team. That’d be ridiculous. Except maybe they do? On a whim, he decides to sign-up for an adult beginner’s class. He learns to skate, joins a team, and meets a really hot teammate… and it’s pretty much a disaster from there on out.

Pre-orders for this newly revised edition open on December 1st, 2023!

-

What Monsters Need by Lyn Weaver

Short Story (approx. 9,000 words). Explicit Gothic M/M Fantasy.

The vampire Lazarus’s sister Leona is always dragging him into her mischief, not that Lazarus minds. This time, he might even thank her: she’s gotten the attention of a monster hunter from the Albrecht family. Lazarus has always wanted to meet one of those legendary humans…

What Monsters Need is coming to the Duck Prints Press Patreon on November 30th, and will be available to all backers at the $7/month, $10/month, and $25/month level. Become a backer now and make sure you don’t miss it!

-

Waiting for the Tide to Turn by Genevieve Maxwell

Short story (approx. 3,000 words). Contemporary F/F Romance.

Liv’s had a crush on her best friend Caro for ages, but she knows that Caro doesn’t feel the same way. But the “friends getaway” that Caro has planned to the beach is going to test Liv to the limit…

This short story will be released on our webpage on November 16th, or is available to all Patreon backers RIGHT NOW!

-

Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas’s The Three Musketeers

Anthology with a range of settings and ship types. The excerpt in the Zine is from Veronica Sloane’s story Waiting and Hoping, and is contempory m/m (Porthos x Aramis) romance.

You’ve heard “All For One!”; now get ready for “One For All!” Duck Prints Press is thrilled to bring a whole new meaning to the Musketeers’ famous slogan in one inclusive book with a little bit of something for everyone. For this collection, we recruited 20 authors and 16 artists who love Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d’Artagnan, Milady, Madame Bonacieux, and the whole gang from Dumas’s wonderful historical melodrama. These creators’ mission was simple: take this long-adored story and make it queer!

We Kickstarted Aim For The Heart last summer, and we will be completing fulfillment by the end of November. Missed your chance to back the campaign and get a copy? Don’t worry! The e-book, print book, and extra merchandise will be coming to our website in January, 2024!

Some come download our zine, and read part of each of these works right now!

Want even more sneak peeks? You can download our past zines, too!

[rangercorpstherapy]

Okay help, what is the rangers gathering (tumblr version)?

this is the second year @theraven-gil-lyn hosts the gathering. every day of the month june there is a prompt you/people can make fanwork for.

[kingxxlink]

It's uncommon OC ask time!!

Let's do 40 for Eutheria, and F for Link!! >:3c ooo and for good measure....31 for Gage!

OOOO THESE ARE GOOD ONES I'M EXCITED

40: How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Eutheria is incredibly sensitive to and about her flaws. She's headstrong and too proud, all while harboring a secret fear that she, too, will fall to the blight that has spread throughout Yharnam. She generally struggles to work with others, as well, and being aware of that helps push her forward to make a connection with the Vileblood Hunter, Alfred, in the hopes of seeking an end to the endless night.

===

31: Who are they the most glad to have met?

See, for Gage, you'd think the answer would be his partner Dean, but you would be wrong. He's the most glad he met Lyn Ashford (who belongs to @resonantcrimson). Meeting Lyn changed his life in ways he wasn't expecting and through Lyn's love for her brother, Christian, Gage learned that even Hunters can have real, actual families. Sometimes they're blood, sometimes they're not, but family is family.

===

F: What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

Interestingly enough, this doesn't change much based on which OC I think of! Overall, I feel a lot of joy and excitement when it comes to my OCs, but for some of the most well-developed ones, I feel a strong sense of pride in my writing and my ability to keep going,e ven when it's hard.

I don't often talk about it, but there was a period of 6-7 years where I just didn't create. I didn't draw, do pixel art, or write, and it was one of the saddest parts of my life because there really was just no joy left to me. Coming out of that and seeing the things I've created in the time since is absolutely a point of pride for me, because I think I've made some amazing work that stands on its own, often even if you don't know the source material (in the case of fanworks).

When it comes to what I create, I definitely feel I deserve every ounce of pride that it gives me. I went through a lot to get this far and I'm determined to see what comes next. <3

[autumnslance]

We ALL change aspects of canon for various reasons to fit ourselves and our stories. We have our own perspectives and opinions; that's part of the beauty of transformative fanworks.

However.

We all also have to keep in mind those differences when things are rewritten. Check back in the original text if necessary and keep separate canon, headcanons, and popular fanons.

Especially when trying to speculate on characters, storyarcs, and upcoming plotlines. Are you using the text, or basing your ideas and opinions on headcanons and the memes du jour? Especially if it's been awhile since you played that expac, that patch (read that book, watched those episodes, etc)?

Think how fandom flanderizes a trait or two in your favorite characters for memes and lulz while ignoring the nuances that you notice and make you love that character. Same thing happens to plot lines and storybeats. People forget, weren't paying attention, ignored it as "uninteresting" or "I don't like X" and that doesn't work when trying to figure out later lore events, interconnected characters, or possibilities; none of it stands alone, it's all interwoven and builds off each other (or should, and we're lucky to have a game that does quite frankly, even with the hiccups and missteps).

Part of what makes good analysis, speculation, and fanworks is keeping an eye on ALL aspects of the canon: good and bad, favorites and squicks.

I may dislike character X, but I cannot ignore their interactions with other characters, impact on the story, what themes the devs are giving through this figure (I may even change my mind about them at some point, by keeping that open mind!). I likely won't write them into my fics very often if at all, but I also don't have to. My ficverse is different from the canon, even for someone like me who likes to write within the lines.

I do like to rewrite for my own ficverse a different resolution to the "Trolley Duty" cuz to me it makes no sense and smells of executive meddling. But I cannot discount that in canon, Ran'jit gets away and the WoL faces him in Eulmore. My headcanon is different from the actual story. I take that into account when analyzing Ran'jit, Thancred, that story arc, etc.

People often come to me with lore and analysis questions cuz I'm one of those folks who delves in multiple times and remembers stuff, and/or knows where to find the answers. I will (try to) go by the canon in response cuz...that's our baseline in common, and the jumping off point into whatever headcanon one wants to diverge into.

Though a lot of speculation or questions I see and get aren't considering the actual lore, seen maybe once months or years ago; it's based off of fanons, "what ifs", headcanons, memes, and other fan imaginings. Which on the one hand, great! That's what transformative fandom creativity is meant to do! Give you new ideas and perspectives!

BUT we engage with this media, ostensibly because we love the actual thing itself (tho I wonder about some of y'all who seem to punish yourselves by consuming media you apparently don't enjoy), so it behooves us to actually keep in mind the work the creators put in, checking the text and valid resources (in a MMO's case, the sites that track the lore and quest text, or use New Game+) and keep our headcanons and fanons in their own brainspace for playtime and how we alter canon entirely in our fanworks.

[gascon-en-exil]

About the post you reblogged about canon complaint fics. Fire Emblem is a fountain of ideas for compliant fics due to the narrative structure of the games in which supports and romances are often done in three or four "conversations" but we all know it's basically the script of the relationships and therefore more happened between such events, letting the player to fill the blanks. Therefore most fics that don't contradict canon are indeed canon compliant (as long the authors or developers don't release information that contradict it) so I need to disagree overall with the person who said that fics are often divergent by nature. If depends very much of the fandom. In my experience Fire Emblem fanbase is a 50/50, considering that half of the fics on ao3, for example, are one shot smut that can't be necessarily considered canon compliant as there's no heavy plot lol but most heavily plot oriented long fics follow the canon specifically.

That must have been in tags and I don't recall who said it, but I'd imagine that that person was thinking of fanfic in general which does indeed proceed from a postmodern, decentralized conception of the relationship between author, text, and audience. Death of the author is a foundational principle of transformative fandom, in other words, regardless of how canon-compliant any given piece of fanwork claims to be. This is especially true when canon is vague or inconsistent, leading to disagreement among fans over what it actually says which as an example is how we got to the entrenched factions of the Three Houses fandom. That aside however, it's impossible not to bring something of one's own preferences and biases to fanfic - or meta, for that matter - even when aiming to be canon-compliant. For instance, I emphasize queer subtext in much of my own meta, but people who aren't interested in that kind of content or who have a motive of their own in making alternative readings, ex. a rival ship, or opposition to a character based in part on their perceived alignment with conservative attributes *cough*Dimitri*cough*, will disregard or deny that subtext as they deem fit. This easily applies to fanfic as well, in the characters and ships and genres of fic a person is drawn to reading and writing about.

Regarding Fire Emblem specifically, it's always had a lot of space in its text to spin stories in different directions. At least some plotless smut fics could be described as canon-compliant from a transformative perspective if not from a meta-writing one; for example, there's nothing in canon to suggest that furtive teenage sex wasn't a part of Dimitri and Dedue's four years of intense trauma bonding prior to the start of the game, which is suitable fodder for technically canon-compliant fic even if I wouldn't be able to use it to make any kind of definitive claims regarding their (canon) sexualities because it's still a form of divergence from the heteronormative assumption that every character is straight unless they have a romantic S rank with same-sex Byleth. On the flip side, personalized retellings of FE main stories have been popular as a fic genre at least since the mid-2000s, when FFN.net was inundated by personal spins on Lyn's story in FE7 that usually included pairing her with that game's proto-Avatar tactician. This kind of story has only become even more popular with the introduction of actual designated self-insert Avatars, and as these are effectively the authors' OCs when they appear in fic their characterization can be quite revealing of the writer's interests and priorities - which is where the divergence comes in.

The Three Houses author who many of us over here have been criticizing has been from what I've seen quite open about what from his personal life he's been bringing to his work. The trouble is that he appears to lack the self-awareness to distinguish between his own biases and what's actually in the script of Three Houses, on top of a lack of understanding that meta and fanfic differ significantly from one another - in their assumed approaches to canon, in their expected levels of objectivity, and in how audiences engage with them. The result is an Edeleth novelization of CF that claims to also be meta (and is taken as such by a group of Redditors, a demographic that typically engages less with transformative fanwork) and presumably canon-compliant as his fandom faction sees it even though it's as much a reflection of the author's subjective experience as all those Lyn/Tactician fics or indeed pretty much any FE Avatar-centric fanwork. That his fic diverges so heavily from canon - and in ways that are often offensive especially when paired with the author's performatively progressive slant - while being held up as objective and compliant to (an observably flawed) canon is what bothers people, I think.

[ao3feed-hitoshi-shinsou]

The Heroes Against Bullying Club

The Heroes Against Bullying Club by wonder lyn

Izuku Midoriya, Hitoshi Shinsou, and Neito Monoma are a lot more similar then they initially think. It just took them forming a club to realize this.

Aka how Izuku, Hitoshi, and Neito change the world. Sort of.

Words: 3789, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Uraraka Ochako, Midoriya Izuku, Asui Tsuyu, Iida Tenya, Shinsou Hitoshi, Monoma Neito, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Minor Original Characters - Character

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Monoma Neito & Shinsou Hitoshi

Additional Tags: International Fanworks Day 2021, Bullying, Mineta Minoru is Expelled from U.A. High School, Mineta Is Only Here So I Can Kick Him Out, Friendship, Fundraisers, How Do I Tag, no beta we die like men

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445036

[jackie-talks-about-starkid]

A Very Potter Senior Year (Rewatch #6, 10/15/2020)

YouTube publish date: March 15, 2013 

Number of views on date of rewatch: 1,515,813

Original Performance Run: August 11, 2012 at Chicago’s LeakyCon

Ticket price: the cost of a LeakyCon 2013 pass

Director: Matt Lang and Nick Lang

Music and Lyrics: Clark Baxtresser, AJ Holmes, Pierce Siebers, and Darren Criss

Book: Brain Holden, Matt Lang, and Nick Lang

Cast album price and availability: $14.99 on the StarKid store for digital download (x)

     Release date: December 15, 2012

Parody or original: third installment of a parody series

Main cast and characters

Harry - Darren Criss

Ron - Joey Richter

Hermione - Meredith Stepien

Draco - Lauren Lopez

Gilderoy Lockhart - AJ Holmes

Voldemort - Joe Walker

Ginny - Jamie Lyn Beatty

Musical numbers

  Act I

“This Is The End” Characters: Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ensemble

“Senior Year” Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny

“Wizard of the Year” Characters: Lockhart and Ensemble

“Always Dance” Characters: Tom Riddle, Dumbledore, and the Slytherins

“When You Have to Go All the Way Home” Characters: Lucius and Bellatrix

“Get in My Mouth” Characters: Aragog and Ensemble

“Tonight This School is Mine” Characters: Harry and Draco

“I Was” Characters: Harry and Tom Riddle

  Act II

“Sidekick” Characters: Ron

“Everything Ends” Characters: James, Lily, Sirius, Lupin, Snape, and Cedric

“Goin’ Back to Hogwarts” Characters: Harry, Ron, McGonagall, and Company

“Harry Freakin’ Potter” Characters: Harry and Company

“Days of Summer” Characters: Company

“Goin’ Back to Hogwarts (Finale)” Characters: Harry

Notable Notes:

In this production, Luna was played by Evanna Lynch, the actress who portrayed Luna Lovegood in the Harry Potter films!

For this production, StarKid created a song and artwork contest in which the song winners would have a song performed in the actual production. One of the entries for the song portion of the contest was won by Robert Manion, who was later featured in Twisted and most recently played The Professor in The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musical (x)

Darren’s body mic did not work during the filming of the production, so all of his vocals and dialogue had to be pulled from other mics on stage (x)

Cultural Context: 2012/early 2013

Instagram become the popular new app for photo sharing

In February 2013, Beyoncé performed at the Super Bowl

‘The Harlem Shake’ was a popular video challenge

‘The Fierce Five’, Aly, Gabby, Kyla, Jordyn, and McKayla, all win gold for the US at the 2012 Summer Olympics

KONY 2012 happened

Marissa Mayer becomes the first pregnant Fortune 500 CEO

Content Analysis:

A Very Potter Senior Year is StarKid’s most interesting meta-musical regarding fandom. StarKid’s first published musical A Very Potter Musical, originally called ‘Harry Potter: The Musical’, was a work of musical comedy parody lovingly created by fans of the Harry Potter franchise for other fans that in a short amount of time created its own fandom for StarKid that continues to grow to this day. A Very Potter Senior Year is a fan-made production made by a theatre company for the sake of fulfilling their own fannish desires while also fulfilling the fannish desires of the fandom that they created for themselves from their original fanworks. That is a sentence that can only apply to StarKid. How often does a fanmade work gain such popularity, let alone one that uses theatre as its medium? And how often does an entire theatrical company, rather than an individual theatrical production, gain a loyal fandom through their own works? Through a combination of accessibility and dedication to fan culture and theatre, StarKid has created and fulfilled a very specific niche that has brought so much joy to so many people. AVPSY is StarKid’s thank you/love letter to the fans that have allowed their success to happen. It is a work that is comprised entirely of book-specific and movie-specific Harry Potter references (because, as any HP fan knows, they are different beings) and StarKid-specific references that any audience member who has not participated within the StarKid fandom would not understand, which makes this work incredibly special for the audience that it was intended for. The cast is composed of just about every StarKid actor associated with the company, whether or not they were involved in the first two Harry Potter musical parodies, making the show just as much of an homage to the team itself than it is to their Potter musical series alone, and they even managed to get an actual actor from the Harry Potter movies to reprise her role in this actual production?! If that doesn’t speak to the cultural weight of fandom and its power to bring people together, then I don’t know what does. 

This production has all of the elements expected of a traditional StarKid show, with on-point performances, funny and entertaining dialogue, a handmade production quality that increases the humanity of the company, and a heartfelt message lying underneath the outlandishness and occasional vulgarity. Watching actors step back into the roles that gained them so much popularity and that obviously have so much sentimental value to them makes their impact so much stronger-Draco’s mere presence remains a laugh riot, Ron’s lines are funnier (and his long-awaited solo was so incredible!), Ginny’s increased role in the plot is more substantial, and Harry’s character development is more multidimensional, but in a way that solidifies rather than takes away from the intended warm and comedic tone of the show. Meredith Stepien stood out for obvious reasons, as she was the only actor in the company who played a character that another person originated, but as a fan and an audience member who rewatched this production with a more critical eye than usual, I felt like her performance was outstanding and one of the best in the show. Her performance as Hermione felt like one that honored the character’s relationship to the fans while also making the transition between Grueson’s performance to Stepien’s own practically seamless, once a joke about the change in performer was made early on in the show. Personally, I could not be more happy to add Meredith to the list of talented actors who have played one of my favorite fictional characters of all time. StarKid’s Hermione is a very difficult character to play because she fulfills many different roles in the StarKid Potter musical universe itself and to the fans-not only does she have to honor Rowling’s intentions with Hermione’s original character, lest fans take offence to the parody, but she has to establish herself as her own character who is often the butt of a joke, a core character for the plot’s resolution, and the main leading woman of a musical comedy, which comes with its own set of narrative and performative responsibilities. Stepien did an incredible job and I’m really glad that she got to shine more as a leading character once StarKid produced Firebringer. Her stage presence and comedic performance are, in a word, lovely. @ StarKid please give her more roles, thank you

As far as the rest of the company goes, Chris Allen is the unsung hero of A Very Potter Senior Year, playing Barty Crouch Jr., Moaning Myrtle, Mad-Eye Moody, and Tom Riddle Sr. It is generally expected of any StarKid performer that in any given production they are going to play more than one character, and one of StarKid’s defining traits is the comedic flexibility of the performers, but Allen in particular stole every scene that he was in, no matter how brief it was. And AJ Holmes! He played Gilderoy Lockhart perfectly! The only thing that I do not appreciate about his performance is that he doesn’t act enough in StarKid shows. I know he was busy writing music for their shows and he’s busy now being successful in the greater commercialized theatre world but I find it personally offensive that he doesn’t act in StarKid more. Gilderoy’s Mouse Monologue™ is one of the funniest scenes in the show and needs to be performed more for national monologue competitions and comedic auditions because the writing alone does not get enough credit, but no one can ever live up to how Holmes took over the stage with that scene.

Overall, A Very Potter Senior Year was a beautiful wrap-up for the musical fandom-within-a-fandom-made-by-fans. Even through a screen and watching the performance seven years later, I can feel the love and joy radiating from the actors and the unseen audience through my laptop screen and have never been more grateful that StarKid still to this day ensures that their work can be viewed by as many people as possible.

[the-apocryphal-one]

With all the craze surrounding Three Houses, i still can remember a time when Fire Emblem was obscure, and most people only knew them from Smash. I like many others, learned of the series from Melee, but unlike most, i had a Japanese friend, who explained who they were. I remember popping the Fire Emblem Gameboy and expecting Roy and Marth but getting Lyn. I remember those fanworks that portray the FE characters as speaking only Japanese. Time flies huh?

lol my first knowledge of FE came from Smash too. I distinctly recall my brother telling me Marth was a girl and Roy was ‘her’ apprentice XD

[kidlightnings]

I swear, Lyn has been in tons of pairings when it comes to fanmade works, whether if it's canon or non-canon ones. Man, talk about a launcher of a thousand ships. Assuming that you ship her with Karel, which it's only "evidence" is when you recruit him with her. Have you ever gotten into any discussions or arguments with anyone who doesn't support Lyn/Karel and prefers her with someone else, before? The Hector and Rath fans are in a serious ship war over her for some reason. Better be careful.

Arguments no, because in general, for me, shipping is for fun and for exploration of ideas - what other people do is generally not of huge concern to me. If someone seems to be getting really riled over it, I’d usually just go in a direction of you do what you want, I’ll do what I want. I’m a little glad I’ve never really been a big name in the FE fandom or fandom in general, so most folks don’t really come at me.

Plenty of discussions, though. In the past I was more aggressive about pushing it as a pairing, but now, if someone wants to talk about Rath/Lyn or Lyn/Hector etc., I’m happy to see their headcanons and just talk about that. I’ve seen some Lyn/Rath fanworks I’ve really liked, so while he doesn’t hold my interest, it’s not a bad ship! Hector/Lyn is intriguing to me due to the idea of such a culture clash in terms of her being in the Ostian court and her learning to work with that in various ways. So, I like it for that idea. I don’t know that I like it for what’s then implied to happen to Lilina’s family, though T_T But, then, without any ships at all involved, it can be implied that Lyn may not make it to 6 anyway. So, is what it is!

[lynnt1ny]

You're Magic To Me: Ch. 9

Chapter Directory | Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 9 WC: 6.9k

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing? After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.   --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

A Servant of Two Masters

He had too much to drink. That explained it- the stumble in his step, the blurry edges of his vision. 

San didn’t know where he was. He thought he was walking towards the physician’s chambers, but all he could make out was a long drawl of monotonous stone walls. 

It was late. He had passed a window on the way, and it was dark. The stars hadn’t come out tonight, but the moon hung there, bright and only adding to San’s already growing headache. 

Bracing a hand against a wall, he slowed to a stop, shoulder hitting the rough, uneven stone. He blinked, willing away the fog, but the world was still cloaked under a fuzzy veil. 

There was something wrong. He only had a little bit of wine. 

Where was Sena? She had left him outside Wooyoung’s room, telling him to get some sleep. Her words pulled at something in him, and yes, if she wanted him to sleep, he would gladly pass out on the spot at her words. 

She looked so sad, though. San wanted to make her smile. He wanted to kiss her again. Would that make her happy? 

He bit down the sudden urge to go find her. She wouldn’t want him to do that- she told him to get some sleep. 

His head hurt. 

San took a faltering step, fingers tightening against the stone. His knees were weak, and he gave in, stumbling back and letting his back hit the wall. Before he knew it, San was on the floor, sitting against it. 

He had kissed Sena. It was wonderful. He wanted to do it again. Maybe that would ease his headache. 

Her lips were as soft as they looked, and when he closed his eyes, her long locks were cut short, her jaw heavier, brown eyes instead of blue. It was addicting. God, he wanted to do it again. 

His head dipped, lolling slightly to the side. He must look drunk out of his mind, which didn’t make any sense. And his head was full of Sena. All Sena, when before, he could swear it was only Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung… a deep pang set in his heart. What was wrong with him? A giddy laugh built in his chest, delirious and out of his mind. 

His feelings… they were gone, snapped out of existence. He was free- he didn’t have to hurt from the shadows anymore as Wooyoung inevitably fell for someone else, because now it wouldn’t hurt. 

Choi San did not love Wooyoung anymore. His head knocked back hard against the wall, and he winced. 

“San?” 

He blinked, a wavering figure standing over him, concerned eyes peering down at him. San shifted, shivering slightly. He didn’t know if it was an apparition or not, an effect of the hammer pounding at his skull. “H-Hongjoong?” he smiled. “Hi~.” 

The man crouched in front of him, a hand on San’s knee. “What did you do to yourself? Why aren’t you with Wooyoung?” 

“Young-ah?” San laughed. “He’s okay. M going to bed- supposed to sleep.” 

Hongjoong winced. “Now’s not the best time to drink yourself silly, San. Woo.. he’s going to need you to be yourself.” He bit his lip, looking off to the side. 

San shook his head. “Can you.. can you take me to sleep?” 

“Wooyoung’s?” 

“No.. my own bed please.” 

Hongjoong’s were gleaming, something in them San couldn’t place. “Did you two have a fight?” 

“No, I just.. Sena told me to sleep,” San’s head hurt. “I need sleep.” He reached his arms out, ready for Hongjoong to help him up. 

“I’m taking you to Wooyoung.” 

“No.” 

“Why?” Deep creases set between Hongjoong’s brows. 

“‘M embarrassed,” San groaned. “Kissed Sena. He’s probably mad at me.” 

“You… you did what?” 

“Sena..” 

Hongjoong’s eyes were wide, boring into him. His fingers tightened against San’s knee. “And.. and Wooyoung knows?” His voice was a whisper. 

“I mean, yeah.. He was right there.” 

Hongjoong stared at him, horror twisted on his face. “What the hell, San.” 

“She’s pretty,” San slurred. “One moment, I’m fine, and the next…” he laughed. “I think I’m in love with her.” 

“No, you aren’t. Jesus christ, San, how much did you drink?” Hongjoong leaned in, nose scrunched up, trying to catch a whiff of alcohol on San’s clothes. 

San smiled. “Just take me to my room, Hongjoong. Please?” 

The conflict was visible on Hongjoong’s face, and San was too out of it to understand why. Why was he upset over this? To San, it was all so simple.

Hongjoong finally hooked his arms under San’s armpits and hauled him to his feet. San winced, the sudden movement making his head spin and the rough handling making him almost fall over again. When he looked up again, Hongjoong looked pissed. 

“Seonghwa is doing your job tomorrow,” he said. “You’re right. Wooyoung won’t want to see you.” 

Hongjoong’s words hurt a little, but something in San’s head blocked it, muffling the feeling down to a soft ache. A small pleasant buzz overtook his pounding headache, and he hummed in confusion. 

“Okay, then..” San said. He gulped back a confused laugh. It didn’t look like Hongjoong would appreciate it. 

Hongjoong’s lips were pressed together, but he wrapped an arm around San’s back and let him lean against him. “God,” he huffed. “San, you really have the worst timing.” The words were lighthearted, but there was an edge of anger laced in them. “I can’t believe you.. that you did this.” 

San didn’t reply, too focused on how Hongjoong had started walking, moving them both down the corridor at a snail’s pace. He stumbled over his own feet the whole way, wondering how the hell he let himself get this drunk. 

Wasn’t the headache supposed to come after? He suddenly felt like asking Hongjoong to do a checkup on him, to make sure everything was okay. He wasn’t this much of a lightweight. 

But the voice in his head stopped him, whispers of ‘Sleep.. go to sleep, San.’ whirling through his mind in a loop, clogging up all the space he needed to make rational decisions. 

He hummed, closing his eyes and letting Hongjoong half-carry him back to the room. He’d get to see Sena more if he took his job off tomorrow. Yes, Hongjoong’s idea to let Seonghwa take over was great. 

They both burst through doors of the physician’s chambers. 

“I think you can find your way from here,” Hongjoong said, patting San’s head. It was reserved- usually he would ruffle it until San protested against it. But now, Hongjoong only had a small smile, a gleam of anger in his eyes. “Get some rest. And then we need to talk.” 

(。-`ω´-)

Seonghwa didn’t wake him up. He didn’t need to; Wooyoung was already wide awake, half-sitting up against his pillows.

The truth was, the tears had already formed in his eyes, and when he saw Seonghwa standing there instead of his usual dimple filled servant, they finally fell. 

He didn’t cry last night. To be honest, he was proud of that, even if it was because of the shock, or the numbness that crept into his bones. But no, they were stockpiling until now. 

So he started crying, and Seonghwa stood by the side of the bed, an awkward hand rubbing circles over Wooyoung’s arm. 

Seonghwa didn’t ask what happened yet, and for that Wooyoung was grateful. There was no way he could answer now- not with him choking on air, his chest heaving to contain the wracking sobs that left his lips. 

The image from last night replayed over in his head. The universe was sick. Over the course of his life, this had to be the cruelest joke it played on him. 

Now that he had time to process it, it was like experiencing the kiss again tenfold- an outsider at his own dinner table. 

Seonghwa sat next to Wooyoung, telling him to breathe, and he tried. It was all too much, and he curled into himself. Eyes closed, he could pretend it was San’s hand on his arm instead of Seonghwa’s. 

He knew it wasn’t. 

Eventually, he was numb again, sobs subsiding. He thought he knew what it felt like to be heartbroken, but no, this was it- the emptiness. He was drowning again, but he gave up on struggling, letting the water clog his lungs, feeling it burn in his chest. San’s face grinned over him from above the surface. 

It was all too much. 

He kicked away the sheets, startling Seonghwa as he sat fully up, wiping at his face and gasping. There was a glass of water in Seonghwa’s other hand, and Wooyoung grabbed it thankfully, washing down his sobs as he gulped it down. 

He was a mess. 

Seonghwa patted his back, and Wooyoung anchored himself to that touch. He briefly wondered how Seonghwa knew exactly what to do to help. As much as he hated it, he needed this crying session. Seonghwa was staying strong for the both of them.

“D-Do you.. do you know why…” Wooyoung finally addressed Seonghwa, trying to force the question out. 

Seonghwa already knew what he was going to say. “Hongjoong told me San was drunk out of his mind last night,” Seonghwa said. “Besides that, I don’t know what happened. Hongjoong told me to ask you myself.” 

It was easier to breathe now, after the water, and Wooyoung leaned forward, hunched into himself. Seonghwa sat on the edge of the bed behind him, a hand still on his back. “You can talk to me,” he said. “Since apparently San isn’t an option, and Yeosang is… Yeosang.” 

Wooyoung tried to laugh. He really did, but it wasn’t happening. He gulped, sucking in long, deep breaths. “I…” He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to make it real. 

But it was, and he needed to get past it. 

“San kissed Sena,” he whispered, and Seonghwa’s jaw dropped open behind him. 

“He did what?” 

Wooyoung shook his head. He would not repeat it. He waited for Seonghwa to ask why it was such a big deal- why Wooyoung had just spent the last five minutes a sobbing wreck, but the question never came. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Seonghwa said. His hand stilled on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Was it.. like.. just a peck?” 

Wooyoung turned his head and glared at him. “What do you think?” He pointed at his face, incredulous. His cheeks were tear-stained, eyes rubbed red and hair disheveled from Wooyoung pulling at it all night. “Does it look like it was just a peck? 

Seonghwa looked away. “Sorry,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. “But... it doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t sound like him.” 

The truth was, Wooyoung knew it didn’t sound like San. 

He didn’t even know why this hit him so hard. Yes, he’d burn the world to be in Sena’s place, but he didn’t know why it hurt so fucking bad. People kissed all the time. He could go right up to Yeosang’s room and peck him now, and it wouldn’t mean a thing. 

No. It all boiled down to the way San looked at her, the soft sparkle in his eye, usually reserved for Wooyoung. It was the blankness in his gaze when Wooyoung called his name. It was the feeling of letting a lover slip through his fingers, even if they never crossed that line. 

Apparently, Sena beat him to it. 

“They have been spending a lot of time together,” Wooyoung mumbled. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was necessary. “It’s just… we had a falling out a few days ago. He… He told me nothing would happen between them, and now..” 

Seonghwa didn’t say anything, and Wooyoung didn’t expect him to. There wasn’t much he could say to help Wooyoung feel better. He needed.. He needed San’s explanation, but he didn’t know if he could see San without sitting at that dinner table again in his head. 

Wooyoung felt the weight shift on the bed as Seonghwa stood up. He walked to the side of the room, pulling out a brush, and then he was back behind Wooyoung, twisted to the side. 

Seonghwa was careful, gently teasing out the knots that had formed in Wooyoung’s hair. It was so normal. 

The world keeps going, even when yours seems to fall apart at your feet. 

“You should talk to Sena,” Seonghwa said. “This whole thing sounds weird. She has magic, right? She could have… done something.” 

Wooyoung hadn’t thought of that possibility. Could that be it? Did Sena.. trick him? Cast a spell? 

But that look in San’s eyes… 

“I’ll talk to her eventually,” Wooyoung said. “Once I’ve had time to.. process more.” 

Seonghwa hummed, seemingly satisfied. “You should also consider adding to my pay, considering all the times I’ve had to fill for San’s stupidity.”  

The corners of Wooyoung’s mouth twitched up. “Maybe.” 

“Good.” Seonghwa stilled behind him. “Now, let’s get you ready for the day.” 

.

Wooyoung caught a glimpse of San on the way to the council rooms. 

He was leaning against the wall, a small smile on his lips. Pink hair bunched behind his ears. It was definitely growing longer, but the roots kept its bright color, as if it was naturally growing out of his head. 

But that’s not what Wooyoung focused on. No, San’s eyes were closed, and his fingers were circled around his wrist, twisting over a leather band. 

Wooyoung was going to regret this. 

“San!” he called out. His voice was weak. 

San’s eyes snapped open, and Wooyoung gulped under his gaze. 

“Sire?” 

Oh… they were back to titles, then? 

His body acted on habit, even as his mind yelled in protest, and Wooyoung drew closer, standing in front of his servant. 

“What… what are you doing?” he asked. 

Now, he could probably take him in. San’s cheeks were tinted pink, a soft, warm color above his eyes. He was wearing makeup again. Of course he was. His eyes themselves were dark, irises almost completely hidden by dilated pupils. Wooyoung would be worried if not for the wide smile on his face, lips pink like his hair. 

Whatever this was: it wasn’t good for Wooyoung’s heart. 

“I thinking,” San said. 

Normally, Wooyoung would return with a jab- something like ‘Thinking? San, you’re going to hurt yourself.’ Instead, he found his hands at his sleeves, fiddling with the fabric. It was an unconscious tick he didn’t even realize he had until now. 

“Okay.. what are you thinking about?” he asked, thinking back to the soft smile he caught on San’s lips before he spoke. It was weird, but he wanted to taste it. Sena kissed San after a meal and some wine. Wooyoung wanted to do it now- when it was just San and his smiles, dimples on display to brush his fingers over. 

“It’s nothing important. I’m just..” San sighed, brows tilted up. “I’m going to see Sena soon for a magic lesson. It might be the last before she leaves.” 

Wooyoung perked up. “Oh? She’s leaving?” He mentally fist-bumped the air. “When?” 

“In a few days. She said she finished what she came to do, whatever that means,” San said. “I’m so excited! Essetir is going to be so beautiful.” 

Wooyoung’s mental celebration stopped with a screech. 

What? 

Wooyoung took a small step back. “What.. what do you mean?” 

San blinked at him, pretty lashes fluttering above the top of his cheekbones. “She invited me to come with her. Isn’t that exciting!” 

“N-no..” 

San laughed. “You don’t have to worry. She said she’d take care of Beomseok. He won’t execute me for leaving my post,” he said. “And you can get an actual, competent servant for once. It’s a win-win situation, and your rooms won’t be a mess anymore.”  

Wooyoung never cared about the rooms.

“You..” Wooyoung stumbled away. He needed to leave. Now. He needed.. He couldn’t look at San anymore. 

He’s wearing makeup for Sena. They’re having another magic lesson, he… 

San wants to leave Sinsu. 

If last night was bad, this was a thousand times worse. 

He failed. Wooyoung wasn’t good enough… wasn’t good enough to make San want to stay with him. Somewhere along the way, he screwed up. He must have. 

His father always told him to stop getting attached to people. Maybe he was right. 

Wooyoung couldn’t take this anymore. He turned tail and all but ran to his rooms, choking on air. 

(。-`ω´-)

Sena wanted to meet him by the field today. 

San saw her that morning. She came by to find him early, to tell him her plans of leaving. She finished her studies in Sinsu, and it was time to return. 

Great. He’ll take a horse too. 

He woke up completely consumed by her: the silk of her hair, the curve of her smile, the mesmerizing effect of her words. He had fallen so deep. It was almost laughable, the way it was all he seemed to care about now. 

San knew Wooyoung wanted him to stay, but Sena said... 

She said not to tell anyone they were leaving. God, he was so dumb. Wooyoung was right: San was terrible at following orders. 

With a shake of his head, he started heading to the field: he had wasted enough time. 

The trek was eerily nostalgic, and something about this being the last time he’ll take this walk made him frown. He didn’t feel like he’d miss it; it was just a strange voice in the back of his head telling him it wouldn’t be bad if this wasn’t the last time. 

Wow, his head was really screwed up. He kept thinking in circles, and that certainly wouldn’t accomplish anything. He frowned. 

Sena was already there. She wore a pretty black dress, matching her hair and her jewelry. It was the first time San had seen her in completely dark colors, and his cheeks bloomed red. She really, really was stunning. 

“Hi,” he brought a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a smile that threatened to peek through. “You look nice.” 

“As do you.” She grimaced and turned away, as if looking at San pained her. That wouldn’t do. Did he do something wrong? Oh god, it must be because he told Wooyoung they were leaving. She knew. That was so stupid. So goddamn stupid, but he was so excited, and it slipped out! He was used to telling Wooyoung things he was excited about. 

The headache from last night was slowly returning, and his frown deepened. How could he make this up to her? Why the fuck did she look so sad? 

“Sena?” He gently put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back around. “Is there something I can do? You look upset.” He pouted at her distraught eyes- clear, blue pools that made San melt. He tipped her chin and kissed her cheek, warmth filling him to combat the chilly air. 

She broke away, hugging herself and biting her lip. Sena looked across the field, and under the sun, she was shining. Even in all black, she was the lightest thing there, softer than the petals that surrounded them. San wanted to cuddle her to death. 

“I need to burn this field,” she said, and San’s brain short-circuited. 

Burn the field? 

He cocked his head, waiting for an explanation. 

“I didn’t want to do it alone. It seemed.. close to you two,” she sighed, brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry it has to go.” 

San didn’t know why she was sorry, but if she wanted it gone, then her wish was his command. He smiled and lifted a finger, a flame curling around it. He remembered the first time he saw this particular trick, when she showed to him at their first lesson. 

It looked like it would be useful now. 

“Do you want me to do it?” he asked, and her frown deepened. 

But in the end, she turned away and nodded. “Go ahead.” 

He let the flame circle down to his hand, building in his palm. He marveled at how natural this came to him. He had gotten used to it, yes, but at the same time, his own abilities still shocked a small part of him. 

It was almost scary how good he was at magic. 

His heart panged, though. It burned, and he frowned. The magic wrenched at him, chest tightening. It was confusing. This never happened before. His magic never made him.. Feel anything before. He gasped, the weight slowly crushing him, a vice around his heart and squeezing. He couldn’t breathe. 

“What are you waiting for?” Sena turned back with narrowed eyes, and the flame disappeared. 

“I-I’m sorry.” San clutched at his shoulder, his arm across his chest. “I don’t know what happened.” The pain subsided, and he marveled at how fast it left him. 

She shook her head. 

San swallowed, bringing the flame back to his hand. Damn, it hurt, but he ignored it, crouching down and bringing it down to the petals by his feet. Surprisingly, they lit easily, and it began to spread across the vines in a flash. San pulled Sena back and further up the hill, clear from the rapidly spreading flames. 

The ache in his chest died away, but there was something else nagging in the back of his head, something wrong about this. 

Sena had a smile on her face- a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. He tried to copy it, but it wouldn’t come. 

The flickering flames cast an orange glow on her face. For the hundredth time, he was reminded of how pretty she was, how beautiful people could be. 

Soon enough, the entire field was awash in red and black, charred remains and ashes littering the ground. Fires bloomed in place of blue, and San wondered if that was part of the magic, if the flames were lasting longer because of it. Sena walked away, black dress trailing behind her like the smoke she left in her wake. Even with his newfound infatuation, San didn’t follow. The field was more mesmerizing, more captivating at the moment. 

He stood at the top of the hill, staring down.

God, Wooyoung was going to be so heartbroken. He loved this field, and San had just ruined it. San was suddenly glad he was leaving soon. He caused enough trouble for Wooyoung and the castle inhabitants. 

It was hard to focus on Wooyoung. San felt hollow when he thought of him, and that alone.. It was so wrong. He knew in his head that Wooyoung was important to him. San nearly gave his life for that bastard, after all. 

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he feel anything? 

He stared down at the flames, thoughts swirling in his head and an emptiness that only seemed to grow. 

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung found Sena in one of the towers. 

He tried to stay in his chambers, but he couldn’t take it. There, everywhere he looked, all he could see was San: by the table, in the mirror, in his fucking bed.

He needed to get away, and the only vacant place he could break down in without an audience was high up in the towers. 

Apparently, he was wrong. 

He had climbed the stairs by two, eager to get away from the halls of the main castle. He didn’t see her at first. She wore dark colors, blending into the dim corners of the small room. 

They were at the highest point of the tower, where the stairs gave way to a small circular area. It used to be a guard’s post, but the windows were too small, and the room too isolated to properly raise alarm. It became a storage space instead, housing boxes with cobwebs sticking to their sides. The faint stench of rotten fruit invaded the space. No one ever came up here. Some day, he’d order a servant to clean it out, but for now, he was happy to keep it his little secret. 

So much for that. 

He would have to keep himself together for a little longer. 

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes, taking in her dark attire and the jewelry, gleaming in the low light filtering through the windows. 

“What are you doing up here?” he asked, and she smiled. 

“I could ask you the same.” 

A faint black streak sat on her cheek, and the bottom hem of her dress was singed. He let her take so many liberties while she was there, but as it was now, Wooyoung finally had enough. “Why are you really here?” His voice was hoarse. “Drop the lies for once. I know you haven’t been talking with our scholars. Why are you still here?” 

She glanced away, hands clutching at the sides of her dress. “Nothing that will.. directly hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nothing that’ll hurt me? That’s bullshit!” He closed his eyes, face scrunching up. “What did.. what did you do to San?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Then why did he say he’s leaving? He wouldn’t… San wouldn’t.” Jesus christ, the tears were pricking at his eyes again. He needed to calm down, to stay composed. 

Sena raised a brow. “He told you?” 

Wooyoung shook his head, chest caving in from the pressure that had been building ever since those words left San’s lips. “Why are you taking him from me?” 

“Wooyoung,” she sighed. “You’ve made it so fucking easy for me to carry out my orders.” 

“Some orders are made to be broken.” 

“It’s already too late.” She kicked the side of a box, and dust kicked up around it. “Magic demands a balance between life and death. You may not get it now, but by taking San… I’m finishing this kingdom for good.”

Wooyoung’s fists clenched. He would not let this happen. By the end of the day, he was putting her in the dungeons, just like his father told him to do if she acted suspicious. He could figure out what was going on with San then. Everything was going to be okay. Tomorrow, it’ll be back to normal. San will be his bubbly self again in Wooyoung’s chambers. He’ll look at him with that sparkle again, the stars back in his eyes. Wooyoung will fall asleep in San’s arms again, a steady heartbeat against his ear. 

San will love him again. 

Because that’s what it was, right? Even if it was only as a friend, San had to have feelings for him. Even platonic ones would do. He just wanted everything to go back to the way it was. 

“Unless you would rather me kill you, this is the only way. I’m sorry,” Sena was still talking over Wooyoung’s thoughts. 

He shook his head. “Sena, this doesn’t need to end like this. We can come up with a solution.” He reached for his belt, movements slow, but his hand landed directly on his side, fingers scrambling at nothing. 

The guards were too far away to call. He needed to get Sena into the dungeons somehow. 

Did she know how to magic her way out? To manipulate locks? 

She eyed the way Wooyoung held his hand over his belt and chuckled. “I don’t think a sword will be very effective against me, especially one made of air.” 

She started walking to the door, and Wooyoung rushed to get ahead of her, to block it. He took a stance there, hands raised to form fists. Sena was an idiot if she thought Wooyoung would let her walk out after that conversation. 

“I’m serious. There’s always a peaceful solution. Wasn’t that the whole point of your visit?” 

“Don’t make me laugh.” She flicked her wrist, and Wooyoung hurtled to the side, crashing against the boxes on the floor. He hit his hip hard, and his hands burned as he tried to catch himself on the wooden crates, splinters inevitable. 

He caught his breath, and wrenched to the side, hand outstretched, but she was already through the door. It clicked shut behind her, and through it, he heard her mutter a few words, along with a slight exclamation of surprise. 

It shouldn’t have a lock, but fearing the worst, he lurched up and grabbed the circular handle, only to immediately yelp in pain. It was like touching a hot stone, his skin blistering where it made contact with the iron. The frustration and pain wrote itself on his face, and his eyes narrowed. Sena’s wasn’t in a hurry, her footsteps slapping against stairs, growing fainter by the second. 

He rushed over to a window, placing his palm against the cool cross-hatched glass with a hiss. He knew the tower was too high to climb, but if only he could warn someone below. Dammit, he should have locked her up the moment King Sungho left the citadel. His hospitality was going to be the downfall of Sinsu if her words were to be taken seriously. 

‘By taking San… I’m finishing this kingdom for good.’

What had she done? God, he was so stupid. His father said the Essetirians were here for war, and yet.. He gave them the benefit of the doubt. 

Steeling himself, he was about to turn and kick down the door when he saw it: A darkened patch of black against Sinsu’s brilliant landscape, smoke still lingering in the air. He peered closer through the window, nose touching the glass, and his breath caught in his throat, stomach plummeting. 

What the fuck was happening to him? 

(。-`ω´-)

San did something he shouldn’t have. 

His body was torn in two, one side completely devoted to Sena, lost in her words and her presence, but the other side hurt. And it was that deep, struggling, desperate part of him that made San do it. 

Because now, he knew what Sena did to him. He saw it in the book the other day, and after returning to the castle, after spending time in the physician’s chambers, laying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, he figured it out. And he knew why Sena made him burn the field down too.  

From there, that internal struggle was back. He hated her. God, he hated her. 

But he loved her too, and he knew at her words, he would be powerless. 

Even now, the guilt ate at him. If Sena found out what he had done, she would be livid. He felt like a dog on a leash, desperate to make his owner happy, and the weight of shame crushed him down into the stiff mattress- so different from where he had slept the past few nights. 

Hongjoong was out again. He was being so secretive, and today, especially, his mood had been sour. When he saw San that morning, Hongjoong had asked him to apologize to Wooyoung. He told San to sort themselves out now because apparently Wooyoung would need it by tomorrow. Hongjoong’s eyes were so commanding, so violent. 

But that was before Sena came by and told him they were leaving, and that side of him that thought he loved her came roaring out in agreement. 

Now he knew better, but that didn’t stop the way his emotions twisted at the thought of her. He couldn’t describe it: the war that raged inside of him now-the softness that arose when he heard her voice, when he saw her, versus the knowledge that she used magic on him. 

But how could it be fake when it felt so real?

A few hours after the field, after he planted something in Wooyoung’s rooms,, Sena came to see him again. She had walked in, eyes scanning the room in slight disdain, and she said there was a change in plans. 

They were leaving now.  

That was okay. He could leave. Everyone would be better off without him, Wooyoung especially. 

Even if it was fake, at least he wasn’t hurting like when he loved Wooyoung. He would gladly take this over unrequited love any day. 

He asked her where they were going, if they were making the trip straight to Essetir. His stomach dropped, hurtling straight through the floor at her answer. 

And then, she said he had to get the horses ready by nightfall. 

That gave him time to say goodbye. 

(。-`ω´-)

The door opened, but Wooyoung didn’t flinch. He knew someone would walk in eventually, no matter how isolated the room may be. He sat behind one of the wooden crates, back to the wall and hidden from sight. Hopefully, this person would leave and never find the prince hiding in the room. 

He didn’t even know the handle stopped burning hot. Looking back, he probably should have tested it earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up. He brought his knees closer to his chest, making himself smaller. 

“Wooyoung?” 

Scratch that, now he’d be happy to get up and run away. 

“I couldn’t find you in your rooms, nor the kitchens or the council rooms. The knights haven’t seen you either. Yeosang too,” San’s voice paused. “I know you come up here when you’re upset. You can.. You can come out and talk to me.” 

With a deep sigh, Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t talk to San like everything was normal yet. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t get their earlier conversation out of his head. He couldn’t get past the fact that San wanted to leave. 

But San came to find him, didn’t he? He wasn’t out with Sena or packing his things. Maybe he finally came to his senses. A small hope wedged its way into his mind, and he poked his head over the box, staring up at San in the doorway. 

His hair was mussed, and there were more streaks of soot on him than there were on Sena- on his hands, his arm, his chin… His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, cream shirt tucked in and unlaced at the top. Wooyoung’s bracelet was still around his wrist. He was a mess. A dorky, adorable mess. 

But the soot.. San was at the field, most likely with Sena as well. They both set the fire.

What did that even accomplish for her? Was Sena’s goal only to bring Wooyoung pain? It definitely seemed like it. 

San wasn’t smiling. His feet shifted against the floor, and he wrung his fingers out in front of him. He was tense, acting out the nervous ticks that were so unabashedly San. He wasn’t looking at Wooyoung either, eyes tracing the floor and following the lines of the stone. Wooyoung’s small hope vanished just as fast as it came. 

Normally, he fine with showing weakness to San. In fact, San was the only person Wooyoung was comfortable enough to do it. 

Now? He frowned as he stood, legs aching after being in one position for so long. He knew his face was tear stained, eyes red rimmed. But he felt slightly better now they were at eye-level. 

This is what you did to me. 

He swallowed, chest slowly tightening for the thousandth time in the past twenty-four hours. San still wouldn’t catch his eye. 

The door shut behind him. 

“Sena did something to you,” Wooyoung said. “She all but admitted it to me.. You have to believe me.” His voice was scratchy, hoarse from the crying. It was unfamiliar- a foreign sound in the empty space of the room. 

“I believe you.” 

That hope picked up again, raising his spirits just a little bit. 

“Y-You do?” Wooyoung stumbled closer until he was right in front of him, forcing San to look at him. “Are you still…” 

Yes. Yes, he was. Wooyoung could see it in his eyes- the diluted pupils, the emptiness. It hurt to see, but Wooyoung couldn’t look away. 

“Sire-” 

“It’s always been Wooyoung,” he stressed. “Don’t call me that.” He took San’s hands and clasped them in his own. “Come on, I need you to snap out of it.” 

San frowned. “Actually.. I came to say goodbye.” 

Goodbye? 

“This… this is a joke, right?” 

San shook his head. “No, I’m readying the horses after this.” 

He.. he couldn’t breathe. San was serious. Wooyoung may never see him again. And San.. he knew Sena was messing with him, but he still wanted to go with her. Where the hell did Wooyoung go wrong? Did.. did San hate him? Was that why… ? 

He thought back to every interaction they had up to this point. The jokes, the banter, the near flirting. The soft moments came back, whispers of encouragement and endearment ghosting against his ears. Warm touches, both firm and gentle, were only memories now. 

He thought back to the beginning. Harsh words filled his ears, jokes verging on the line of insults, a thin wrist bloomed with dark bruises shocking him back to his senses. He remembered that day the most, how he watched as San tried his best to hide them from him. 

Back then, San thought he was arrogant. A twat. An ass. Wooyoung thought by now, they were past that- That San thought he was better. Wooyoung couldn’t.. He couldn’t.. 

Wooyoung’s face crumpled, and the tears came running down his face again, except now it was worse, because San was right in front of him, and Wooyoung loved him. And.. and San wasn’t.. He didn’t.. 

Wooyoung couldn’t think anymore. He sobbed, knowing he was letting San walk out of his life just like that. What could he do? San would hate him even more if he kept him there against his will. Wooyoung would hate himself for that.

Was there a way to make San stay? To show just how much Wooyoung needed him? 

All his life, he wanted to be a good ruler, to be a good son. He was Sinsu’s only son. If he screwed up, people would doubt the line of succession. That meant no crying. That meant no attachments. He had to remember rank. He needed to be the prince his people deserved: stoic and elegant, strong and wise. He had to be perfect. He had lasted this long, but he couldn’t do it anymore. 

“Please.” 

San froze, his eyes growing wide, and finally Wooyoung thought he saw something there. 

“You always wanted me to say it, to b-beg,” Wooyoung pulled San closer, letting go of his hands and instead balling them in San’s shirt. “Well, g-guess what?” He choked out words between cries. “You broke me.” 

Usually, San’s arms would be around him by now, words cooed against his ear. He didn’t know if he was begging San to hug him or to stay. Probably both. 

Wooyoung hid his face in the crook of San’s neck, forcing San to tilt his head to the side. It was familiar, warm. But at the same time, it felt so cold.  

“Please, you can’t leave me,” he pleaded. Pathetic. 

San tapped his shoulder, slightly awkward in the gesture. It was so different from anything Wooyoung was used to, and it hurt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” San said. “We’re leaving by nightfall.” 

No. 

Wooyoung pulled away to look at his face. 

No matter how upset he was, just looking at San usually made him want to smile, but now… 

Dammit, Wooyoung had imagined spending his life with San. He had dreams about it sometimes, of them growing old together. 

His jaw locked up, and he closed his eyes, shutting it all out. 

And finally, he felt fingers against his face, the back of San’s fingers brushing away the stray pieces of hair that stuck to his cheeks, wet from tears.  

“I left something for you in the wardrobe,” San muttered. Wooyoung heard him audibly swallow. “And.. and don’t follow me this time, Young-ah.” 

Fuck you. 

He felt San pull away. Wooyoung didn’t have it in himself to look. 

The door opened and closed with a click, and Wooyoung was alone again. 

.

San was gone. Really, truly gone. Wooyoung remembered the looks he got on the way back to his chambers, but he couldn’t get himself to care. There were more important things than reputation. He was human too. 

He wished it didn’t take San’s absence for him to fully realize that. 

As he lay in bed that night, Hongjoong walked into Wooyoung’s rooms. His face was hard as stone, and his body stiff. Wooyoung had never seen him like this before, and he already knew something had happened. 

“I need to tell you this before it gets out,” Hongjoong said. He sat on the edge of Wooyoung’s bed. “I’m sorry I kept it from you, but… your father asked me to.” Hongjoong’s shoulders were hunched, and there were heavy bags under his eyes that matched Wooyoung’s own. His hands were stained from working with poultices, and he had this frazzled energy about him- strong, but defeated. 

“I can assure you, my day can’t get any worse,” Wooyoung mumbled. He turned on his side, facing Hongjoong. “Get it over with.” 

Hongjoong sucked in a breath, and his hands were trembling. Wooyoung was tempted to hold them still. 

“I…” Hongjoong bit his lip and turned away. His eyes shone in the dark. “I tried my best. And only me and a few guards knew, but..” He let out a groan of frustration. “But, I swear, he wouldn’t let me find outside help. Someone could have, but I.. I couldn’t.. ” 

“Spit it out.” 

Hongjoong gave Wooyoung a sad smile and put a light hand on his shoulder, but his expression slowly slipped into a grimace, his teeth clenched. The next words Wooyoung heard would change his life forever. 

“Wooyoung.. the King is dead.”

[nephenees-lance]

While I acknowledge the canonicity of Eliwood/Ninian, I can't help but complain about the lack of Eliwood/Lyn fanworks. They were the first pair I did in FE7 and what got me into shipping as a pastime.

[lynnt1ny]

You're Magic To Me: Ch. 11

Chapter Directory | Prev. Chapter | This is the last chapter!

Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 11 WC: 4.1k

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing? After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.   --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

Diamond of the Day

Wooyoung never thought ahead this far. 

Well, technically, he did, but not in a way that mattered. He always knew he would be king. He knew he would have a coronation, and he knew he’d replace his father one day. 

But for some odd reason, he never thought of what would happen after. 

What does one person do when they’re at the top of the world? 

As he suspected, they were able to force Sena’s encampment past their borders relatively easily. There were only a few injuries, and neither side suffered any casualties. After, Mingi led the majority of their troops back to Sinsu, and only a small party of knights remained, along with Wooyoung and San. 

He had stepped into the village in all his glory,—chainmail, glistening armor plates, a sword by his side, and an army at his back—and everything went uphill from there. Wooyoung valued himself on his pride, but he also thought he was pretty humble, especially after meeting San and all the time they had spent together. But he would forever remember the moment the villagers realized who he was and the hope in their eyes at that moment. 

Now he stood with San at his side, shoulder to shoulder, as they checked over the village for the last time before they left for Sinsu. The villagers made space for them in the streets as they walked, but it was busy. After being cooped up for so long, and in addition to the warming weather, everyone seemed to be out and enjoying the fresh air. 

“Woo..” San linked their hands together, thumb brushing over Wooyoung’s glove. “We can come visit again, right? When everything calms down?” 

Wooyoung smiled, looking over at him. “Of course. It can be our little vacation spot, yeah?” 

“Hmmm,” San’s eyes were little crescents, and Wooyoung unlinked their hands to reach up and ruffle his hair.

They paused by the edge of the village, content. Wooyoung grinned as the area slowly burst back to life around them, diamonds in the villagers’ eyes as they passed Wooyoung. 

“You know, they wouldn’t be treating you like god’s gift to mankind if they knew what an ass you are,” San said.

“Oh, but they do know. That’s the best part about it.” 

It was true. The rumors had traveled quickly. It started with the children recognizing his face,—the mole under his eye they used to poke during the week that felt so long ago—and it spread even faster the more he hung around San in the streets. Before long, the people realized he had been there before, disguised under San’s worn clothing and a painfully obvious alias.

“They don’t fear me, San. Not like my father.” Wooyoung looked down at the ground, trying to keep his grin from growing more deranged. “They’ve seen me without the ‘prince’ front, but they still...” 

They still bowed when he went by. He didn’t lose their respect, nor their trust. They still saw him as their King. 

San sighed. “In their eyes, you saved them. Did you honestly think they would care about that now? If anything, they’re most likely out scolding their kids for pelting you with snow while you visited.” 

Wooyoung laughed and looked over at San. His eyes were glowing as he watched his hometown slowly pick itself back up. With a small step, Wooyoung wrapped an arm around San’s waist, indulging in the small smile that touched his lips. “Does that mean no more snowball fights for me?” 

San scoffed, leaning closer into Wooyoung’s side. “I doubt anyone would dare lay a finger on you unless you ordered it.” 

Wooyoung hummed. “Then it’s a good thing I’m the king now.” 

“Hmm, you better catch yourself before your ego gets too big.” San turned in his hold and tugged at Wooyoung’s hair. 

“I have you for that, don’t worry.” 

San grinned and poked his cheek, ignoring the gruff look on Wooyoung’s face. “Let’s go inside and make sure everything’s packed, yeah?” 

“Okay.” 

.

Wooyoung would never forget the look in San’s eyes when they rode upon Sinsu. 

Wooyoung half expected to find the castle burnt to the ground when they returned. Normally he’d have more faith in his friend, but Yeosang was… Yeosang. Wooyoung never knew what to expect from him. 

But he worried for nothing- Yeosang had done a fine job in keeping things running while he was away, and Hongjoong pitched in a lot too. The castle and laws were intact, and Mingi led the main battalion back safely. The potential war against Essetir hung over his head, but other than that, Wooyoung’s reign had gone smoothly so far. 

The people celebrated their return when the party broke through the outer village gates. Loud cheers rose as they rode the streets, and San’s smile was blinding. Seeing San back in familiar surroundings made Wooyoung smile too. 

The courtyard was quiet, the clamor of voices fading as they approached. Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong were waiting on the steps for them, and the party of knights behind them dispersed, some heading to the stables and others handing their reins to servants standing to the sides. Here, it was a calm, welcome return. 

San dismounted first and jogged quickly up to the steps, pulling Hongjoong into a small hug. Wooyoung grinned and jumped down to his feet too. For the first time in weeks, Wooyoung truly felt grounded in Sinsu. While he still didn’t really know what he was doing, he knew what he wanted now. He knew where his life was heading. 

Seonghwa walked down and took their horses, a small smirk on his face. “Did you two finally get your shit together?” 

Wooyoung pouted. “No greeting for your King? Not even a hello? Wow…” 

Seonghwa shrugged. “Well? Did you?” 

He didn’t have a good answer for that. “I mean… kind of? I think?” 

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring. I bet Yeosang ten gold pieces you’d get together by now.” 

“You bet on us?” Wooyoung glared at him. “And Yeosang doesn’t have faith in me?” 

“He said you’re too dumb to fix things without his help.” 

Wooyoung scoffed. “Well, tell him I don’t need it. We’re perfectly fine, and hopefully-”

“Choi San!” 

On the steps, San squeaked and ducked in front of Yeosang, hands clutching at Yeosang’s shoulders. Nala stood at the entrance of the castle, her face rigid. 

“Excuse me, Seonghwa. It’s good to talk to you again, but I have to see this.” 

Seonghwa shrugged and let him go, leading the horses toward the stables. Wooyoung sped up his steps to meet Nala. Yeosang turned back with a grimace, not doing much to help shield San from his mother’s barely constrained fury. It was comical from a distance, but as Wooyoung grew closer, he saw the relief behind Nala’s scowl. 

Wooyoung placed a firm hand on San’s back and grinned. “I got him back! All good and new, crappy jokes and all.” 

Nala shook her head. “I can see that. However, Sannie still has some explaining to do.” 

Yeosang pulled away from San’s grabby hands, and Wooyoung’s grin turned evil as he pushed San forward. He laughed at the look of betrayal that crossed San’s face. 

“Ah, hi, mum.” San’s face was always so expressive, and this wasn’t an exception, as a small smile split his face. “Wooyoung told me you were okay, but I’m still glad you’re safe.” 

Nala rolled her eyes. “No thanks to someone.” She opened her arms and engulfed San in a tight hug. “You’re doing my laundry and eating your meals with me until I leave, by the way. You were a menace to deal with under that spell.” She let out a huff of air, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. Over San’s shoulder, she gestured over at Wooyoung. “Come here. Don’t be a stranger.” 

Wooyoung hesitantly took a few steps over before Nala grabbed a hold of his sleeve and pulled him into the hug. He laughed, falling into it and wrapping his arms around the two of them. 

He may have lost his family, but in the end, he found another one, no matter how small. 

(。-`ω´-)

San loved Wooyoung. 

There was nothing else to say. Maybe he loved him from the very beginning, maybe not. But even as a kid, San knew Wooyoung was special. Somehow, even through stories, San knew he would grow to love him. 

Wooyoung was magnificent- both seconds after waking up and hours later, sitting on the throne with the crown San placed on his head every morning. San loved that crown, and he hoped one day Wooyoung could learn to love it too. 

The next events flew by quickly, and while San was happy, he felt like he could never quite catch his breath. 

The situation with Essetir didn’t defuse the way San hoped it would. It seemed history would repeat itself, the tension between the kingdoms constantly there but never completely snapping. Something like this happened decades ago, but San didn’t know the details, and Wooyoung seemed content to pretend Essetir didn’t exist. 

San’s mum went back to Balor. Wooyoung had begged her to stay. It surprised San, but Wooyoung wanted Nala to have a place on his court. His royal court. Nala refused, but she said she’d send a few of her friends instead- trustworthy people who she knew would do a lot of good in a bigger world. 

It was a start, and not everyone agreed with what Wooyoung was doing. But there was no way to make everyone happy, and Wooyoung was just doing what he thought was right. He was changing a lot of things, working more for his people and dismantling many of his father’s old customs. 

The Wooyoung from a year ago wouldn’t be doing this. But now.. San couldn’t be more proud to call Wooyoung his king. 

San’s chores also only took half the time it used to, with the addition of magic. 

San loved that too. 

They didn’t have an archive of magic books to learn from- only the one San had hidden in the wardrobe and one other they recovered from her belongings in Balor. But that was more than enough. If anything, it made magic more fun, having to figure things out on his own. 

Magic began popping up more in the kingdom too. As more people came forward with it, it was time to begin devising laws that could keep it in check. It was confusing at first, as they didn’t know the extent of what magic could do, but once Wooyoung started looking at magic like a tool, it was significantly easier to come up with a set of laws to keep it in check. 

Hongjoong started helping San experiment and document new spells. One day, San hoped Sinsu could have its own archive of magic with books that weren’t falling apart at the seams. 

But the biggest change, at least in his life, was his relationship with Wooyoung. It was scary, new territory, and sometimes he didn’t think he deserved it, especially with everything that happened. 

San couldn’t help but blame himself for the death of Wooyoung’s father. 

Once he figured out the circumstances of Beomseok’s death and put two and two together, he realized just how much he had put Wooyoung through, and it all went downhill from there.

It was his fault, though. But he couldn’t tell Wooyoung. They just figured themselves out and telling Wooyoung would… it would destroy everything they built together. 

But the guilt was killing him. 

Spring began to settle in, and the air was warmer, the sun brighter. It smelled like blossoms and fresh grass. It was a new beginning. 

Wooyoung liked spring. He said it was the most comforting season, that it was proof you could get through the darkest moments of your life and come out to find something beautiful. San thought he was exaggerating it a bit (winter wasn’t that bad, come on), but in the end, San had to agree. 

Spring in Sinsu was beautiful. 

“Hello? Earth to San.” 

San snapped back to attention, frowning as Wooyoung waved a hand in front of his face. It was a rare off-day for both of them. Wooyoung purposefully didn’t leave any chores for San to do, and Seonghwa, as Wooyoung’s new head advisor, was reading over the papers Wooyoung was supposed to be going through that day. 

San was leaning against the wall, looking out Wooyoung’s open window, a bored king poking his side. 

He smiled. “Just admiring the view.” 

“Which one?” Wooyoung smirked and flicked San’s forehead. Out of all the habits Wooyoung could pick up from him, of course it had to be the annoying ones. 

Not that Wooyoung could ever annoy him. It was more endearing than anything, if San were being honest. 

“Do you have anything special planned?” San asked. “Seeing as you cleared up both our schedules.”

“Kind of.” Wooyoung grinned. “You know, before all that chaos went down, I really wanted to go on a picnic with you.” 

“A picnic?” 

“Yeah, but seeing as my favorite picnic spot is gone, I figured we could try something after we settled in a bit.” 

Well, fuck. There’s another piece of Wooyoung’s life San destroyed. He hadn’t even thought of the field since they came back, and a new guilt settled in his gut. 

Wooyoung pinched his arm. “Get that look off your face. It’ll be fun! And you can test your magic too.” 

San shook himself out of it and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah? What exactly do you want me to do?” 

And that was how he found himself back by the blackened landscape. It hurt to look at, knowing he was the one to set it aflame. Wooyoung stood next to him, cupping a small pile of dried petals in his hands. San had a feeling he knew exactly what Wooyoung wanted, but he didn’t know if he could do it. 

Wooyoung sat by the foot of the hill and pat the space next to him. San took it, ignoring the dirt and leftover soot on the ground. 

The air felt heavier here, and with every blink, San could see flames behind his lids, leaping across the field. 

“I know it’s a lot.” Wooyoung closed his eyes with a hum. “But do you think we can save it?” 

And San knew Wooyoung saw a much different vision when he closed his eyes, that in his head, he pictured an ocean of petals he could drown in, nothing like the inferno in San’s mind. 

“We can try.” It was the least he could do. 

San covered Wooyoung’s hands with his own, and Wooyoung let him take the dead flowers into his own palms. 

Wooyoung leaned over and kissed his cheek, and San turned a bright pink. “It’s okay if it doesn’t work. We can always find something else to do for this land,” Wooyoung said. He shifted closer and leaned his head against San’s shoulder, looking out into the landscape. 

After a moment of silence, San let the dried petals fall to the ground. They blended in with the dull scenery, immediately mixing with the dirt. San didn’t have a spell for this. After scouring through the few books he had, he knew bringing anything back to life was near impossible. 

So he went back to his basic instincts, back to the beginning. With Wooyoung’s heavy weight on his shoulder, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was easy to tap into the magic, but it was hard to envision that field again. Still, he tried to pull that image up. He tried to bring life back into their surroundings.

He blinked his eyes open, and nothing happened. There was no hint of color left. Nothing. 

“Try again,” Wooyoung said. 

Normally, Wooyoung’s voice was comforting, something San would never get enough of, but there was a desperate edge in his tone that San could pick up from only two words. He clenched his fists, eyes falling closed again, and he fought, pleaded for his magic to cooperate with him. His heart rate picked up, and his vision went gold for a split second. 

Something must have happened. He felt Wooyoung lift his head, and he smiled, ready to see waves of blue. 

He opened his eyes again, and his heart dropped when the same dull brown met him. 

Wooyoung nudged his shoulder with a small laugh, and San finally glanced down. 

By their feet, two flowers gleamed by their feet, a small vine growing from the dirt. Vertigo hit him hard, and he felt lightheaded. 

San grit his teeth, staring down at the flowers; with all his magic, he could only conjure two scraps on a vast, blackened field. But Wooyoung laced their fingers together, and he was smiling. 

“I’m sorry,” San mumbled. “I.. I can’t-” 

“There’s still room for them to grow.” Wooyoung had a small smile. “Thank you. This is more than enough.” 

San took a deep breath and looked away. Wooyoung shouldn’t be thanking him for anything. San could count the number of times Wooyoung said ‘thanks’ on his fingers. 

Wooyoung didn’t have to be so.. so nice. For the first time, San wished a hint of the old Wooyoung would come back, the one who threw halfhearted insults and insisted San call him ‘sire’ or ‘my lord.’ 

He would never thank San, not when he didn’t deserve it in the first place. 

“San?” 

He looked over, meeting Wooyoung’s soft gaze with a barely concealed grimace. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind?” Wooyoung tilted his head ever to slightly to the side. “You’ve been.. spacing out a lot lately. Maybe I can help.” 

Had he been spacing out? Maybe. Probably. It was hard not to with all the things spiraling in his head. 

But there was something Wooyoung deserved to know, something San should have come clean with a long time ago. He should have said it right after he realized it, but he couldn’t, and now… 

Now, Wooyoung looked at him with happiness glowing on his face, along with a hint of curiosity. 

San opened his mouth, ready to destroy everything. “I think… I think I…” 

God, he couldn’t say it. 

“It’s alright. You can tell me everything. You know you can, right?” 

“Yeah, but…” 

Wooyoung smiled and squeezed his hand. 

San looked away. “I think I killed Beomseok.” 

The silence was deafening, and no, San knew this would screw everything up, but he still… fuck. 

“How?” Wooyoung’s voice was smaller, and San’s heart clenched. He chanced a small glance at the King. Wooyoung was looking past him, eyes staring over San’s shoulder. 

“I was… I was supposed to die, you know, before Sena healed me.” San tapped his chest, where he knew a discolored patch marred his skin. “I think.. the magic saved me, but it killed someone else in my place.” 

It was still quiet, and San looked down, giving Wooyoung time to process this. But it was hard to think in the silence. And San needed Wooyoung to know..

“I sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’d still.. you’d still have a father if it weren’t for me,” San muttered. 

“If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.” 

San stared over at him, taking in the conviction in Wooyoung’s eyes. 

“Don’t apologize. And this.. all of this- it was all Sena, okay? Let’s just look past it and be happy we have each other in the end.” 

San smiled, but his brows were still furrowed, still seconds away from a frown. Wooyoung sighed and pulled him even closer, wrapping an arm around San’s waist. “Promise me you won’t regret anything. If we dwell too long on it, we can’t move forward.” 

There was more San needed to get out, more he needed to lie out at Wooyoung’s feet, to place under his judgement. But Wooyoung looked at him with soft eyes, and then San knew. Wooyoung wouldn’t care that San knew he was under the spell. He wouldn’t care that San was the one who burnt the field. He wouldn’t care that for a period of time, San hated Wooyoung more than anything. He wouldn’t care that San hated himself for letting any of this happen. Well, maybe he would, but not in the way San thought he would. 

“You still look sad,” Wooyoung whispered, and San knew it would be hard to let go of the past the way Wooyoung wanted him to. 

But as always, Wooyoung already knew what was running through his mind. “I already forgave you, so can you forgive yourself too? For me?” 

San didn’t know. Could he? “I can try.” 

He could try. 

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung loved San. 

And he was so fucking happy. Some days, he still dreamed of escaping the castle, of living a soft, free life with San in the countryside, but ruling over Sinsu wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. There was something liberating about it, being able to shape the kingdom in a way he wanted it to be. 

His days weren’t as exciting anymore, now filled with dozens of meetings and a lot of writing and reading, but he was okay with that. Now, he just had more to look forward to on his free time and future “vacation days” to Balor. 

He had San too. That may be the best part. In fact, he was sure that was the best part. He’d gladly take this life over any other without San in it. 

And speaking of San...

“You’re still worried about something,” Wooyoung said, and San’s eyes went wide with a soft squeak. 

Cute. 

They were laying on their sides on Wooyoung’s bed, facing each other and relaxing after their long day of doing absolutely nothing of importance. San’s magic by the field had left him exhausted, and Wooyoung was happy to use that as an excuse to cuddle. 

Wooyoung was so fucking happy. 

“I…” San trailed off, eyes cast to the side. “I just can’t believe it.” 

“Can’t believe what?” 

“I don’t know…” he said. “All of this? You? Everything, I guess. I feel like I’ll wake up anytime now and find myself back in my mum’s old, shabby house.” 

Wooyoung sighed. “Then I’ll have to go there and drag you back again.” He pouted. “And I rather like that house, by the way. It’s homey and comfy.” 

San snuggled closer into the soft sheets. “Even better than this?” His fingers clutched at the expensive fabric between them, knuckles brushing against Wooyoung’s chest.

Wooyoung wanted to squish his cheeks, but he kept that thought to himself.

“Yeah. Better than this.” Wooyoung hit San’s side, but quickly brushed a hand over the spot, pulling him close. He pressed their noses together and held back a laugh at San’s scrunched up expression. “My little sorcerer,” he whispered, followed by a surge of warmth. 

“My idiot king.” San reached up and tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear. Wooyoung let his eyelids fall at the touch. 

“I want you to be my court sorcerer.” The words came out fast, and Wooyoung froze as he said them. He had been thinking about it for a while, and he didn’t expect for it to come spilling out so quickly.  

San went quiet for a moment, and Wooyoung looked up again, catching the stricken expression on his face “It hasn’t even been a week, and you’re already tired of me washing your clothes?” San asked. 

Wooyoung’s insides froze up even more, the idea that San wanted to stay his servant never came to mind. 

He quickly recovered and cleared his throat. “I’m tired of it being a scandal when you spend the night in my chambers,” he whispered. 

San smiled at him, his dimples peeking through and a glint in his eye. “Maybe someday, I could be your royal consort instead and get a pretty crown like yours.”  

Oh..

“Who says we can’t have both?” Wooyoung grinned. “I’m the King.”  

“To me, you’ll always be a prat.” San reached up and gave him a half-hearted flick to the forehead. 

“Choi San,” Wooyoung’s eyes crinkled up as he tried to hide the smile on his face. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

“Yeah?” San laughed. “What am I to you, then?”

San was so many things. San gave him direction in a world too big to navigate alone. He was the light in Wooyoung’s day, the rush of spring air after a long, harsh winter. There weren’t enough words to describe what San meant to him.

So Wooyoung leaned over and kissed him instead. 

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

[lynnt1ny]

You're Magic To Me: Ch. 5

Chapter Directory | Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 5 WC: 12.4k

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing? After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.   --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

His Father's Son

Wooyoung had seen many executions in his life. 

On his twelfth birthday, Beomseok took him to his first beheading. He stood tall at his father’s side, up high on the balcony above the block. An hour later, Wooyoung found himself in front of a pail, the contents of his stomach coming up in waves. The cook sat behind him, patting his back, and Yeosang held his hand. His father was no where to be seen. 

After that, he was dragged to watch over the next execution, and the next, and the next, and now, about a decade later, it was just another part of his crazy life. He was numb to it. 

Wooyoung was no stranger to death, which was why he felt so conflicted about San. 

In all his years, he never knew anyone on the chopping block. Yes, he had seen one or two of them - had conversations with them, too, but they were always strangers. Nobodies. 

All Wooyoung had were a few knights. Yeosang. Hongjoong on an off-day. Yeosang’s servant, too, if he was being honest with himself. 

But they were all safe. They all had some sort of protection. Even Seonghwa was too liked, too popular in the castle to get rid of easily. 

San wasn’t safe, especially with that mouth of his. 

And after San left his rooms that night, that crushing reality hit him hard. 

The room was dark, and Wooyoung was on his side, his hands fisted in the sheets. Their conversation played over and over in his head, San threatening to quit, the implication of what that would mean for him. Out of everything they talked about, that was what Wooyoung was stuck on. That was what made him give in. 

Because while San hadn’t been in his life for too long, losing him would hurt like hell. 

He needed to keep San far, far away from his father and those few bastard lords of the castle. Seeing San with a few bruises put him off for an entire day, and Wooyoung couldn’t imagine what he may end up doing if… if something worse happened. 

He knew he wasn’t going to sleep well. Not tonight. Not with the image of San on that block in his head and the inevitable conversation with his father looming over it. But he tried, and after hours of tossing and turning, he finally fell asleep. 

.

Before he knew it, the curtains were opening, and Wooyoung felt a sharp pain on his forehead. It took a second for him to realize it was San’s finger. 

San flicked him again, and Wooyoung flinched back and buried his face into his pillow with a groan. 

“There are better ways to wake me up, San.”

“Would you prefer a bucket of water?” 

Wooyoung huffed and pulled the blankets over the back of his head. There was something about hearing San’s voice first thing every morning. As much as he should hate it, he couldn’t help but hide his grin into the pillow, his stomach turning circles through the haze of the early morning. 

 He heard San shuffling around the room, candles being lit, clothes getting picked out- this routine they had fallen into. Usually, San would immediately drag him out of bed, so Wooyoung was grateful for the extra minutes of shut-eye, although he spent the entirety of it hyperaware of San’s presence. 

But all good things must come to an end, and Wooyoung stiffened when he heard footsteps right next to him. Wooyoung felt San pull the covers off, the cool air hitting his bare skin all at once, and a warm hand on the back of his neck. 

“C’mon, you have stuff to do today,” San said. 

Oh, I’m aware, but... 

“Don’t wanna get up,” he slurred. 

San sighed, and Wooyoung felt rough hands roll him over onto his back. “Hurry up, you don’t want to be late for your council meetings.” 

Ah, of course it had to be a council day. It was a blessing in disguise. He could have his… talk with Beomseok after the meetings. Great. 

San pat his cheek playfully, almost mockingly,  and Wooyoung blinked open his eyes with a scrunched up nose. 

He would never admit it, but this was one of his favorite moments of the day. 

San’s face loomed above him, eyes forming little crescents on his face. His cheerfulness was contagious, and Wooyoung would never get enough of it, especially in mornings. Without meaning to, a small smile found its way to his lips. He flushed. 

“Alright, get up,” San said. He pulled Wooyoung up to a sitting position, his touch making Wooyoung’s skin burn. 

Lately, Wooyoung had been more… conscious of his state of dress around San. In the beginning, it didn’t matter. It never had before- not with any of the dozens of servants he’d gone through in his life. 

But San made him feel.. not weak, but vulnerable. And of course, Wooyoung trusted him, but it was a weird feeling, something he couldn’t explain with words. 

“I’m the one who gives the orders, San,” he mumbled, not awake enough to give a better quip. 

“Not now, you aren’t.” 

Wooyoung shook his head, and he sighed as San kept tugging on his arm. “I hate you so much,” he said, no bite to his words. 

“And I hate when you refuse to get up,” San said. “It’s like you are trying to make my job a nightmare.” 

“You’re not wrong.” 

Wooyoung flopped back on the bed, and he pulled San along with him, sending San sprawling on his stomach next to him on the bed. He closed his eyes. 

“You’re so difficult,” San groaned from his side. “I even let you sleep in a bit. What’s going on with you today?” 

“Tired,” Wooyoung mumbled. Lying down again, he could already feel sleep drawing him back in, San’s weight on the bed next to him a comforting presence. 

But San was having none of it. He sat up, and from his new position, he dug his arms underneath Wooyoung’s body and rolled him over, getting him precariously to the edge of the bed. 

“San! I just need a few more minutes.” 

“Yeah, and then a ‘few’ minutes will turn into five. And then ten, and the next thing you know, we’ve been asleep for hours and you miss your boring council meetings.” 

We.

And now Wooyoung could only think about sleeping with San. Just sleeping. Of course, San could never spend the night here. Everyone knew the guards were avid gossipers. Rumors would spread like crazy. No. He couldn’t let himself entertain those thoughts, although the reason why he desperately wanted it escaped him. 

It seemed San finally had enough, though, and Wooyoung yelped as San shoved him completely off the bed. 

Wooyoung landed hard on his back, the air knocked out of him. “One day, I’m actually going to put you in the stocks where you belong,” he said. 

“It’s a waste of food.” 

“And you’re a waste of space.” 

“Ouch.” 

San laid stomach down on the bed, his arms and head hooked over the side to peer down at Wooyoung with a grin, dimples out.   

Treason. 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Wooyoung said.  

“What?” 

“Push the Crown Prince off his bed.” 

“Ooo you’re adding ‘crown’ to your title now? Fancy.” 

“I am the Crown Prince. The ‘crown’ was always there.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Wooyoung hummed and stared up at San. He had never met someone who challenged him as much as San did (except maybe Yeosang). He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it though. These mornings were the best kind of torture, allowing them to banter without the eyes of the kingdom on them. A very, very selfish part of him was glad there was no end-date to San’s servant term, quickly followed by guilt. He had to remember that San was only there because he thought he would die otherwise. San was trapped. Jesus christ, this was never going to leave Wooyoung’s head. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to fall asleep on the floor.” San grumbled from above him. 

“It’s very likely.” 

“God, you’re a nuisance.” 

Wooyoung hummed and laid his hands over his stomach. “Just for that, I think you should attend the council meeting with me.” 

San visibly perked up. “No random chores to throw at me today?” 

Wooyoung shook his head, probably getting dirt all in his hair (San hadn’t washed the floors in a while, but what did he expect?). “Trust me. Council meetings are worse.” 

“Doubtful.” 

“Yep. You’ll see exactly what I mean. It’ll be the most boring hour or so of your life.” 

“Uh huh.”

It was hard to keep looking at San without breaking into a smile, so Wooyoung closed his eyes instead, ignoring the man above him. 

“Alright, that’s it!” 

Wooyoung heard San get up, and Wooyoung expected to feel San’s hands on him again, wrestling him back up. But instead, he spluttered when a splash of cold water hit his face, shocking him out of his drowsy state. 

“Choi San you asshole!” he thundered. He sat up and wiped at his face, his attempts to dry it in vain. San laughed and danced to the other side of the room, an empty cup in his hand. “Is that from my breakfast?” Wooyoung spluttered, and San only laughed louder. 

That morning, if San had to spend extra time getting bits of food out of Wooyoung’s hair, they didn’t say anything, and Wooyoung definitely didn’t say anything when San walked out of his chambers with berry juice staining his cheek. 

.

The council meetings weren’t boring. 

At least, they weren’t as boring as usual. 

When he originally brought up the idea, Wooyoung had forgotten it would put San and the King in the same room, along with the King’s old advisors and, dare he say, Beomseok’s ‘friends’- the exact group of people he vowed to keep San away from. He realized what he had done on the way there, and the internal screaming started, followed by the concealed panic

Behind him, San must have realized something was wrong, because he sped up his steps, walking closer and setting a grounding hand on Wooyoung’s nape. Wooyoung briefly wondered how San was already attuned to his emotions so well. 

“Are you, ah, going to bring up the servants during the meeting?” San asked, and Wooyoung stopped, looking over at San. 

“After,” he said. 

San nodded, and he gave Wooyoung a reassuring smile. “You’ll do great.” 

Wooyoung took the sleeve of his green shirt and wiped it against San’s cheek. “And you need to stay quiet.” 

“You don’t need to worry about me.” San winked. “I aced my first impression, or did you forget how I ended up as your servant in the first place?” 

“Just… be careful.” 

“And here I thought you were worried about talking to your dad.” 

Wooyoung shrugged with a grimace. “That too.” 

“Well,” San hummed. “In the meantime, I’ll be your perfect little servant. No need to worry.” He took Wooyoung’s shoulders and spun him around, giving him a little push. “You're actually going to be late if we keep getting distracted.”

Wooyoung huffed and walked ahead, feeling slightly better (but not much). 

.

Which brought him to the meetings themselves. 

They weren’t boring- not with San there.

To Wooyoung’s surprise, it began completely fine. He sat at a long table along with his father and his advisors. The number of servants were limited due to confidentiality, but Wooyoung was allowed a single servant at his beck and call, standing off behind him. The servants rotated after an hour or so, but that was plenty enough time for San to endure the torment that were council meetings. Plus, he still needed to clean those damn floors. 

Wooyoung wasn’t prepared for how weird it was to see San like this, so timid and quiet. It felt wrong, and every time he glanced back at him, he had to bite his lip and look away. San didn’t look anyone in the eye, and that alone made Wooyoung uneasy. 

He was being perfect, just like the other servants. It was perfect. Maybe Wooyoung didn’t have to worry all along. 

But not even ten minutes into the meeting, San had to go and be San. 

As he went to fill Wooyoung’s water for the first time, he leaned in far too close, and Wooyoung’s breath hitched. “Your dad’s totally spacing out already,” he whispered into Wooyoung’s ear. “And the guy to the left of him really needs to use the chamberpot.” He sniggered lightly before retreating back to his post, once again resuming his subservient mannerisms. 

Wooyoung closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering what he did wrong in a past life to deserve this. 

He glanced back again and glared. He saw San’s eyes flick up, roaming around the table before he smiled back and stuck his tongue out at Wooyoung. 

Lord help him. 

And like a switch, San’s eyes were back on the floor, shoulder’s slightly hunched. 

Wooyoung hated it. 

He tried to focus on the proceedings. As boring as it was, they were discussing important matters for the kingdom, and Wooyoung would need to use these outcomes to make his own decisions in the future. San made it absolutely impossible though. Throughout the next hour, he found excuses to come up behind Wooyoung and whisper jokes and quips into his ear. It no longer became a question of whether he’d get caught, but whether Wooyoung could keep his composure together in such a serious setting. 

One thing was for sure: Wooyoung was never taking San to one of these again. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when the servant rotation finally came, and San gave him a discreet salute on the way out. Wooyoung pursed his lips together, slightly shaking his head in exasperation. 

And then his father was taking to him, and Wooyoung’s attention snapped back to the table. 

“How is that new servant of yours, Wooyoung?” Beomseok asked. His gaze bored into him, and Wooyoung tried to settle into an expression of indifference. 

“He’s perfect, just like you said he was,” Wooyoung said. He prayed his father would leave it at that. 

He didn’t.

Beomseok clasped his hands together with a grin. “So you are satisfied with my choice?” 

“Very.” 

The King then turned to his advisors and said, “See? The things one can accomplish when giving others the right… motivation.” 

Wooyoung felt his stomach drop, his negative thoughts from that morning returning in waves. 

He just knew his talk with his father was not going to go well.

(。-`ω´-)

San was never going to a council meeting again. 

Don’t get him wrong: Annoying Wooyoung was always a fun pastime, but not in front of the most powerful people in the kingdom. 

He couldn’t help it though. 

Wooyoung was obviously too pent up. He needed to relax, and it wasn’t like San could walk up and massage the tension out of his shoulders (He probably wouldn’t do that even if they were alone. They weren’t… there yet). But Wooyoung being anxious made San anxious, so he did the next best thing.

San had noticed that after a long day of dealing with officials and the pressures of the castle, Wooyoung always loosened up when San talked to him, whether it be just the sound of his voice, or the constant teasing. 

San didn’t know what to make with that information, but he thought he might as well use it to his advantage then. It seemed to work, and San gave himself a mental pat on the back. 

It was stressful, though- maintaining the facade. He tried to imitate the other servants he saw

After he was dismissed, Wooyoung probably thought San would go do some stupid chore for him like always, but San went back behind the training grounds instead. He passed by the pavilion (which San later found out was an extension of the castle armory), and he headed to the field Wooyoung had pushed him into on his second day in his service. 

He was greeted with the familiar sight of blue petals. It really was beautiful, but San couldn’t help but notice how strange the flowers were at the same time. For one, they grew across the floor in vines, a few twisting up trees on the far side of the field. And second, they wouldn’t stop dying. 

He went there at night, once, on an errand for Hongjoong (he needed a few herbs from the forest), and the entire field was desolate. The flowers were all shriveled up  and colorless where there was once brilliant blue. 

When he woke up the next day, he went to go investigate under the early light of the morning, only to find new blooms in their places. The flowers never lasted more than a day, but they always came back in a never-ending cycle.

Which was inconvenient when you wanted to keep a vase of them in the Prince’s room. 

San stooped down and picked a few from the field before heading back in the direction he came from. 

The castle was quiet today. The weather was nice as well, slightly warmer than it had been the past few days, and San thought he might as well take a stroll after he finished Wooyoung’s tedious list of chores. The fresh air was nice, too. Maybe he’d take Hongjoong along; that man really needed a break. 

San wished he could do something more to thank Hongjoong for everything. Running an errand every now and then didn’t feel like enough. Hongjoong had been nothing but kind and caring. Not only did he offer his hospitality, but he also endured San’s rants and occasional complaints about Wooyoung. Hongjoong’s very presence was warm- warm and inviting. He made San feel at home. 

San didn’t pass many people on his way to Wooyoung’s chambers, so he was surprised to see Yeosang and Seonghwa up ahead in the corridor. Yeosang leaned up against one side of the stone wall, and Seonghwa stood to his side, already raising a hand to wave at San. 

Yeosang straightened as he drew closer. No matter how many times San saw him, Yeosang’s beauty was always a shock, blonde locks making him look almost ethereal. “San!” he called. “It’s been a while.” 

San smiled. “I literally saw you both yesterday.” 

Yeosang waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t feel like it.” 

Seonghwa noticed the flowers in San’s hand then. “Oh? Who’s the lucky girl?” He reached over and took one in his hand, bringing it up to his nose. 

Yeosang laughed. “Those are the flowers Wooyoung is obsessed with, Seonghwa.” 

San rolled his eyes. “They’re a nuisance.” 

“Well, they’re pretty,” Seonghwa said. He tucked the one in his hand behind Yeosang’s ear. “He has good taste.” 

San smiled. He wished he and Wooyoung had the same bond Seonghwa and Yeosang did. After a few weeks of afternoon talks and dining, it was obvious to anyone that Yeosang and Seonghwa had something special. They trusted each other wholeheartedly, almost closer than friends, so of course San couldn’t do anything but smile when he saw them together. Their friendship was so… pure. Hanging out with them was a nice change of pace after dealing with Wooyoung all day. 

“So you’re taking these to Wooyoung’s room?” Yeosang brushed a hand over the flower in his hair. 

“Yes! I’m heading there now,” San said. “So.. no. No girl.” He bit back laughter at Seonghwa’s slightly embarrassed expression. “Would you both like to join me? I feel like I’ve been hogging his company lately.” 

But Yeosang was already shaking his head. “No, it’s alright. You’re just doing your job.” He smiled. “But do tell Wooyoung that if he doesn’t arrange that picnic he promised me soon there’ll be hell to pay.” 

“Will do,” San laughed. 

Wooyoung’s room really was still a mess. 

If one of the King’s advisors ever walked in, San would probably be out of a job (and his head), but in his defense it was merely… organized chaos. 

He made the bed every morning at least, so he gets points there. Everything else on the other hand was atrocious. Negative points.

His weird obsession with keeping fresh flowers in the room came from absolutely nowhere, or at least, he thought it did. He thought back to Wooyoung's first complaint, about how his last servant let the flowers die. 

Despite the teasing and the jokes, Wooyoung rarely ever complained about his actual service, so that one really struck a chord in him. Wooyoung would never admit it, but San had a feeling he actually liked the mess. It wasn’t gross or anything, just disorganized. It made the room feel more homey. 

San heard Wooyoung walk in as he set the flowers in place in the corner of the room. The door closed with a deafening thump, followed by a suffocating silence. San’s greeting died on his lips when he turned around and saw the state Wooyoung was in. 

Wooyoung leaned back against the closed door. His hands covered his face, and his shoulders shuddered as he took long, deep breaths. 

San didn’t know what to do. Did Wooyoung want him to stay? Was he alright? No, that was a stupid question. San had never seen him look so… empty. 

“Wooyoung?” San called out, a question in his voice. 

The boy jolted from his position, as if just noticing San’s presence in the room. His hands slid down, revealing wide, glassy eyes. He didn’t say anything. 

San took a few tentative steps forward, and when Wooyoung stayed silent, he closed the distance quickly. “Hey, Woo?” San lightly brushed the back of one of Wooyoung 's hands. “Hey, let’s go sit down.” He placed a firm hand on Wooyoung’s lower back and led him to sit on the edge of his bed. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was his fault. Maybe he really shouldn’t have pushed Wooyoung to do this. It obviously didn’t go well, and Wooyoung tried so hard to tell him that last night. He knew this would happen, yet he went and did it anyways.

All because San asked him to. 

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well?” San voiced his thoughts. He kept a steady hand on Wooyoung’s back, and he looked into his face with genuine concern. 

He felt so out of his depth in this situation. 

San hugged him last night. That alone crossed so many lines as a servant. Would Wooyoung want him to hug him again? Could San hug him again? He didn’t know how to comfort people. He didn’t know how to help, but he needed to help. This was all his fault. 

Wooyoung shook his head. “I knew it wouldn’t go well, but I wanted to try,” he said. He sighed. “I really wish I could do more to help. It’s hard under his constant watch, though.” 

San assumed he was talking about the King. “Well, it’s not like he has eyes everywhere. I mean, look at us now.” He wrapped an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders, carefully looking for any signs of discomfort.

“True,” Wooyoung hummed. “I could try to pull something behind his back. I don’t know how effective it’ll be, but it’s something.” 

“Baby steps.” 

“Yeah.” 

Wooyoung bit his bottom lip and looked away. His shoulders were hunched under San’s arm, but when San moved to pull away, he pressed even closer. 

“You’re still upset,” San said, trying to ignore how his heart sped at the action. There were more important things to deal with right now, like how Wooyoung still looked seconds from crying, and honestly, San was impressed by how long Wooyoung managed to keep himself together. 

“I mean, I knew going to him would be pointless, but…” 

San let Wooyoung rest his head on his shoulder. This was definitely crossing some sort of line. Dammit that’s not important right now. “But?”

“He changed the topic. After his whole speech about me going soft, he changed the topic.”

“And?” San gently pressed him again. The weight on his shoulder shifted, and San looked over to see Wooyoung gazing up at him with a quiver to his lip. 

Too close, too close. God, San, stop thinking about this and help him.

“He wants me to marry.” 

“Marry?” San asked, his thoughts screeching to a halt.

Wooyoung nodded, his chin digging into San shoulder.  “He said to start thinking about it- that he’s getting old, and I need… I need an heir.”

“Oh.” San didn’t know what to say. Wooyoung was obviously upset about this. Wasn’t marriage… good? Maybe not if Wooyoung didn’t want it. Now that he thought about it, Wooyoung had never mentioned an interest in anyone in the castle. “Do you have anyone in mind?” he blurted out. 

Wooyoung sighed. “No,” he said. “Knowing him, he’ll marry me off for a stupid alliance that could have been secured with simple negotiations.” 

San mulled over that with a wince. He had forgotten that the royal family didn’t marry for love. They married for their weird, convoluted politics and treaties. San squeezed Wooyoung’s shoulder. “You could always say no. It’s not like you have to do something just because your father wants it,” he said. “It’s your life.” 

“Is it really?” Wooyoung said. “Ever since I was born, my life has been dedicated to this kingdom and its people. I knew I would have to marry eventually. I just thought I had more time.” 

“But this is something you can say no to,” San said. “When you take the throne, a happy king will be better than an unhappy one.” With his free hand, he pat Wooyoung’s knee. “You should marry for love.” 

“I don’t love anyone.” 

San smiled. “You will eventually.” 

(。-`ω´-)

Having San as a servant was a whirlwind.

A month passed, and not only did San get more irritating, but Wooyoung grew more attached, as if he weren’t already too close in the first place. His feeling that San was going to be the death of him grew as each day passed. 

But seriously, seeing him every day, every morning, was going to make him have a heart attack. He could see a premature death in his future, all because San smiled at him. Yes, it was getting this bad. 

The days were growing colder, and a new chill set into the air, harsh and unforgiving against his bare skin. Wooyoung didn’t like winter. It made training difficult, and the heavier clothes were just as suffocating as the additional duties the season brought. 

Winters in Sinsu were nothing to scoff at, and when Wooyoung caught sight of the first snow of the year, he felt a growing sense of dread settle in the pit of his stomach. 

San liked winter. He said it was the prettiest season. He liked the shorter days and the snow that came with it. He told Wooyoung that hugs were always warmer in winter. Nowadays, Wooyoung could find San sitting by his fireplace, a hot drink in his hand and a content smile on his lips. He was always there, waiting for Wooyoung to return.

San made winter bearable. 

A few days prior, Yeosang asked him what their relationship was, and Wooyoung couldn’t find the words to answer him. They were friends, that’s for sure. They bickered, and they fought, but San made him better. When the weight of Wooyoung’s responsibilities crushed him, San was there to pick up the pieces and remind him he was human too. 

When Wooyoung heard he was getting a new manservant, he had no idea how deep he’d sink. His father would say he was too dependent on him, too attached, and Wooyoung knew that. But he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know when he started to fall, but San kept him from hitting the ground.  

And then San wanted to leave.

“I was wondering if I could have a few days off,” San had said. He was draped across Wooyoung’s bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling.  Wooyoung was sitting at his desk, trying to review concerning reports from Sinsu’s borders. He couldn’t focus on them, and San's voice had finally broken his concentration for good. 

“You want a few days off?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Yeah... that’s what I just said.” 

A few days. Without San. 

He was suddenly back to those old days of waking up, playing the part, and going back to sleep- the same unending, monotonous routine, the one without San. 

“Why?” 

San hummed. “My mum’s birthday is soon. I don’t want her to be alone.” 

Oh. 

Wooyoung knew San missed his home. He didn’t talk about it much, but Wooyoung heard the wistful quality of his voice the few times he did mention it. He felt guilty, wanting San to think of the castle as his home instead, like Wooyoung did. He wanted San to feel at home.

But he couldn’t say no to this. 

“Okay.” 

San laughed. “That was easy.” 

Wooyoung looked back down at his reports, and he furrowed his eyebrows. 

He didn’t want San to leave. 

And he knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help it. 

“What village are you from, anyways? You never told me,” Wooyoung said.

“You never asked.” 

“Well, I’m asking now, aren’t I?” 

San lazily stretched and sat up, looking over at Wooyoung. There was something almost cat-like in the way he moved. Wooyoung tried his best to ignore how San’s simplest movements put him on edge. “Balor. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s on the border of Sinsu and Essetir.” 

Wooyoung sighed. That was far. Too far. 

“Do you.. want a horse?” he asked. In his head, he frantically tried to think of a valid excuse to keep San here with him without him seeming like an asshole. He came up blank. 

“I’d appreciate one.” 

Wooyoung nodded and scribbled a quick note addressed to the stablehands. 

“How long will you be gone?” he muttered. 

“A week at most.” 

A week.

He could go an entire week without San. Hell, he’d spent the past twenty years without him. Surely he could last a week. 

Winter was going to kill him. Maybe San would not be the death of him, but his absence surely will. 

“Seonghwa said he’d take over my duties,” San said. 

“You already asked him?”  

San nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been, uh, planning this for a while.” 

Wooyoung gave him a faint smile. “Well, you have my blessing.” He really didn’t, but how could Wooyoung say no? 

“And your horse,” San got up and winked, walking over and taking the slip of parchment from Wooyoung’s desk. 

Wooyoung scrunched up his nose. “Not my horse. Carla wouldn’t tolerate your bony ass.” 

“Carla loves me.” 

“When are you leaving?” Wooyoung changed the subject because of course his horse loved him. Everyone loved San. 

“Tomorrow morning. I’m afraid you’ll miss my handsome face when you wake up.” 

“Seonghwa is nicer to look at,” Wooyoung retorted. 

No, he isn’t, you liar. 

“Whatever you say,” San said. He smiled. “I’ll see you tonight, then. I’m going to go get packed up.” 

Wooyoung nodded in reply. “Make sure you bring something warm.” 

San scoffed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Wooyoungie.” 

He turned and left, and the dread of spending an entire week without San continued to grow now that Wooyoung was alone. Seonghwa was a fine servant, but it won’t be the same. He already missed San like he would miss his own limb. This will not bode well. 

Wooyoung glanced down at the reports on his desk in an attempt to distract himself from this. He read over the words in a daze.

Balor…. On the border of Sinsu and Essetir. 

The borders. 

These reports came from the borders. 

Wooyoung bit his lip.

He had an idea. A stupid, horrible idea that could get both him and San in a lot of trouble. 

San may not be using Wooyoung’s horse, but Wooyoung could… 

.

Seonghwa woke him with little ceremony. While San would have jumped on him and jabbed at his side, laughing in his ear, Seonghwa merely shook him awake. It was calming- a pleasant start to the day that didn’t involve cursing at the top of his lungs and impromptu wrestling.  

Wooyoung missed San. 

Last night, San was so excited, so happy to leave him. He didn’t even call Wooyoung any names. He didn’t poke him or playfully slap his side. Instead, he talked about Balor. He talked about his mother. 

And Wooyoung listened. Of course he did. San’s life was always so private to Wooyoung, something outside his circle of control. He clung to every detail like a fish hooked on a line. 

San’s mother was named Nala. She raised him alone. The fields of Balor were beautiful in the spring. San loved his mother’s cooking, even more so than anything he’d had in the castle. 

Wooyoung thought he’d learn to cook if it made San that happy. 

He added all of this to a mental list he had in his head, titled ‘New Things About San.’ It was an ever-growing list, one he didn’t realize he was even making until recently. 

Before San left last night, he gave Wooyoung a soft pat on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, and of course he knew how much this upset Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung tried to smile. “Take your time. My room will finally be clean for once without you.” 

San grimaced. “Don’t torture Seonghwa too much.” 

“No promises.” 

He was definitely going to torture Seonghwa. 

So when Seonghwa woke him up that morning, the first thing out of Wooyoung’s mouth was “Can you cover for me?” 

“Huh?” Seonghwa looked really confused, which was justified, but Wooyoung didn’t have the time to explain. San was probably long out of the front gates. Wooyoung needed time to catch up to him before he made it to Balor. 

“Just for a week. I need you to tell my father that I’m.. checking on the outer borders of the kingdom.” 

“And you can’t do this yourself?” 

“No, he’ll ask me too many questions that I won’t have answers for.” 

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. “You’re going after San.” 

“Possibly.” 

With an exasperated huff, Seonghwa shook his head. “Yeosang told me you’re attached, but I didn’t think it was this bad.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Wooyoung closed his eyes and stretched. “And tell Yeosang to mind his own business.” 

“That won’t stop him.” 

“No shit.” Wooyoung got up and tried to shake the weariness out of his head. He was wasting time. 

“Let’s get going.” 

.

After giving Yeosang and a few of his knights a quick goodbye, Wooyoung felt the familiar sway of his horse beneath him. He hadn’t been able to ride in a long time, his duties growing as each day passed. He missed it, though. He missed the freedom it gave him. He missed the wind in his hair and the castle to his back.

Despite grumbling about it, Seonghwa helped pack his bags. He put Wooyoung in chainmail and wrapped him in furs. “Yeosang and San would kill me if I let you go unprepared,” he said. 

Yes. Yes, they would. 

Wooyoung considered taking a knight along too, maybe Jongho, but ultimately decided against it. Wooyoung himself was intrusion enough. After all, he was ultimately crashing San’s time with his family and friends at home. He mentally prepared himself for how annoyed San was going to be to see him. 

He shot past the front gates of the citadel. The guards gave him strange looks as he went. It wasn’t every day the Prince left unannounced. He couldn’t turn back now, and he could only hope he packed enough rations to last the journey. 

The snow quickly became a problem, and he couldn’t urge his horse to go faster without fear of slipping or injury. As he moved further and further from the city, his pace slowed to a trot, and he cursed winter for the hundredth time. 

At least it meant San couldn’t have gone far. After scouring over maps, Wooyoung found only one major route that could safely bring him to Balor. That must be the one San was taking. It cut through the forests that surrounded Sinsu, and Wooyoung prayed he’d catch up before San reached it. It didn’t look promising, though, as he could already see the line of trees up ahead. 

A doubt held fast in the back of his mind, one that said San wasn’t going this way, that he wouldn’t be happy to see him (what was he kidding, San probably planned this not only to visit his mother, but to get away from Wooyoung. That was it). Not for the first time, Wooyoung questioned his actions and wondered why the hell he was putting himself through this. 

It was cold. It was damn winter. Wooyoung’s nose and his cheeks grew pink as the wind bit at them. Bits and pieces of ice stuck in his hair, turning it gray, and through the layers of fur and clothes, he felt himself grow numb. Although it wasn’t even midday, he couldn’t wait to stop and make camp, to sit by the fire and fall asleep to the sound of crackling wood.  

If Wooyoung felt like this already, San was probably miserable right now. 

What was he going to say to San? ‘Hey, surprise? I didn’t want you to leave, so I’m forcing you to take me to your village?’ or ‘It’s dangerous out here, and I couldn’t bear for you to get hurt?’ 

By taking this trip, Wooyoung was driving a stake through his pride. 

Still, he kept going. He kept riding until the trees enveloped him and shadows danced on the ground below him. Where there used to be various shades of dark green, the forest was a patchwork of ice and snow—a crystallic wonderland, vicious but beautiful. 

In the end, he didn’t find San. San found him. 

He was traveling by foot then, leading his horse through some tricky bramble and narrow passages. This was why he wanted to catch San before the forest, no matter how impossible it seemed. The pace felt too slow, and despite being extremely familiar with the maps and environment, he felt like he was starting to go in circles. 

That is, until he heard a very, very loud voice off the side of the path. 

“Wooyoung? What the fuck?” 

Wooyoung’s head snapped up. And there he was. 

San wore a long fur coat. It was slightly too short for him, and Wooyoung guessed it came straight from Hongjoong’s closet. His hair was mussed from travel, and he held the reins to one of the castle horses as it lapped at the snow on the ground. His face matched Wooyoung’s—flushed from the cold, and his mouth was stuck open in shock. San looked so bewildered, and it would have been funny if Wooyoung wasn’t desperately trying to think of something to say in response.

“What the hell are you doing out here? Don’t you have important prince stuff to do?”  San said the words so fast that Wooyoung was surprised he didn’t stumble over them. 

“Obviously not.” 

“So.. you came after me.” 

“I did not.” I so did.  

“Then why are you here?” 

“Border patrol.” 

San nodded condescendingly. “Okay… where’s the patrol?” 

“I’m the patrol.” 

“I’m pretty sure patrols consist of at least three or four knights.” 

Wooyoung didn’t have an answer to that. 

San smirked. “I can’t believe you came all this way… for what? To annoy me? Give me more orders?” 

“This chainmail could use some cleaning.” 

“Not happening. I’m on break, remember?” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “Could you at least pretend to be happy to see me?” 

San rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m so happy,” he said. 

“You should be. It’s, uh, dangerous out here. Are you even armed? ” 

San dramatically turned in a circle, arms outstretched. “Where’s the danger, hm?” He smiled at Wooyoung, and the forest stayed quiet, with only the soft rustle of snow falling from branches and a chirp from a nearby bird. 

“It’ll come eventually,” Wooyoung said. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go.” He pulled on the reins of his horse, and he took a few steps forward and turned back to where San stood still dumbly. “Are you coming or not?” 

San stared at him. “You’re coming to Balor? For the week?” 

“Is that okay?” Wooyoung held his breath as a grin slowly spread across San’s face, and his earlier worries dissipated just like that. 

“It’s more than okay. I’m just… surprised,” San said. He brought his horse forward, and then they were walking side by side on the path, their horses trailing just behind them. Wooyoung focused on the crunch of snow beneath his boots, the way even the slightest brush of wind stung his skin. 

He glanced at San every now and then. His eyes were still wide, and Wooyoung could see the gears turning in his head. “What is it?” Wooyoung eventually asked, his head tilted to the side. 

San tried to hide his smile, but Wooyoung caught how the corners of his mouth tilted up. “Nothing, it’s just… “he hesitated. “I can’t believe I’m taking you home. You’re… you're going to meet my mum.” He shook his head with a small laugh, “It doesn’t feel real.” 

This seemed like a big deal to San. Intrigued, Wooyoung pushed. “How so?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why doesn’t it feel real? It’s only natural that I meet her. I mean, we’ve been friends for a while now. You’ve met my father.” 

“It’s not the same,” San said. “Everyone in my village idolizes you. I idolized you. Growing up, I was obsessed with hearing stories of the great Prince Wooyoung.” 

His words gave Wooyoung a small smile, and he looked away. 

“And now I’m taking you home, and it doesn’t feel real,” San finished. 

“Ah.”

They finally reached an open area where it was safe to ride their horses, but Wooyoung didn’t want to get up. He wanted to stay on the ground with San. It was easier to talk. He didn’t want to end this conversation. 

He also wanted San to relax. 

And then he had an idea. A fantasy that he shouldn’t indulge in- a thought worming into his head until he made a terrible, impulsive decision. It’ll be too good to be true, but… 

“Maybe it’ll be better if they don’t know it’s me,” Wooyoung said. “I could just a friend from the castle, borrowing fancy supplies to keep us safe for the journey.” 

San gave him a strange look. “Why would we do that?” he asked. 

Wooyoung shrugged. “It’ll attract less attention. You could spend more time with your mother uninterrupted,” he said. 

That wasn’t the real reason, and he knew San could see right through him. 

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan,” San replied. 

.

Eventually, they mounted their horses and continued on. They spent much of the journey in a comfortable silence, which was unusual for the both of them, but Wooyoung didn’t mind. When their breathing grew heavy, they took breaks and ate, feeding the horses and sitting on the frozen floor. 

It became apparent that they would not make it to Balor in one day, and Wooyoung didn’t expect them to, but the hope for a warm bed and warm food was always there in the back of his mind, nagging at him. They would have to stop for the night. 

As the sun dipped below the tops of the trees, San and Wooyoung set out to find a good place to set up camp. They found a nice clearing off the side of the path, not far enough for them to get lost, but far enough to give them privacy. A high cliff backed one side of it while trees enclosed them in a half-circle on the other. The sky glowed a light lilac, reflecting off icicles that were frozen in time above them, and Wooyoung would have noted the potential danger and moved them if he wasn’t so damn tired. 

They cleared a patch of ground of its snow. San worked on getting a fired started, and Wooyoung secured their horses, taking out rations and bedrolls from their packs. It was growing dark fast, and Wooyoung had forgotten how short the days felt at this time of the year. 

When he turned around, San already had a clump of dry wood on the ground, and he worked with a crease in his forehead and a spark of concentration in his eyes. Wooyoung watched and waited for the smug satisfaction San always sported after completing even the smallest tasks. 

A bright flame started up, and Wooyoung smiled. “Would you look at that? You are useful sometimes.” 

San stuck his tongue out at him and sprawled back on the floor. “Finally warm,” he groaned.  

And yes, god, the fire felt so nice after their ride. Wooyoung dropped his armful of supplies on the floor and laid down himself, feeling his aching muscles finally relax at the warmth. 

Wooyoung heard San sigh on the other side of the fire before a rustle of movement. He glanced up and saw San standing over their materials. They had just laid down, and San was about to start heating their rations. 

“You don’t have to do that now,” Wooyoung said. “We’re both tired. Get some rest.” 

Wooyoung’s head lolled to the side, and he watched San stop and look over at him. Wooyoung probably looked like a mess- a clump of chainmail and furs, matted together from the damp snow. 

The fire illuminated one side of San’s face, the flickering light dancing across his features. He smiled. “You get some rest. I’ll take care of you,” San said. He crouched down and rifled through their supplies, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but let his eyelids droop. The fire felt so nice. He wanted San to enjoy it too. 

In his exhaustion, he felt sleep claw at him, pulling him in, and in the back of his mind, he realized he didn’t utter a single command that day. 

San eventually woke him not too long after. They ate, and San tugged at Wooyoung’s clothing, muttering under his breath. With his back to the fire, he let San pull off the chainmail, leaving him in a thin undershirt and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He felt light without the extra weight, the extra protection. He felt exposed, but it was okay because it was just San there. Only San. 

It was dark now. The moon was high in the sky, looming overhead, and Wooyoung felt a sense of contentment. It was nice. It was peaceful. 

They laid out their bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire, and Wooyoung longed to close the distance. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch him, and yes, it was weird, but it felt so natural at the same time. He wanted so much, but there was that line. It kept shifting, and it was dangerous to touch, to get close to. That fire was between them, and in the end, he knew stepping across it would only burn. 

“Good night, Wooyoungie,” San said. 

Good night. 

.

They arrived at Balor the next evening. 

Even from a distance, Wooyoung could see low-roofed buildings and fields stretched behind them, frozen over by the cold. It was a quaint town, the kind where villagers knew everyone and gossip ran fast. Suddenly, Wooyoung was glad they planned to keep his identity a secret. 

They dismounted at the entrance and tried their best to be inconspicuous walking in. San wanted his arrival to be a surprise. Glancing over, Wooyoung saw San’s face light up at the familiar streets. 

“It’s like nothing changed,” San said under his breath, and Wooyoung felt a tug in his gut. 

San led them to the far end of the village. Along the way, they attracted a few stares. Wooyoung was self-conscious in the armor, and he wished they spent the time to fabricate a better story for him, other than him being ‘a friend.’ He was used to being stared at, but for some reason, here, he felt the eyes sticking to him like leeches. 

One or two people came up to San and said hello. Wooyoung didn’t listen in to the conversations, though. He felt like he was intruding, like he wasn’t supposed to be there. To be honest, he really wasn’t supposed to be there. It was unnerving in a way he’d never felt before. 

They stopped in front of a small house. It seemed worn from time and weather, but it was nice. It was just the kind of home Wooyoung would want to have if he wasn’t stuck in the castle—strong, stone walls with a hint of wooden paneling, and a thatched roof above to redirect the rain. 

Next to him, San smiled, and Wooyoung silently offered to take the reins of his horse with an outstretched hand. 

With the two horses at his side, Wooyoung felt a giddy excitement mixed with a dose of nerves. He was going to meet San’s mother. San’s mother. If bringing Wooyoung home didn’t feel real to San, then this definitely didn’t feel real to Wooyoung. With every step San took, Wooyoung’s nervous energy rose, and by the time San knocked on the door, he felt like a string ready to snap. 

Something shuffled inside, and then the door opened. A woman stepped out. Her hair was cut in a bob, and she wore a warm, woolen dress. She seemed younger than Wooyoung expected, in the way she presented herself, but she wore her age in the lines of her face, in the crinkles next to her cat-like eyes.  

The mother-son resemblance was uncanny, especially seeing the two together. 

He was meeting San’s mother. 

It was crazy to him. 

“Sannie!” She exclaimed. She had a friendly smile. It was warm—comforting. 

San hugged her, a smile splitting his own face, eyes closed. Wooyoung once again felt like he was intruding, but this time it was something special, something he should be far away from, in the confines of his chambers. For the hundredth time, he didn’t belong here. 

They broke apart. 

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon!” She said. Her voice was also deeper than Wooyoung expected. It was almost intimidating coming from her slight frame. She didn’t meet any of Wooyoung’s expectations- not in a bad way- and the more he thought about it, he realized neither had San when they first met. It must run in the family. 

Wooyoung looked down at his feet as they talked. In a world where everything was about him, where he had to stand tall, imposing, this was entirely new to him. Now, it was all San. 

San’s mother spotted him then. She cocked her head to the side, and Wooyoung gulped. With a pat to San’s shoulder, Wooyoung’s heart rate picked up as she walked over to him. She was an entire head shorter than him, and for a split second, he wondered how San had the audacity to call him short when his mother was…

“Who are you?” she asked, and Wooyoung made quick eye contact with San over her shoulder, a silent plea for help. 

“This is, uh, Young-ah,” San came up behind her, and Wooyoung found himself staring at two Chois. 

And then it registered.  

Young-ah? Really? 

“He’s a friend I met in the castle,” San continued. “He offered to keep me safe for the trip.” 

San’s mother turned to look at him, an incredulous look on her face. “You? Friends?” 

A snort escaped Wooyoung, and San gasped with a sharp “Mum!” 

She sniggered, and suddenly she didn’t seem as intimidating as Wooyoung initially thought. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Choi,” Wooyoung said. 

“Please, call me Nala,” she replied. “And no need to be so formal. A friend of San’s is a friend of mine.” 

Wooyoung nodded. 

“And thank you for keeping him out of trouble.” She eyed the chainmail and the sword and cast San a questioning glance. “...Young-ah? Was it?” 

While she was turned away, Wooyoung gave San an exasperated look. Of course, San would choose ‘Young-ah’ of all names. It’s not like that’s too obvious or anything. 

Once again, he wished they actually took the time to think this through. 

“Yes, that’s him, haha.” 

Very convincing, San. 

Nala smiled faintly. “Okay then. You’re lucky I have extra supplies for food tonight.” Wooyoung could feel San’s enthusiasm like a tangible thing at the mention of her cooking, and he had to fight a smile off his own lips. “In the meantime,” she said. “I think the lil babes of Balor will be thrilled to see you.” 

Huh? 

That took Wooyoung slightly aback, but San seemed to know exactly what was coming. He brought a hand to his face and groaned. It did nothing to hide his smile, his dimples peeking through his fingers. “Where are they, then?” 

“I’m sure you’ll hear them when they find out you’re here,” Nala said. 

“It’s not like it’s a secret. We walked right through the village.” 

“Then they’ll come by soon,” she said. “Sending you off made me really unpopular with them. I’ve had to deal with their whining for the past few months.” 

“Do you want me to say sorry?” San asked. 

Nala shrugged. “That would be nice.” 

San pursed his lips together, and Wooyoung felt lost. This entire conversation was going right over his head and into the streets behind him. Carla knickered next to him, and he focused on patting her muzzle, running a hand through her mane, the reigns to San’s horse hooked loosely through his arm. 

The distraction was nice, and he didn’t feel like he was eavesdropping anymore. His earlier worries began to settle slightly as San and Nala continued to chat. He could function again. 

That is, he could until the screaming started. 

San’s head shot up, a half-smile on his face, and he broke away from them, hurrying over to a large group of children on the path behind them. 

Wooyoung watched in slight horror as they tackled him, throwing snow in his hair and squealing his name in a chorus of San. He fell to the ground with a loud “Oof!” and slightly shocked, Wooyoung brought a hand to his mouth and laughed. It was definitely strange, seeing San like this. He looked so happy. His dimples were out in full force, and Wooyoung could hear his laugh go unrestrained. 

Wooyoung had never heard San laugh this much, this loud. It was contagious, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but smile along, a new warmth filling him. 

San was so happy here. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of him, his breathing unsteady with puffs of silent laughter. 

He felt a familiar sharp jab in his side, and he broke his gaze, turning his head to see Nala. San’s odd habit of randomly poking him suddenly made a lot of sense. 

“You’re really fond of him,” she said. 

Wooyoung jolted back, shocked out of his stupor. “Um, no?” 

She shook her head. “I can see it in your eyes,” she said. “Don’t worry, he has that effect on people.” 

“He does?” 

She nodded back to the kids. “See for yourself. They love him too.” 

Love.

Wooyoung did not love San. 

He almost broke into laughter again. They were friends, for sure, and Wooyoung traveled all this way to keep San safe, but there was a firm line between whatever feelings he had and love. He had not crossed it, and he never will. He couldn’t afford to. 

But looking at San now, he knew it would be easy to. 

“He’ll be busy for a while,” Nala said. “Let’s get the horses settled, and hopefully they’ll be done by then, though I doubt it.”  

Wooyoung nodded and let her lead the way. 

Warming up to Nala was an… experience. She held so many quirks that Wooyoung had grown to know as uniquely San, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t mess with his head. 

After the horses were secured, Nala took him back to her home. San was nowhere to be seen. Wooyoung would have been worried if Nala didn’t look so calm about it. 

“I doubt he’ll be back for another hour,” she said, and Wooyoung fought the urge to get up and start pacing. They were in the kitchen, and Nala was getting ready to cook their dinner. “Why don’t you get some rest? San will be here when you wake, and the food will be ready by then, too.” 

Wooyoung glanced over her shoulder at the pot, and he looked at the door. 

He thought about a happy San, talking about his mother’s cooking.

Bad idea. Great idea.  

“Actually, um, can you teach me?” 

.

There was no way Wooyoung was going to remember all of this, but he tried. He tried his best. 

The entire time, he worried San would walk through the door and catch him in the act, like learning to cook was some scandalous thing. It was for him, though. San would tease him relentlessly. 

Nala was an understanding and patient teacher, but underneath it all, Wooyoung could feel her slight frustration. He couldn’t fault her, though. He was terrible. 

Thankfully, the door stayed shut until it was finished. 

San looked like the walking dead when he came in. His hair stood up in spikes, and he had the most unenthused pout on his lips. Wooyoung wanted to wipe it away. 

He all but collapsed at the table, and Wooyoung sat beside him without a word. 

A silent San was a tired San, and Wooyoung could laugh at his hair at a different time. 

Nala placed a bowl in front of him, and the reaction was immediate. The smile on his face was blinding, and Wooyoung suddenly knew he’d be spending a lot of time in the kitchen this week. 

The food was excellent. It was amazing. Somehow, even with Wooyoung’s blunders, Nala had made the best stew he had ever tasted, and that was a high compliment coming from the Crown Prince of Sinsu. 

San and Nala were talking, but Wooyoung completely spaced out. God, San really wasn’t kidding about her cooking, wasn’t he? Every bite left him wanting more until he was scraping at the bottom and sheepishly looking over to find both Chois not even halfway done. It would have been embarrassing if the food wasn’t so phenomenal. 

He gave himself another helping and tuned back into their conversation, smiling at the topic change. 

“So, San, according to your letters, you’re working for the Prince now?” 

“Yep. Unfortunately,” San answered with a mouth full of food. 

Wooyoung scoffed. 

“What’s he like? The Prince?” Nala asked. 

Oh? This was going to be interesting. Wooyoung leaned forward. He propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, leering over at San. 

“Yeah, San. What’s the Prince like?” Wooyoung repeated the question. “I hear he’s dashing.” 

San snorted and shoved at Wooyoung’s side. “He’s a brat.” 

Wooyoung gasped theatrically. “He’s a heartthrob. A few of the maids would kill for your job.” He felt San kick him from under the table, and he frowned at the dull ache it felt behind. 

“He’s very…” San took a second to think. “He’s very hard to describe.” 

Nala watched them with a glint in her eye. “Indulge me. Are the stories true?”

Wooyoung perked up. “Stories?” 

But San shook his head frantically. “No.” He shoved Wooyoung again. “We aren’t talking about that now.” 

Nala grinned. “But they’re saying it’s happening,” she said. “There have been miracles happening, San. It’s magic.” 

Oh. The magic thing. 

He didn’t want to think about it. He never wanted to think about it. That was a whole other world of pressure that Wooyoung didn’t want to put himself under. It was something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t even contemplate. 

Him. Bringing magic back. 

Unthinkable. 

“Are you sure?” San asked, and he glanced nervously over at Wooyoung. “Maybe it’s just coincidence.” 

“San… the village crop doubled in the stores last night,” Nala said. “Your Prince must be doing wonders.” 

“He’s really not, though.” An edge of doubt burrowed its way into his voice, and San shifted. “At least, I don’t think he is.” 

Nala shook her head. “There’s something special going on, San, and I’m so proud you’ll get to see it firsthand.” 

Despite the uncertainty of it all, he smiled. 

.

Wooyoung realized there was something San forgot to mention—there was only one spare mattress. 

Nala offered to give up her bed, but there was no way they’d agree to that, not with her hospitality and warm welcome. 

Which left them the mattress. 

And the bedrolls, too, but Wooyoung left those back with the horses, and no one had the energy to make the trek back to the stables at this time of night. 

They would have to share.

Lord have mercy, 

After pulling Wooyoung’s top over his head, San wouldn’t look him in the eye. It was a cemented part of their routine. It was normal. 

But now that San wasn’t leaving, it didn’t feel normal. 

San changed into a thin undershirt while Wooyoung went to grab a large blanket that would cover both of them. Fuck, this was real. This was happening. 

He walked over and laid on his back, waiting for San to come take his place too. He tucked the blanket under his chin and ignored the nerves that were going to make sleep impossible.  

San joined him not long after, on his back too. They didn’t speak. 

The heat from San’s body radiated off him in waves, enclosed beneath the blanket. He was close. Too close. 

After a few minutes, San reached over and laced their fingers together, palm against palm, and Wooyoung was sinking, sinking, sinking.

With that simple touch, Wooyoung didn’t think he’d ever resurface. 

But he also wanted more. 

Wooyoung looked over his shoulder, and he hesitated before tugging the blanket aside and rolling over, wrapping an arm snug around San’s waist. He laid his head on San’s chest, wondering what the hell he’d just done.

San let out a small whimper, and Wooyoung tightened his grip. “It’s cold,” he mumbled. He could hear, feel, San’s heartbeat beneath him. It pulled him in. It sped, and it sped, and San’s hand was still in his, and he couldn’t stop. He could get addicted to this. He was addicted. This was a horrible, horrible idea. 

“You’re… cold?” San said into his hair. “Mmm, I think you’re just touch starved.” 

And he was right. Each point of contact made him burn. It made his own heart race at the rate of San’s. He needed to stop. He needed more. 

 He needed to say something. 

“M’not touch starved. Not with you hanging on me all the time.” The early mornings. His worst nights. San was always there with a hand on his back. 

San hummed, and Wooyoung could feel it against his chest. 

“Okay… then do you know why I touch you so much?” San asked. 

No, I don’t.  

“Because you’re an ass who won’t respect royal boundaries?” 

San chuckled. Wooyoung was going to combust. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made him focus more on the warmth below him. 

“That too, but it’s because I know you like it.” 

Wooyoung snorted. “You’re delusional.” He was lying through his teeth. He was a terrible liar. 

“Hey, you’re the one who climbed over me,” San said. “If you’re going to be like that, I could just…” San let go of his hand and abruptly sat up on his elbows. The sudden movement unbalanced Wooyoung and made him fall onto his back with a yelp, and the loss of San was so sudden. The air suddenly felt frigid. 

Wooyoung glared at him, and he contemplated whether he was going insane before attempting to push San back down onto the mattress, a hand flat on his chest. 

“Come on.” 

“Only if you say ‘please.’”

Wooyoung stared at him and cursed what little pride he had left wherever San was concerned. Princes couldn’t… he couldn’t beg.. “That’s not happening.” He met San’s eyes, and he was gone. 

“I’ll get you to say it one day,” San said, and damn him, his smirk was so smug. “When you least expect it.” 

Wooyoung could feel how flushed his face was, how helpless he was. “I-I order you to-” 

“You can’t do that here,” San cut him off. “Young-ah.” 

Just like that, all the power Wooyoung ever had over San vanished. It scared him. It thrilled him. 

With a huff, he fell back and turned away from San. “Your loss,” he mumbled, and he could feel San’s gaze lingering on him. He curled into himself, trying his best to ignore it. 

He had all week, after all. 

.

Balor was a paradise. 

He didn’t have to pretend here, and he used that to his full advantage. 

Now, he wasn’t ‘Prince Wooyoung.’ He was just Wooyoung. He didn’t have to worry about responsibilities or maintaining reputation. He didn’t have to keep San behind him as they walked. No one looked at him like he was a god. He was a simple, common man. For a week, he could forget everything and just enjoy life the way everyone else could. 

Hell, he could hurl snowballs at San’s face, and the villagers wouldn’t even bat an eye. He could talk to merchants, antagonize San in public, walk around without scratchy noble clothing, yell at the top of his lungs- he could be human. 

He felt like he was discovering a whole new world. 

He was happy. 

San knew it, too. There was a certain sparkle in San’s eyes when he looked at him now. Wooyoung thought he was imagining it the first time he saw it, but no, it was there.  

The next night, Wooyoung found himself wrapped in San’s arms, San’s chest flush to his back. He didn’t even have to ask. He just laid down, and San was there. Wooyoung was going to die happy, all because this damn serving boy decided to slam into his life. 

Something clearly changed with San, but it was a welcome one. 

Nala’s birthday was wonderful. They all went on a picnic in the woods. Wooyoung offered to give them privacy—he could go entertain himself elsewhere, but Nala wouldn’t have it. It was cold, but they had a fire and each other’s company to keep warm. The hot food helped as well, and Wooyoung could happily mark it as one of the best experiences of his life. 

He grew close to Nala as well. Around dinnertime, San always went out to play with the children, which was perfect for Wooyoung’s cooking lessons. He was getting better, too! He had finally learned the terminology Nala used when referring to certain items, and Wooyoung could confidently say he could cook a solid meal by the end of the week. He didn’t know when he’d ever get the chance to, though. Someday, he hoped. 

But the nights were what he looked forward to now, and when Nala caught them on the floor one time, she only smiled over at them and closed the door. 

Nala was the mother he never had. 

Saying goodbye was probably one of the worst experiences of his life, even more so knowing that he’d probably never see her again. 

The horses were all packed, and at this point, they were all stalling the inevitable. 

Nala clasped her hands around his and smiled. “You have great things ahead, Young-ah. I hope you won’t forget me.” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “I want to stay,” he said in a small voice, the longing etched in his face. He looked over at San. “What if we stay?” 

Nala smiled, but there was a serious tone to her voice. “You have a kingdom to look after, Young-ah. I’m afraid that doesn’t involve puttering around my kitchen.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes went comically wide, and he stared at her. 

“Get that look off your face. I’m not an idiot.” She flicked his forehead. “I may be ignorant to a lot of the outside world,” she said. “But I can put two and two together, Prince Wooyoung.” 

With the eloquence of a fully realized prince, he said, “Oh.” 

Nala rolled her eyes with a smile and pulled him into a tight hug. “Take care of Sannie, will you? He tends to get himself in a lot of trouble.” 

“Of course.” 

She pulled away, and with a sad smile, she turned away to look at San. 

Wooyoung backed away and let San say goodbye alone. He went to the horses, silently brushing his fingers against Carla’s snout. He understood why San loved this place. It was only a week, yet Wooyoung felt more at home here than he ever did at the castle. He genuinely didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay here and live with San and Nala. He wanted the children to fall over him like they did with San. He wanted to greet the merchants every day, to learn their names and build friendships. 

He wanted to build a life here. 

San stepped up next to him while he was lost in his thoughts, and his sudden presence startled him. Wooyoung jolted back slightly and turned to look at him. 

San’s ears were bright red, too red to blame the cold for it. Slightly taken aback, Wooyoung spoke. 

“What did she say to you?” 

San shook his head. “Nothing. It was nothing,” he said, but if anything, the flush spread to his cheeks. Wooyoung rarely saw San this flustered, so he took in every detail and committed it to memory- his last memory of this magical place. 

He smiled. “Are you sure about that?” 

San stared at him. “You, ah, you didn’t hear any of it, right?” 

“No?” 

San looked down with a small smile. “Good.” 

They mounted their horses, and with one last wave, Wooyoung’s time in Balor came to an end. 

.

The journey back was dreadful. 

They both would be lying if they said they didn't stretch it out. It took two nights to get back instead of one, and the breaks were far more frequent than they needed to be. A lot of it was spent in silence, mulling over a fabricated excuse for their absence, and the rest was spent reminiscing about their week. 

On the second night, San laid their bedrolls side by side instead of across the fire. Wooyoung’s head was on his chest again, except San wasn’t pushing him away this time. It hit him that they wouldn’t be able to do this in the castle. This was the last time. 

Once again, he longed to be back in Balor. He couldn’t even imagine how San felt right now. 

If San ever wanted to leave Sinsu, Wooyoung didn’t know if he could let him. He at least wanted San to know it was an option, though. He didn’t want San to stay against his will. 

Wooyoung shook his head. This conversation was overdue, these thoughts brewing in his head for the longest time. 

“Do you really think my father would kill you if you quit?” His words spilt out into the open air, spiraling. 

San was quiet for a moment. The sudden question probably surprised him, and Wooyoung clutched at his shirt, waiting for his reply. “Do you really want my answer to that?” 

“Yes.”  

San sighed, and he rubbed circles into Wooyoung’s back. “After a month of seeing that execution block every day, I think your father would kill someone for looking at him funny.” 

Wooyoung winced. 

He could understand that. He did understand that, and if he was being honest with himself, he would probably agree. 

“At least the servants are a little more safe,” Wooyoung whispered. Over the past month, he had worked with a few of the more agreeable lords, and they settled into a backdoor law, one not upheld by the court, but known by those that mattered. It was difficult, and the progress was painstakingly slow, but it was all he could do. 

San made a soft noise of contentment. “That’s why I believe you’ll be a great King, Wooyoung,” he said. “You’re good.” 

“I’m his son.” 

“So? That may be true, but you are your own person, Woo. You can make your own decisions” 

They settled back into silence. San’s words rung in his head, and he took a second to think them over, to really ingest them. 

Because it was exactly what he needed to hear. 

“I wouldn’t let him, you know,” Wooyoung said. “If you wanted to leave… you could.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Wooyoung buried his face into San’s neck, and he committed this to memory too. 

.

Eventually, on the third day, they could see the castle looming in the distance.

 “I guess this is it,” Wooyoung said. 

“Break’s over. Back to cleaning floors,” San answered. 

“You never cleaned them in the first place.” 

San laughed. “Let’s get this over with.” 

They made the last of the trek in silence, and the front gates were suddenly right there. They were really, truly back. 

He thought it would be a smooth return- nice and inconspicuous. That is, until a guard stepped in front of their horses. 

“The King wishes to speak with you, sire. My orders are to bring you to him upon your arrival,” he called out.  

And just like that, it was over. Wooyoung’s back straightened, his eyes narrowed, and San drifted behind him. Much like winter, the weight that settled on his shoulders was merciless. 

Princes were supposed to be cold. They were supposed to be beautiful, like snowflakes trapped in the wind. 

All good things must come to an end, and after having a taste of the perfect life, the guard’s words brought him back to reality. The past week already felt like a lifetime ago. 

He clenched at the reins of his horse, a feeling of nervous anticipation growing in his stomach, and he knew that whatever was in store for him was not going to be pretty. It would be okay, though. As long as San was there for the aftermath, everything was going to be okay.

[lynnt1ny]

You're Magic To Me: Ch. 8

Chapter Directory | Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 8 WC: 11k

Note: This chapter contains a dub-con kiss that is not between the main pairing.

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing? After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.   --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

The Poisoned Chalice

San’s ears were still burning. 

He, Sena, and Wooyoung were climbing back up to the training grounds. The sun peeked through dark clouds overhead as they went, and it seemed they were going to get another round of snowfall soon. San couldn’t focus on that, though. Wooyoung’s hand lay heavy on the back of his neck, and his eyes never left San’s side profile. 

San wasn’t going to make it to the castle alive. 

“Wooyoung, if you keep staring at him, he’s going to self combust,” Sena snickered. She had her two books tucked under an arm.

They stopped walking, and San buried his face in his hands with a groan, shoulders slightly hunched. “Woo, get it over with,” he said. His voice muffled by the palms of his hands. “I know you want to do it.” 

San didn’t look up, but he heard a hitch of breath, and Wooyoung’s hand wasn’t on his neck anymore. It was in his hair. Wooyoung’s fingers scratched against his scalp, and San forced himself to hold still as Wooyoung took in the pink hair.

 And then Wooyoung’s hands were wrapped around his wrists, pulling San’s palms away from his face. “Let me see you!” 

Bright brown eyes greeted him, and San gulped, his insides turning in somersaults. 

Wooyoung didn’t stop at his hair. After running his fingers through it a few more times, Wooyoung cupped San’s face again, except this time, his thumbs dug against the corners of San’s mouth, and he tapped the pads of his fingers against San’s cheekbones. 

“You did this?” Wooyoung asked, bewildered, and San nodded. 

Sena was right. San was seconds away from self combusting, and with his current streak of nonverbal magic, that was a very real possibility.  

“I can’t wait to see how people will react,” Wooyoung said, and San’s stomach dropped. So many people were going to stare. Wooyoung must have seen it in his eyes because he took a hand away and pinched San’s cheek. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. They’ll love it.” 

San thought Wooyoung was loving this a little bit too much. 

“Are you done yet?” Sena piped up, and San took a step away from Wooyoung’s grabby hands. The way his face was burning, he felt like he was running a fever.  

“You two are weird,” she grimaced. “And dumb.” 

Wooyoung gaped at her, and his face screwed up in disgust. “I am not.” 

“Are you sure about that?” San giggled, and Wooyoung spluttered. 

“I will throw you in the stocks.” 

“And I’ll magic my way out!” 

Wooyoung glared at him. “Do you want to test that theory? Do you even know how to do that?” 

San opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. 

How the hell had he been doing magic? 

“I’ll.. I’ll think really hard, and it’ll happen,” San said. 

Silence met him, an incredulous look on Wooyoung’s face. 

“Is that really how it works?” 

San shrugged. 

“I can clarify that isn’t how it works,” Sena said. “I have no idea how he’s doing this without incantations.” 

“I swear, all I have to do is think really hard, or.. or want something to happen.” 

“Alright then,” she said. “Turn your hair back to black if that’s it.” 

“No.” Wooyoung butt in. “I like it like this.” 

San looked back and forth between the two royals and shrugged again. “I… I really don’t want to accidentally behead myself.” 

It didn’t look like Wooyoung found that funny. San poked him. 

Sena sighed and started walking back to the castle again. Wooyoung hurried to stroll by her side, and San trailed behind them. 

He looked over the training grounds, a small memory nudging at the back of his brain, and then it hit him: He’d done magic before. His mouth fell open as the image of Wooyoung flashed in his mind, flat on his back and staring at a knight above him, sword in hand. 

How long ago was that? Did San have magic all this time? Was it… getting stronger? 

How many times had San accidentally done magic without realizing it? His first day with the knights— that had to be months ago. 

He shook his head and sped to catch up to the royals. 

.

They officially called off the marriage. 

San was in a good mood. 

He didn’t know what happened, only that Sena apparently talked to King Sungho, and they mutually agreed to break it off. It didn’t look like Beomseok had a say in the matter, which made San wonder who was really pulling the strings in this situation. 

But all was well, because Wooyoung was free from the marriage, and while another one will pop up eventually, this gave them a little more time. 

Three days had passed, and all was well. Everything was wonderful. Wooyoung was smiling more, and San spent more time with Sena. Even in such a short time, she had quickly become a close friend, and they were experimenting with San’s magic. 

But while Wooyoung was obviously… happier, he also grew more… physical with San. 

San blamed the hair. 

Wooyoung wouldn’t stop touching it. The asshole always had a hand in it, or on San’s waist, or rubbing against his neck. He even tried to bite the top of San’s head, and that ended with a lot of shouting and accusations of cannibalism. 

It was just… the type of highly unusual ‘Wooyoung’ behavior that San never questioned, but it was getting to the point where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It was confusing. Wooyoung was constantly taking San’s heart and throwing it against a wall just to watch it go splat. San kept having to remind himself it was only Wooyoung’s touch-starved demon manifesting itself and saying hello. 

Wooyoung also stared at him more. It made San’s skin crawl. It made him want to cross the distance between them, no matter the size, and tug Wooyoung closer until their foreheads knocked together again, like they did in the field- until San could tilt Wooyoung’s chin closer with a finger hooked under his chin to feel his lips. 

These thoughts plagued him, and he found himself with a lot of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what would this feel likes.’ It was unhealthy, and Hongjoong wouldn’t stop scolding him for spacing out because of it. 

Hongjoong had been keeping him busy lately. More often than not, San would walk into the physician’s chambers and find it empty, both Hongjoong and his carry-on supplies gone. 

But on another topic, everyone got used to the hair surprisingly fast, San himself included. Now, although he had a pretty good idea on how to change it back, he didn’t because Wooyoung ordered him not to. 

That had been an interesting conversation. 

Now, he was getting ready for a magic session with Sena. Two days ago, he had successfully (accidentally) turned half the field pink, and by yesterday, the flowers had died away, and all was mostly blue again. It was weird, but it was magic, so what did San expect? 

He set out in the late morning, after the early chill disappeared and his first set of duties were complete (Wooyoung was a wreck today, but what was new?). The days were growing warmer, but the warmth of the sun had yet to break through the winter chill. A thin layer of frost dimpled the grass under San’s feet as he set off to the field, and overhead, a small bird sang its song. It was nice. He could get used to lazy days like this. 

He passed the pavilion by the hill, letting his fingers trail against its side. Wooyoung had complained endlessly about the cold. It made him stiff in training, and sessions had to be limited. San had a sneaking suspicion Wooyoung’s favorite season was spring. He liked flowers, of course, and he always had the smallest smile when it rained instead of snowed. 

Wooyoung liked the rain. San had no idea why. 

Sena was standing by the edge of the field, scowling down at her feet. It was familiar- she was always frowning when San walked over, only perking up when he spoke up. 

Today, she wore a light blue dress with a dark cloak over her shoulders. Half of her hair was pulled back away from her face, pinned in the back. They made an odd pair- a lanky boy with flamingo hair next to a princess- as regal and elegant as they get. 

“You’re always upset when I come by,” San said, and just like every other magic lesson, she smiled at the sound of his voice. 

She chuckled, all honey-voiced and petite. “It’s nothing. Just the flowers, that’s all.” 

“You.. don’t like them?” 

She bent and plucked a flower from the field, twirling it between the pads of two fingers. “They’re all over the place in Essetir,” she said. “And no, I don’t. My people equate them to unrequited love.”

San stared at her. “What are you talking about?” 

Sena sighed, a sad smile on her lips. “They bloom, and they die, never acknowledged.” She let go, watching the petals flutter back to the ground. “Love is beautiful, but fleeting, just like these flowers.” 

He had been putting those flowers in Wooyoung’s rooms since he first arrived. 

Funny. 

Sena laughed. “Don’t get all mopey, San. It’s just a saying,” she said. “And besides, these flowers are supposed to be seasonal. I’m surprised this field still blossoms.” 

She was right. The flowers had been untouched by winter, frozen in time, yet still dying and crawling back in an endless cycle. Even if it was just a saying, that fact made him feel a little bit better. 

“Well..” he began, scraping his brain for a new idea. “We’ve spent a few magic lessons here already. We could go somewhere else?” 

She nodded. “That sounds great.” 

“Oh!” San perked up. “You've only been in the castle, right? I can show you a bit more of Sinsu! And try some magic along the way, of course.” 

“Perfect.” 

San smiled, and they headed back, a new bounce in his step. He hadn’t been to the marketplace in a really long time, and he thought it would be fun to show Sena around. She walked beside him, and San turned them in the direction of the courtyard. It should be a clear path from there to the bustling streets. 

For a second, he considered getting a knight to come with them, or maybe even someone from Sena’s delegation. Sena was a princess, after all. The only time Wooyoung went out alone was when he snuck out. Is that what they were doing now? Sneaking out? He glanced to his side, but nothing seemed amiss on Sena’s face. 

San didn’t have anything to worry about. 

Sena pulled the hood over her head as they passed the front gates, though, so maybe she was technically sneaking out. The guards were more concerned with who came in to the castle, not who was coming out. It was smooth. It was easy. San wondered what would happen if they were caught. 

“Where are we going, San?” she asked, and a touch of pride bloomed in his chest, knowing she trusted him enough to do this. 

“Sinsu’s marketplace! It’s amazing, but if you ever want to go back, just say the word. I know you may not be used to all the people.” 

She shook her head. “Go ahead; lead the way.” 

San grinned, and they began weaving around the path. He took her hand at one point, to keep her from pulling away. Losing the princess in the crowd sounded like a horror story. 

There wasn’t anything that particularly stood out in the lower villages, but something about it reminded San of Balor. It was homey. Familiar. It made him both happy and homesick at the same time. 

It was more crowded in Sinsu, though, especially as they drew closer to the marketplace. They began drawing stares as they walked by. People openly gawked at them, and San glanced back to make sure Sena was unrecognizable. And then it hit him. 

Oh. His hair. 

Damn, he should have found a cloak or a hat before coming here. 

He stumbled to an awkward stop, still holding her hand. “Do you think we could magic a hat out of thin air?” he mumbled. 

She giggled. “I don’t think so, but you did this to yourself.” 

He did do this to himself. 

“I hate that you’re right.” 

She shrugged. 

“Can’t we buy one? We’re in a marketplace.”  

San scanned their surrounds, looking for anything that could hide his hair. Ahead, the stalls and vendors stretched out, people walking back and forth in a cycle of activity.  His eyes zeroed in on a textile vendor. It was close, and probably their safest bet to not draw anymore attention. 

“Over there,” he pulled Sena in the general direction. A few people stopped and stared in his direction, and god why was San so impulsive? He should have thought this out more. He hurried his steps, Sena dragging slightly behind him. 

“Here we are, then,” he smiled at the man behind the table, who gawped at him. Of course he did. San sighed. “I’m looking for anything to hide this.” He pointed at his head. 

Eventually, he and Sena were back in the streets, a dark headscarf wrapped around San’s hair. The back was still exposed, and a touch of pink crept out around his face, but it’ll have to do.

They wandered around, taking in all of the people and vendors. Sena bought a silver necklace and a ring, and while they probably couldn’t compare to the jewelry she already owned, the gesture made San smile. It quickly became obvious this would not be a productive outing. With all the people around, the opportunity to do magic was rare, and the pink hair already drew enough attention. 

They bought some fresh fruit for a snack and ducked into a secluded corner behind a building. It wasn’t warm out, but the constant walking took a toll on them, and they took a much needed break. 

Sena laughed. “It’s nice here, San. Thanks for taking me.” 

“Of course!” He took a quick bite out of an apple. “I love spending time down here. It’s great to get away from Wooyoung once in a while.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s just… hard to be around him lately.” 

She hummed. “You two are an interesting pair.”

You could say that. Yes, they were… a pair. It was him and Wooyoung against the world. It was San watching Wooyoung become a king from the shadows, a place for Wooyoung to come to after long days. 

Unrequited love. 

His eyes cast down to the floor. “Yeah, I guess we are.” He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

She didn’t reply, and he tensed up. 

Did Sena know?

“Things won’t end well for you and Wooyoung,” she said. “If you’re looking to be.. more than friends, I mean. No matter how hard you try, you’ll always be a servant, and he’ll always be a prince. And I’m truly, very sorry.” 

He didn’t need her to say that. He already knew. 

“Sinsu really is fucked up for that,” she said. “In Essetir, it’s different. We have different morals, different priorities. People are so… stuck up here.” She shook her head. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“I-” San didn’t know what to say. 

‘Things won’t end well for you and Wooyoung.’

His feet were lead, his mind numb to the faint chatter of the marketplace. He knew this, but hearing it from someone else.. 

He needed to change the topic, to just.. forget. “There’s, uh, someone I wanted to find today,” he said. “She sold wooden carvings. I guess it was foolish of me to think she would still be here after all this time.” 

“You wanted me to meet her?” 

“I wanted to do magic for her.” 

A crease formed between Sena’s brows. “You’re too kind, San.” 

“You make kindness sound like a bad thing.” 

Sena smiled. “Sometimes it is.” She patted his shoulder. “Come on, we should start heading back.” She took his hand and led him away, pulling him back to the castle- back to washing floors and polishing armor. 

Back to Wooyoung. 

A pair of eyes caught them on their way out, trailing after the princess and the boy with the pretty pink hair.  

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung bit his lip as he pushed the door open. There was no reason to be nervous, but he couldn’t help it. He was finally going to spill his guts.  

“Yeosang?” he called out into the room. “Are you in here?” 

The King’s Ward lay stomach down on his bed. The quarters weren’t as extravagant as Wooyoung’s but it was nothing to scoff at. The room was spotless, unlike Wooyoung’s organized chaos, and the furniture was touched with silver instead of gold. Wooyoung scanned the room, looking for Seonghwa, but it didn’t seem like he was there.

“What do you want?” Yeosang groaned into his pillows. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

Wooyoung scrunched his nose. “I don’t understand how you can breath like that, let alone sleep.” 

“Magic, dipshit.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

Wooyoung walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He picked at the covers and closed his eyes, listening to the crackling fire in the corner of the room. 

“Yeosang, I want to talk to you,” he said. “It’s serious.”

“You? Serious?” Yeosang rolled over onto his back. His hair stuck out in unnatural angles, and Wooyoung would have laughed if not for the pit of anxiety brewing in his gut. “Alright, go ahead.” 

Wooyoung bit his lip again. Bad habits never die. He looked away, throat tight as the words formed in his head. 

“I-” he swallowed. “I think I’m in love.” 

Yeosang didn’t say anything, and when Wooyoung turned back to look at him, he realized Yeosang was holding back a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

“What’s so funny?” Wooyoung hit the side of Yeosang’s leg. “Stop it! I’m having a crisis.” 

Yeosang gave in, his laugh bright despite the lower tones in his voice. “I think you’re the last person to know, except San, of course.” 

“What?” Wooyoung stared at him. 

“I mean, that’s who it is, right? Unless this is some kind of half-baked confession,” Yeosang said. “And in that case, I must decline, because you’re obviously obsessed with San.” 

Wooyoung hit him again. 

“I am not.” 

Yeosang raised his eyebrows, and Wooyoung sighed. “Maybe just a little bit.” 

“That’s right.” 

Wooyoung fell sideways and groaned into Yeosang’s sheets. “I can’t take this anymore!” he bemoaned. “He’s driving me insane.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mphm. Guess where I saw him today?” 

“You see him every day, Wooyoung,” he answered with a shrug. 

“Yeah, but not like, this,” Wooyoung said. “He was in the marketplace. With Sena. They snuck out.” 

“Why were you in th-”

“Unimportant.” Wooyoung cut him off. “But they were holding hands.” 

Wooyoung heard Yeosang snicker, and he buried himself further into Yeosang’s covers. “Jung Wooyoung, are you jealous?” 

A pout formed on his lips. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was. Why didn’t San hold his hand when they walked together? Actually, no, that was a stupid question. But sometimes, he could swear he felt San’s palm against his, and every time he closed his fist around open air, it was a shock back to reality. It felt like San was falling through his fingers. 

“He… He’s getting really close with Sena,” he said. “I’m worried he’s going to hurt when she goes back to Essetir.” 

There was a small moment of silence as Yeosang thought over his answer. “I mean, he’ll probably miss her,” he said. “But if they are becoming friends, there’s no reason why she can’t just visit again in the future.” 

And then it came to him- the sudden realization that sucked the breath from his lungs, and he jerked back up. “You don’t.. You don’t think San will want to go with her, right?”  

Yeosang stared at him. “Are you really that insecure?”

“Yes. He’s.. he’s been off lately.” 

Yeosang blinked. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. Just let things play out.” 

“I don’t want to let things play out,” Wooyoung groaned. “She’s had an eye on him ever since she showed up! And… and she’s really pretty, and nice, and probably exactly San’s type. Letting things play out will only stab me in the foot!” he seethed. “And… she’s planting ideas in his head. The other day he threatened to turn me into a toad.” 

Yeosang cackled. “Wooyoung, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” 

When he walked into the room, for some, odd reason, Wooyoung was under the impression Yeosang would have all the answers for him. 

Apparently not. 

“Sangie?” 

“Yes?” 

“How do you know when you fell in love?” Wooyoung asked. “I.. I can’t figure out when it happened.” 

Yeosang answered with a sigh. “It’s different for everyone, Wooyoung,” he said. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure you’ve been whipped since you first met.” 

That did not make him feel better. 

“Thanks,” he drawled, sarcasm in his voice. 

“You’re welcome!” Yeosang chirped. “Now, can I get my nap in? We can talk about this more later.” 

Wooyoung groaned. “But I need to rant about San.” He swung over and crawled across Yeosang to grab a pillow before whacking it against his friend. “Stop sleeping, and listen to me!”

Yeosang flipped back onto his stomach and ignored him. 

Well, this was going great. 

“At least help me figure out what to do,” Wooyoung said. “I don’t think I can stop loving him. He’s too… He’s San.” 

Yeosang’s voice was muffled again. “Seonghwa’s good with this stuff. Go talk to him instead.” 

“What do you mean, ‘this stuff?’” Wooyoung wrinkled his nose.

“Being a sap.” 

“I’m not a sap.” 

“Do you hear yourself right now?” 

Wooyoung hit him with the pillow again. 

“Better yet, why don’t you— I don’t know— talk to San about this? I’m sure you’ll find you have a lot in common.” Yeosang said. 

“I hate you.” 

“Good.” 

Wooyoung smiled. 

.

Yes, Wooyoung had visited the marketplace. 

Was it a good idea? 

No.

Did he buy something nice for San? 

…Yes. 

Wooyoung found him in the library. That alone was quite strange; San was never the scholarly type (although, he did write one or two of Wooyoung’s speeches). His pink hair stood out among the dull colors of the room. Wooyoung must admit: the library was grand. It was beautiful. But he wished it was more than browns and varying shades of other murky colors. Even the lanterns above were pretty drab.  

San’s nose was buried in a book, a piece of parchment to his side and a quill scratching mercilessly as he wrote. He didn’t even look up when Wooyoung drew close. Wooyoung must really be going insane. San hated reading.

He leaned over San’s shoulder, holding his breath. 

“Boo.” 

San wrenched back with a yelp, and the back of his head knocked hard against Wooyoung’s forehead. 

Ouch. 

That hurt. He reached up and rubbed against the pain with a pout. 

“Wooyoung!” On the parchment, there was a dark line of ink across San’s chaotic handwriting. Wooyoung would feel guilty if not for his throbbing forehead. 

“Scared of ghosts?” 

San scoffed. “When they sneak up on me like that, yes.” 

A grin spread on Wooyoung’s face, and he ruffled San’s hair, who began sulking.. 

“You’re cute,” Wooyoung said. 

“And you’re an ass.” 

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep saying that?” 

“Until you stop being one.” 

God, I love you. 

“Okay… what are you doing, then?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Sena is letting me borrow one of her magic books for a day,” San shrugged. “We didn’t get much done in the lesson, so here I am.” 

Wooyoung bit back a sharp retort. He didn’t want San to know he saw them in the marketplace, but they definitely did not have a ‘magic lesson’ today. 

He peeked over at the book. It had a navy cover, and the bindings were falling apart. The pages were so fragile that Wooyoung wondered how they weren’t disintegrating under San’s fingers. It looked ancient. Wooyoung vaguely remembered it tucked under Sena’s arm at the field. 

“She really let you borrow that? It looks valuable,” Wooyoung said. “Be careful with it.” 

San rolled his eyes. “It’s perfectly safe with me. Plus, it’s only for a day.”

“Alright then.” Wooyoung pulled a chair back and sat next to San at the table. “Find anything interesting?” 

“Not yet. I’m still looking through the simpler spells,” San said. “I need to learn the incantations. When I try to do non-verbal magic, things go crazy about half of the time.” 

“That sounds like fun.” 

San hummed in response. He looked away, a hand scratching idly at the back of his head. “So… why are you here? I can’t imagine it’s just to break my concentration.” 

Wooyoung leaned back and stretched his arms up with a yawn. “I don’t know, I guess you could say I missed your company,” he said. “And I got you something from the market.” 

That got his attention. Wide eyes bored into him, mouth forming a small ‘o.’ 

“You bought me something?” San grinned. “Is this bribery? What do you want from me?” 

Wooyoung wanted a lot of things from San. 

“Nothing! I was.. I was just passing through and saw it.” 

San raised a brow, a smile playing on his lips. “Okay then, what did the crown prince of Sinsu decide to buy me?” 

Here goes nothing. Wooyoung had this planned since he got back. Years of studying battlefield strategy did nothing to help. But god dammit, seeing Sena hold San’s hand made Wooyoung want to hold his hand, and now here he was. 

“Close your eyes,” he said, and San followed suit. 

San still held the quill between his fingers, so Wooyoung gently pulled it away and took the back of his hand, pulling it a little closer. 

“No peeking.” 

San’s cheeks went pink as Wooyoung took out a bracelet and hooked it around his wrist. It was simple, but it reminded him of San. Wooyoung let his fingers lace through his, and thankfully, San didn’t question it. 

“Done,” Wooyoung said. “You can open now.” 

He smiled as San blinked his eyes open, tightening his grip ever so slightly. A leather band circled San’s wrist, held together by a small charm— a blue flower. He didn’t lie: he did see the bracelet as he was passing by. He immediately knew it was perfect. 

San didn’t have many material items, but Wooyoung hoped he would keep this one close. 

He waited with bated breath for a reaction. San was staring down, eyes flicking back and forth between the bracelet and their intertwined fingers. His lips parted, and a new idea crept into Wooyoung’s head- a terrible, terrible idea. 

“It’s nice,” San said, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Thank you.” 

Wooyoung beamed, and that bad idea stewed in his head until it was impossible to ignore. San had given him the perfect opportunity, and-  

Fuck it. 

He let go of San’s hand, momentarily mourning the loss before grabbing it from below. Wooyoung met San’s gaze then, heart stopping as he gently pulled San’s hand to his lips.

“It was my pleasure.” 

Hopefully, San wouldn’t know the gravity of what Wooyoung had just done.

. 

That night, San didn’t come to Wooyoung’s chambers. 

Instead, Wooyoung found Seonghwa at his door, and he immediately started spiraling. 

He crossed a line. The line. That’s why San wasn’t there. Oh god. Did he make San uncomfortable? Is that why he didn’t come tonight, of all nights to take off? Wooyoung had to be overthinking this, right? 

He didn’t regret it. 

No, San’s bashful state was enough to fuel Wooyoung’s happiness for the next week at least. Not only that, but he realized he needed to get his priorities straight. Their banter was fun, but nothing could compare to a flustered San. Wooyoung was already thinking of ways to replace insults with thinly veiled compliments. 

Yeosang had advised him to talk about his feelings (ew) with Seonghwa, but Wooyoung decided not to say anything. He had himself figured out already: He was in love with San; San and Sena may or may not have a thing going on; Wooyoung constantly wanted to throw her out of the castle, but then she’d turn around and be so nice. 

She was too nice. Suspiciously nice. 

Wooyoung couldn’t hate her the way he wanted to. They even had a nice conversation about the properties of armor the other day, of which she was strangely knowledgeable about. He may have learned a thing or two. 

Sena would look so badass in armor. Great- another thing to be jealous of. 

“What a surprise,” Seonghwa said. “I’m doing San’s job again.” 

Wooyoung sighed. “Where is he?” 

“With Sena. They’re testing if the time of day has any effect on magic.” 

Why wasn’t he surprised? 

“Let’s get this over with, then.” 

Wooyoung could tell this would be a long night, and his thoughts were going to keep him restless through the early morning hours. Seonghwa worked through his room quickly, unlike San, who would usually linger to talk or meander aimlessly as en excuse to stay. Wooyoung didn’t know if he wanted Seonghwa to stay longer or not, but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice. 

Before he knew it, he was stuck in his head, alone in his room, and lying on his back. San was probably still out with Sena making things fly or exploding something in the castle. 

Magic was weird to him. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. It was like one day, you think you know how the universe works, and the next, magic comes along and flips everything on its head. It was a scary thing to think about. Not only did they know almost nothing about it, but the possibilities were endless. Once it becomes more widespread, Beomseok will need to rewrite some laws and figure out how to keep it contained. 

Could you even contain magic? Was that the right thing to do? Wooyoung thought so— after all, magic was going to fall into the wrong hands eventually. It could be used as a weapon just as easily as a sword could. It may even be more practical. 

Wooyoung’s head hurt. 

At least San had something to defend himself with now. Wooyoung didn’t think he could use a sword or a crossbow, but magic could do the job. That extra security was worth letting him spend so much time with Sena. It gave Wooyoung a little peace of mind. 

Maybe he could try magic. Wooyoung didn’t think he had it in himself, but he could try. It’d be a good excuse to keep San closer, or to watch how he and the princess acted around each other. 

He was thinking too much again. He needed to slip away, to forget all of this for a few hours and let himself rest. 

He tried, but he was right— it was a sleepless night. 

Wooyoung woke up to bright pink and a sunny smile. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You didn’t show up last night,” Wooyoung said. 

San was leaning over him, dimples peeking through. Wooyoung blinked up at him with a slow swallow and shifted the covers higher. 

“Ah, sorry, I was with Sena,” San said. “She finally showed me how to do her fire trick. It’s fun.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

San pulled Wooyoung up to his feet, and he shivered against the cool air, skin prickling at San’s touch. No matter how many times San woke him up like this, Wooyoung would never get used to it. 

His servant walked to the wardrobe and shuffled through the clothes. Wooyoung could barely register all the words coming out of San’s mouth. It was all Sena this, Sena that. If Wooyoung had to hear her name one more time, he was going to tear his ears off.  

“San..” Wooyoung started. He walked up and tapped San’s shoulder. “I was thinking maybe.. you should spend a little less time with the princess.” 

“What? Why?” San whipped around to face him.

Wooyoung shifted on his feet. “There’s something off about her, San, and I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “She’s either fancies you or she’s using you for her own gain. I just know it.” 

“Wooyoung, she’s a friend, just like you are too. We’re fine. You don’t have to worry.” 

He did not want San to lump him in with Sena. Wasn’t their friendship stronger than that? She had only been here for a little over a week. 

“Well,” Wooyoung scoffed. “She obviously doesn’t want to be your friend.”

“What?”

“Do you know what she said before she healed you?” he asked. “She said you were pretty. She had ulterior motives before you even opened your eyes!” 

San’s eyes narrowed, and Wooyoung could feel his gaze burning against his skin. “Wooyoung, you’ve called me pretty before.” 

He did? Wooyoung didn’t remember. The voices in his head and the things he actually said out loud blurred together in one big, pining mess. But right now, he could feel anger, the resentment building up, and some twisted, dark feeling buried itself into him.  

“I’m different. I don’t.. I actually know you. And as your friend, I-” Wooyoung seethed. “Are you always this clueless when someone wants to get into your pants?”

San furrowed his brow. “Wooyoung, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You and Sena!”

San stared at him, his eyes picking him apart piece by piece. The room was quiet. Wooyoung could almost see the gears turning in San’s head.

“Wait, are you..  jealous?” San asked. Mortification slowly painted across his face, and Wooyoung froze. 

He knew. 

Wooyoung saw the look on San’s face, and he wished he could rewind time. He wished he kept his stupid mouth shut because now San knew. 

“Jealous? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung mumbled. He didn’t trust his voice right now. “I’m not.” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” San laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I could ask Sena to spend more time with you if you want.” 

Sena? Wooyoung spluttered, “You think.. You think I’m jealous of you?” He caught himself, carefully setting his expression back to a stony mask.

“I mean…” San’s gaze shifted to the small vase in the corner of the room, eyes slightly glazed over. “You ended up wanting to marry her, didn’t you?” 

Wooyoung almost laughed. “I couldn’t care less what she does. All I asked was for you to keep your distance,” he said. “You’re going to get too.. attached.” 

“Wooyoung, for fuck’s sake,” San shut his mouth and tilted his head to the ceiling, closing his eyes. His whole body moved with his heavy breaths, fists clenched. Wooyoung didn’t think he had ever seen San this.. held back. Angry, almost. “I can’t.. I can’t like her.. like that,” San seethed. “God, how long have you known me? I prefer men, you dumbass.” 

Oh.

Wooyoung’s world was falling apart again

Water slowly dampened his clothes, and a peasant with a pretty face sprawled across his feet. Snow whipped past his face on a trip to a fake life, where cuddles soothed the sting of unwanted obligations. And then there was a face in front of him, twisted in pain and shock, red blooming on his clothes. Pink hair fanned against blue flowers, lips only centimeters away. It all flashed by in an instant. 

‘I prefer men.’ 

Could he-? 

“S-San-” Wooyoung stepped forward and reached a hand out. 

“No. Young-ah... don’t touch me.”  There were tears pooling in San’s eyes, his pretty, pretty eyes, and his lips were trembling. Wooyoung was empty, cold. He wanted to pull the boy into his arms. And then the tears trickled past San’s eyes, lining his cheeks, and Wooyoung would do anything to make it stop. 

San dropped his gaze down to the floor. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m… I’m so tired, and you-” he choked on his words, fighting to take deep breaths. “Wooyoung, you- you’re a prince, and-” San shook his head. “You may like Sena now, but one day, you’re going to fall in love.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and his heart shot to his throat. He was drowning, air long gone and water pooling in his lungs. 

I already am. 

San’s breath caught in his throat, and the words were in his mouth, spilling into the space between them. “You’ll fall in love, and for once in your life, you’ll realize you can’t get everything you want,” he gasped out. 

...Oh. 

His own tears dropped then. Wooyoung didn’t even notice they were there. 

As cliche as it felt, his heart broke. It creaked open little by little as the words sunk in, San’s voice echoing in his ears. 

Because it was true.

And from the way San was acting, someone must have broken his too. 

That hurt the most. 

“I already know that.” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “San, are you in love with someone? Is that why..?” 

Is that why you’re crying now? Is it someone from Balor? Is that why you came to Sinsu? To run away? 

Wooyoung searched his memory of Balor for a recurring face: Someone handsome. Someone kind, or caring. Someone San deserved. Someone better than Wooyoung. But no matter how hard he thought, no face or name came to mind. That didn’t mean this mystery man didn’t exist. San was proof of that, in front of him. 

San hid his face in the crook of his elbow, only the top of his head visible now. “I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I really don’t know why I.. I swear I was fine a few minutes ago, but I suddenly..” He sobbed into his arm. “I didn’t mean to say that.” 

He didn’t deny it. 

No… 

Plea-

He choked up because of course San was in love with someone. Wooyoung’s muddy world had only grown brighter since meeting him, but San had always been that way. He tried to smile, but it wavered, suspended in a grief Wooyoung didn’t know existed inside him until now. 

He gently put a hand on San’s forearm, pulling him closer.  

And then San was in his arms, his nose against Wooyoung’s neck. Damp cheeks pressed into his skin, and Wooyoung held on tighter. He pushed his own feelings away. He needed to focus on San right now. “It’s okay, I should be the one saying sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know you were hurting this much.” 

“Me neither.” 

Wooyoung closed his eyes, his face tensing up. “Who… Who is it?” Even that simple question hurt like a stab to the side.

San didn’t answer. 

“I’m not going to pressure you to tell me, but.. you can if you want to,” Wooyoung sniffed. “I’ll put him in the stocks for you.” 

And I’ll get a few throws in myself. 

San laughed, broken and wet. “Thanks for that mental image. I’m sure he’d love getting pelted with fruit.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

San hiccuped. “I’ll.. I’ll hold you to that.” 

Wooyoung let himself cave in, pressing his head closer to San’s shoulder. He was indulging himself, he knew, and guilt gnawed at him as he pulled San closer, tighter. He felt San’s hands flat against his back, and he sighed. 

It would be so easy to give in, to lean close to San’s ear and mumble a quick ‘I love you,’ but then San’s shoulders were shaking and Wooyoung’s heart hurt again. 

“I really am sorry,” San said. “I guess it’s been building up for a while, but… but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. You have… more important things to worry about.” 

Wooyoung let a hand creep up and bury itself in San’s hair, lightly pulling in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Think of it like this,” he said. “A prince should listen and care for his people. You’re always doing that for me, so let me do my job for once.” He walked them back to the bed, sitting at the edge, and San pulled away to sit next to him, shoulders hunched. San leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped at the back of his neck, head tucked down. “Tell me about him,” Wooyoung said.

San was silent for a moment, and for a second, Wooyoung thought he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t know if he wanted San to answer. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear about the man who could have had everything Wooyoung longed for. 

“He..” San spoke up. “He doesn’t love me back.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes, and if his own tears silently fell, then San didn’t have to know. How could anyone not love San? He was… he was San. As much as he hated it, Wooyoung knew the words coming out of San’s mouth had to be bullshit. 

“How can you be sure?” Wooyoung asked, proud of how steady his voice came out.. 

“I don’t think he’s interested in.. men,” San said. “And he.. he can’t, and I-” He paused for a second. “I just love him so much, and it hurts.” 

Wooyoung knew exactly how San felt, except now it was worse because San liked men, and Wooyoung still wasn’t good enough. Even now, he could feel his heart twist, and San was right. It hurt. 

“Is he in Balor? Sinsu?” 

“I’m not telling you that.” 

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispered. “That’s okay.” They settled into silence, 

San suddenly stood up, and Wooyoung jumped a little. “Can you… Can I send Seonghwa up for the rest of my duties this morning? I don’t… I don’t think I can...” San hiccupped through the words. 

Wait. 

“Are you leaving now? I can help.” 

“No, you can’t.” 

There was no way Wooyoung was letting San leave in this state. He grabbed San’s arm and pulled him back to the bed. It was easy, like there was no fight left in him to struggle.

 “Lie down,” Wooyoung ordered.

“W-what?” 

“I know it’s early, but take a nap. You’ll feel better.” 

Teary eyes met his, and Wooyoung’s heart broke for the hundredth time. 

“You want me to sleep here?” San asked, and Wooyoung nodded. 

“Lie down.” 

He pulled back the top of the covers, and San hesitated before crawling over and collapsing, head falling back against Wooyoung’s pillows. San curled into himself, and Wooyoung let himself indulge in the sight before wrapping the blankets around his servant. 

“Stay as long as you want,” he said. 

San nodded.

Wooyoung went to the door and asked the guards to fetch Seonghwa.  

.

Seonghwa was a lifesaver. 

Not too long after he showed up, the King requested Wooyoung’s presence in the throne room, like Wooyoung didn’t already have enough going through his head. 

Seonghwa had walked into Wooyoung’s rooms with a irritated huff, but after seeing the top of San’s head peeking out from under the covers, he only raised a curious brow. Wooyoung shook his head, and the matter was closed. Seonghwa didn’t ask questions, and Wooyoung was grateful for his silence. 

Which brought him to the throne room.

Wooyoung remembered the last time he walked through those doors, and he internally cringed. At least, courtesy of Seonghwa, he looked decent this time, and he wasn’t tracking dirt on the floor. 

The guards had doubled over the past few weeks, and Wooyoung had to walk past more than a dozen pairs of eyes on the way there. 

Just like last time, they announced his name, and the doors pushed forward only to slam shut once he walked in. 

Wooyoung prepared himself for the worst. 

His father was looking out the window, leaning his side against the wall. There was a contemplative gleam in his eyes. He didn’t seem stiff or hostile, even, like the last time. Just from walking in, Beomseok already felt more like the man Wooyoung grew up under than the one he knew now. 

Besides him, the room was already empty. 

The King turned his head. “Wooyoung.”  

Wooyoung knelt down on a knee, glancing up. “You asked for me, father?” 

His nerves settled then, looking up at Beomseok. He had only spoken a word, but the King felt so different from before. He almost seemed grave, or no, a better word would be peaceful. The aggressive lines on his face were gone. 

Wooyoung stood and waited. 

The King turned fully towards him and leaned back against the wall, the throne sitting empty in front of him. “I’ve had some time to think,” he said. “About our kingdom, and about you.” 

Our?

“It’s rare for a king to utter these words, but as your father, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry this arrangement didn’t work out. I do believe you two would have been phenomenal together.” 

Oh. He was talking about the marriage. Wooyoung stared at him. “Father, with all do respect, I don’t think that’s true. Sena and I aren’t very.. compatible.” 

The King sighed. “I met your mother on the steps of this castle, as you did with Sena,” he said, a small smile on his face as he looked back out the window. “I was just as stubborn as you are, but our marriage was the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

Wooyoung didn’t know much about his mother. Beomseok never talked about her, and there wasn’t a lot of information written about her. All he knew was that she died in childbirth, and a few people in the castle spoke fondly of her. They never went into detail, though. 

“She gave me you, and she gave me much needed companionship through… difficult times,” Beomseok didn’t wait for Wooyoung’s thoughts to catch up before continuing. “You will need someone, Wooyoung. It’s not easy to rule alone. Impossible, even.” 

The question was on the tip of his tongue. He had asked it before, when he was little, but the only reply he got was silence and a cold shoulder. 

“What was she like?” he asked, gulping down his expectations. 

But this time, it seemed like Beomseok was ready for it. “She was fierce. Smart. I lost many games of chess to her,” he said. “And she was kind. You have her heart.” 

Wooyoung dropped his gaze, feeling a small loss for someone he never met. 

The room was silent now, but Wooyoung didn’t find it uncomfortable as he gathered his thoughts. This conversation didn’t feel… real. He had walked in expecting a verbal beating, and instead he was getting information he knew he would hold close with him forever. 

When he was little, he liked to think his mother would be kind, that she would smile and take care of him if she were alive, or maybe she was taking care of him from wherever death takes you in the end. Beomseok’s simple words felt oddly like a confirmation of that. 

“It’s the serving boy, isn’t it?” Beomseok’s mouth was a thin line. “The one who walks around my castle with pink hair.” 

What? 

Wooyoung stared at him again, and he could feel the blood roaring in his ears.  “What do you mean?” he asked. Because, yes, he needed Beomseok to clarifying what exactly he was asking. 

The King stumbled forward and sat on the throne, eyes narrowed in thought. Wooyoung waited with baited breath for his reply. 

“I’d order you to cut him out of your life, but I know you won’t listen to me,” Beomseok said. “So instead… I’ll tell you something else.” He paused, chest heaving with a harsh breath. “Cherish him while he’s still in your life, Wooyoung. People don’t stay forever.” 

Wooyoung’s mouth fell open. He took a second to process the words, to fully understand what his father had just said. That was the closest thing he’ll ever get to a blessing, but it was enough. San was a man. San was a servant. And still, his father said… 

This had to be a dream. 

“You’re a good son, Wooyoung,” Beomseok said. “My greatest pride, even when you make childish mistakes.” 

Wooyoung swallowed back a noise of surprise, a small smile touching his lips. “Thank you.” It came out in a whisper. 

“When you grow older, you’ll make a fine king,” Beomseok said, and Wooyoung’s heart swelled. “Sometimes, I wish I could tell you that more often.” 

When you cry in the morning, the tears carry with you through the rest of the day. They sit there, right behind your eyes with the smallest hint of pressure, and Wooyoung could feel them gathering still, threatening to spill. 

Wooyoung never cried this easily. He had gone entire years without a single tear touching his cheek. It was like San unlocked something in him. Something about him made the dam break, and hearing those words had the same effect on him. 

He blinked and kept it in. 

Beomseok visibly swallowed. “The Essetirians are planning something within our walls, Wooyoung,” he said. “Without the marriage, these peace talks are going to end in war.” 

Wooyoung took a deep breath. “Do you want me to ready the knights?” 

“No, it hasn’t come to that yet,” he said. “Sungho’s delegation is leaving Sinsu in two days now, Wooyoung. However, Sena has requested to stay and work with our scholars.” 

“Is that a problem?” 

Beomseok paused. “It depends. Do you think one person can topple a kingdom?” 

“If used correctly,” Wooyoung said, thinking over each word. “But Sena is fine. She’s smart, but she’s warm-hearted. She’s… a friend.” 

Beomseok shook his head. “She’s the enemy now, Wooyoung. Don’t forget.” 

Sena… an enemy.

“Do you really believe we’re going to war?” 

“If they don’t want the marriage, then why are they in my castle?” Beomseok thundered. “They came for information. They came to see if we had magic too, and now they’re leaving behind their trump card to deal some damage on their way out.” He grit his teeth. “It’s what I would do in their position.”

“Oh.” 

“They played me like a fool, all because I wanted to find you a good wife,” he said. “I made a mistake, Wooyoung.” He leaned to the side and coughed into his arm. “Sixty years ago, the Essetirians ordered the assassination of my uncle. I had hoped it would stop there, but it seems they’ve developed a taste for Sinsu blood.” 

“It could be worse,” Wooyoung said. “They’re leaving Sena behind. That means,—if it comes to it—we could hold her in the castle and keep her magic away from the battlefield.” 

Beomseok considered this, jaw tensing up until he gave in and nodded. “Keep guards around her chambers,” he said. “And I want either you or a knight to have an eye on her at all times when she’s walking free. At the first sign she’s up to something, secure her in the dungeons until we figure out their plan.” 

Wooyoung nodded. He felt a new kind of adrenaline then. 

Did the Essetirians really use peace talks as a guise to brew war? Is that why Sena was never too concerned about the marriage? All of this made Wooyoung’s head spin. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to worry about managing this on his own for another decade or two.. or three. He’ll hopefully be well versed in all things political by then. He still had time. 

San wasn’t in Wooyoung’s rooms when he walked back in. That was okay. Wooyoung had enough to think about. 

The day passed quickly, and eventually, the sky began to darken with no sight of San. Wooyoung expected Seonghwa to knock on his door again when he heard footsteps shuffling outside, but it pushed open instead, silent. 

Well, fuck. 

Wooyoung was at his desk, looking over old reports.  San stood awkwardly in the doorway, a hand on the back of his neck.

 “I’m sorry for earlier,” he mumbled. “And… thank you. I guess I was a little overwhelmed.” San chuckled. 

Wooyoung smiled. “It’s okay. How was you nap?” 

San shifted on his feet, glancing to the side. “It was… nice,” he said. “I think that’s the softest bed I’ve ever slept in.” 

“I’m the prince. Of course it’s nice.” Wooyoung felt their usual dynamic already slowly returning, and he slumped back a little. “How do you feel?” 

“Better.” 

That’s good. Wooyoung didn’t think he could ever stand seeing San cry like that again. It fucking hurt. 

He smiled, or, he tried to. San could probably see right through it. “Thank god.” At least the relief was genuine. 

San walked over to the desk, glancing over the papers. “What are you working on?” 

It was nothing, really. Wooyoung just needed to take his mind off things, to make himself feel productive. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to... to do something.” 

San hummed. He looked over at the dining table and the empty plates on top. “Did you already eat?” 

“Yeah.” San didn’t bring his meal in that evening. It was one of the servants that never smiled. Wooyoung tried cracking a joke, but it seemed his sense of humor needed some work. “Just need to go to bed now,” he said with a yawn. San nodded and crept around him, pulling at the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt. 

“Do you want me to stick around?” 

Over the months, that had become code for ‘do you want me to stay in the room until you fall asleep?’ 

No. Wooyoung had a better idea. 

And so far, his plans had been going great. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to stay the night. To sleep,” Wooyoung raised a brow and tilted his head back to look up at San. “I mean, since you liked the bed..” 

He could see San’s brain malfunction at his words, fingers stilling at his shirt. “I thought we already said it’s a bad idea,” he spoke slowly. 

“You said it was a bad idea. I didn’t get a say.” 

San chewed on the inside of his mouth. “But your dad-”

“Already knows we’re close friends. As does the entire castle at this point,” Wooyoung said. “Are you really going to make me say it?” 

“Say what?” 

He sighed. “I miss the cuddles.” He brought his chin down, not wanting to see San’s reaction. He was sulking now, a pout on his lips.

San finally pulled up on Wooyoung’s shirt. He lifted his arms to let it come off smoothly. And then there was a heavy hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, warmth bleeding into his skin. “Is this an order?” San asked. 

“More like an invitation.” 

They settled into silence, and Wooyoung’s eyes slipped shut when it became apparent San wasn’t going to take him up on the offer. It was a stupid plan, really. The hand holding thing may have worked, but tempting San with a soft bed was a little too far fetched. He’ll have to think of something new.

“Okay.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes whipped open. 

Here lies Jung Wooyoung: death by his own scheming. 

San pat his back. “Go lie down. I’ll be there in a second.” 

Shit. 

Wooyoung stumbled to his feet and didn’t dare looking behind him until he was on the bed. San was puttering around the room, collecting things off the floor and extinguishing candles as he went. Soon, the room was bathed in darkness and Wooyoung’s thudding heartbeat. 

San slipped in beside him, and Wooyoung contemplated why he was doing this to himself. San made it very clear he was interested, if not in love with some mystery person, so why the hell had Wooyoung just coaxed him to cuddle? 

He stared at the ceiling, hyper aware of San’s movement next to him. Wooyoung had planned for this to happen, yes, but he didn’t actually think it would. 

“Why do you keep your room so fucking warm?” San sat up, startling Wooyoung for a moment, and shrugged his own shirt off, letting it fall to the ground. Wooyoung turned away, on his side, and gulped. That was a lot of skin to process right now.

“You’re the one who keeps the fireplace lit all the time,” Wooyoung said. He felt a sharp jab against his back, and he winced. San’s hand smoothed over it before turning Wooyoung back around to face him. 

“I thought you wanted to cuddle?” 

Whew. Hearing it in San’s voice did things to him.

San pulled him a little closer, and Wooyoung was going to die. Right then and there. 

It was an entirely new experience when you know you’re in love.  

San was his safe place, legs tangled together and arms wrapped tentatively around his waist. He was back in Balor, the aroma of warmth and security enveloping him.

Dammit, he wanted to cry again. 

Wooyoung was getting used to the dark, so he indulged himself. He stared straight ahead, eyes lingering on the discolored patch of skin on San’s chest- a reminder of how close he had been to loosing him. He splayed a hand against it, hiding it from view. 

San brought an arm between them and cupped the bottom of Wooyoung’s chin. His attention shot up at the touch. San’s features were blurred by the dark, but his eyes were bright. They were always bright. 

Soft lips pressed against his cheek, and Wooyoung held his breath. 

“Payback for what you pulled in the library,” San mumbled, his eyes slipping closed. He pulled Wooyoung tighter against him, tucking his chin over Wooyoung’s hair. 

If Wooyoung died earlier, he was ascending now. 

“Goodnight, Young-ah,” San said, and Wooyoung’s heart twisted. 

Lately, Wooyoung wondered what it would be like—what it would feel like—to be loved by San, to be his. And now, he thought, it would feel a lot like this. 

. 

Everything happened as Beomseok said it would. King Sungho and the Essetirian delegation left Sinsu, leaving behind Sena to study with the scholars. Wooyoung doubled her guard. 

Other than that, the days passed without incident. 

The only significant change was with San. 

He still went off with Sena doing god knows what every day, but now, he had practically moved in. After the first cuddle night, there was no way Wooyoung was going to let San pretend it never happened. Nope. He wanted it to become a daily thing- part of the routine. 

And it did. 

Mornings were different now. San woke him with hands pressed against his cheek or wrapped around his torso. Once, Wooyoung had woken first, and he was blessed with the task of waking San up first. It was disgustingly cheesy, but Wooyoung couldn’t control the way his stomach flipped over that. 

Wooyoung began to question the existence of ‘Mystery Man™.’ After all, San never said it wasn’t Wooyoung, right? A small hope began growing, and paired along with the conversation he had with his father, things were beginning to look up for him. 

Could it really be Wooyoung? If it was, then he was the reason San broke down earlier. That knowledge would haunt him for a very long time if it was true. 

But the benefits. Oh, the sweet benefits. 

Sena had requested for them to dine together, San included. It didn’t seem.. suspicious,  but Wooyoung dreaded it. They were a strange trio, and Wooyoung imagined it would be full of tense silence and stilted conversations. 

But to his surprise, the dinner was going well. It wasn’t as awkward as Wooyoung thought it’d be, and he found himself actually enjoying it. He got to spend more time with San, and they had never dined together outside of Balor. It was nice. Sena and San were sitting side by side and across from Wooyoung. 

Sena wasn’t talking. Maybe that’s why Wooyoung felt so relaxed. 

Wooyoung found himself on his second glass of wine, laughing at something San had just said. He knew he was beaming across the table, but it’s not like he had anything to hide. Sena already knew he and San were close. Even his father knew, and the King only really lived in his chambers, the throne room, the council rooms, and occasionally the great hall. 

Someday, Wooyoung will have to adopt that lifestyle too. It’s funny, how the more power you have, the smaller your world becomes. 

He pushed his empty plate away, replacing it with his elbows on the table. He wouldn’t call himself a lightweight, but the wine felt especially potent tonight. He rested his chin on his hands and let himself get lost. 

San’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair stuck up in odd angles. His glass was almost empty, hands fidgeting against the table. Sena had barely touched her drink, Wooyoung noticed. She probably thought they were idiots. She was definitely sober while he and San teetered on the edge of drunk. 

It was very tempting to ask her to leave. Drunk cuddling sounded fun. Maybe San would kiss his cheek again. 

He felt warm and slightly fuzzy, the slight buzz of the alcohol taking away the negative thoughts. In hindsight, he probably should have noticed the way Sena was acting and the regret she didn’t even try to hide on her face. 

They were having a nice conversation about Seonghwa’s obsession with cats when San suddenly froze. Beside him, Sena flinched and closed her eyes. 

Wooyoung watched with curiosity as San’s pupils blew wide and his mouth dropped open, a small whimper falling from his lips.  If his mind wasn’t so clouded, Wooyoung would probably be up on his feet and panicking at the sound he just made. How could such a small noise sound so pained? 

“I’m sorry, I just.. I realized how pretty your eyes are,” he heard San say. 

Wooyoung blinked. San wasn’t looking at him anymore. No.. He was turned towards Sena. 

What? 

Sena wasn’t meeting either of their eyes, a weak grimace on her face. And finally the alarm went off in Wooyoung’s head.

Something’s wrong. 

“Can I…?” San gently took her chin in his hand with a smile. Time slowed down, and Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. 

His world stopped turning when San leaned forward.  

San was kissing her. 

Wooyoung looked down, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he jerked away.

He swallowed, biting his lip and pushing down what suspiciously felt like a sob building in his throat. If he broke down crying now, San would never let him hear the end of it, but Wooyoung was going to be sick. 

Why?

His chest tightened, and he let out a slow breath. . 

He thought… after the past few days, he thought he had a chance. There was a small part of him that really believed…

‘I prefer men.’

Well, so much for that, now. 

San muttered something onto her lips, and Wooyoung felt something dark twist in him, an iron grip on his heart. He wanted to pour acid over his ears, over his eyes, like that would rid the image from his head and force the sound from his memory. 

‘You’ll fall in love, and for once in your life, you’ll realize you can’t get everything you want.’

God, if only he knew. If only he fucking knew. 

They weren’t stopping. Wooyoung needed them to stop. He needed San to stop. He needed— 

“San,” Wooyoung managed to choke out. His voice was hoarse, just as strangled as he felt inside. 

San’s head snapped up, as if breaking out of a trance. He stared at Wooyoung, brows slowly drawing forward in confusion. Wooyoung could do nothing but stare back. He fought back the tears that still threatened to fall and mentally begged San to say something, to explain what the hell he was doing. 

Wooyoung opened his mouth, but nothing would come, the corners of this lips stuck in a frown and his bottom lip quivering. 

Sena placed a hand on San’s upper arm, eyes on Wooyoung with a sad smile. “Sannie, let’s take this somewhere else, okay?” 

Sannie? 

Even Wooyoung didn’t call him that.. That nickname was Nala’s. It seemed special to them, and hearing it from Sena’s lips was.. It was wrong. 

Surely San could tell Wooyoung was upset. He wouldn’t leave him there at the table alone, right? San always knew when something was wrong, like some strange, sixth sense. When Wooyoung started spiraling, he was always there with a hug, a smile, and soft words pressed into his ear. 

But at her voice, San’s expression grew harder to read. He gave Wooyoung a syrupy smile, his lips red. It didn’t reach his eyes, and Wooyoung wanted to throw up. This was wrong. 

“Okay,” San said, his voice making Wooyoung want to hide from the world, to hide from whatever this was. 

San broke his gaze away from Wooyoung, and his confused eyes grew soft when he looked at her, his smile growing more genuine, more familiar. It was the way San usually looked at him. 

If that didn’t hurt enough, San did stand, Sena at his hip, and Wooyoung watched them leave with fists clenched so tight he knew there would be crescents marring his palms when he woke from this nightmare.  

Maybe San will see them in the morning. Maybe he’ll take Wooyoung’s hands in his own and know. He’ll know the effect this had on him. Maybe then he’ll take Wooyoung into his arms and tell him it’s alright, that this really was just a dream. 

But instead, he stared at the empty table. Wooyoung wanted to scream, but he should’ve known. 

He should have known that San was too good to be true, that there was no way someone as good as San would love an arrogant, prattish, stupid prince. 

So he stared blankly at the table. He stared, and it could have been minutes, hours, before he moved again, his whole body numb. At some point, he found himself on his bed, curled into himself. He didn’t know how he got there, only that it was cold. 

It was empty.

[lynnt1ny]

You're Magic To Me: Ch. 7

Chapter Directory | Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 7 WC: 10.7k

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing? After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.   --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

The Beginning of the End

Smoke clogged his lungs. It crawled down his throat and built in his chest. 

Wooyoung stumbled as he made his way through the flames. The sky was a blazing fire. It was everywhere. Tendrils of flame licked at his feet as he tried to get away, pulling at his clothes and dragging him down. 

It didn’t burn, but he could feel the heat. Sweat dripped down his face. It pooled around his temples, and no matter how many times he wiped his brow, it would not go away. 

The sound was the worst. Wooyoung’s ears filled with crackling fire, the roar drowning him. It was a monster, howling across the flat land, an overwhelming threat. It cascaded around him in a never-ending loop.

He wasn’t wearing armor—thank god. He’d be cooked alive in the metal, and, frankly, he didn’t know how he was still alive now. Instead, he wore his usual attire, with expensive materials sticking to his skin as he ran to find a breath of fresh air. 

Something snagged his foot, and he fell hard, palms crashing down in front of him to break the fall. The ground was covered in vines, shriveled and animated. They fed the flames and kept them alive. 

They moved, tangling over Wooyoung’s body and holding him still. Panic climbed up Wooyoung’s throat, mingling with the smoke and fighting against it. His breaths came in sharp gasps, and he fought against the vines keeping him locked in place. He needed to get out of here. He needed air. 

How did he get here? How do you get out? It was all the same: smoke swirling in the air, vines snaking across the ground, flames leaping out at him. It was hell. 

He tore himself free and stumbled back to his feet. Was he alone? He lurched forward and yelled into the inferno. Sparks and embers flew past his face, yet to burn his actual skin. Was it magic? He could feel soot and ash sticking to him, his face, his clothes. He let out another yell, but the only response was the rumble of fire around him. 

Where was the castle?  Where did everyone go? 

In past executions, they used to burn people, but even Beomseok saw the inhumanity in it. This must have been what it was like. 

He had almost given up when he saw it. A mound of land loomed before him, its land green and clear of the blaze. He gasped and stumbled towards it. The flames grew more frantic, the intensity building. It ate away at his clothes, and tears gathered in his eyes as he began to feel the burn. It spread from his lungs, the searing pain that came from inhaling smokey air, and fuck, it hurt. He sunk to his knees before it. 

The hill stretched high above him, an immovable obstacle. He clawed at the shrubbery, desperately clutching for a handful of anything to keep him from being dragged down. His soot-streaked hands came away blue, petals sticking to the sweat on his skin. A chill ran down his spine, and he tore his gaze up the stretch of the hill. A figure stood at the top, watching. Their hair was light, reflecting the shine of the fire. In his desperation, Wooyoung couldn’t make out the figure’s face. It was shadowed, darkened by the surrounding chaos. Wooyoung reached a hand out, a cry for help on his lips, but the figure turned away from him, and they left him to writhe at the bottom of the hill. 

.

Wooyoung stood by the entrance of the castle. The courtyard spread out in front of him below a rise of steps, and his father was a statue by his side. Guards surrounded them, eyes cast to the front gates. 

It was a bright day. The dregs of snow that still lingered behind sparkled against the cobblestone, and Wooyoung found himself constantly moving his eyes, as looking in one place for too long made them burn. 

Despite his warm clothing—a thick, red wool shirt laced in the front—, Wooyoung shivered. The sun was blinding, but it lacked its warmth. He focused on keeping himself still. 

This day came faster than Wooyoung expected. A small party was passing through the gates on horseback, the clap of hooves discordant against Wooyoung’s ears. A few servants tread by their sides on foot, weary from the long journey. 

The Essetirians had arrived. 

Wooyoung met eyes with who could only be Princess Sena. She sat tall astride a white horse, and her pale clothes were untouched by dirt. Long locks of wavy, dark hair fell past her face, which was all sharp lines and plump lips. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and from where Wooyoung stood, he could see a dark cloak draped across her shoulders. 

She was beautiful.

To her side, King Sungho sat tall and regal on his steed. He was younger than Beomseok. Gray had yet to touch his hair, and he possessed an air of strength. Wooyoung glanced at his father from the corner of his eye, but he remained impassive, the usual stony mask covering his face. 

Wooyoung eyed the Essetirian soldiers surrounding the two as they all dismounted. His knights could take them easily if a skirmish were to break out. At least, he thought they could. His judgement may be skewed from bias and hopeful outcomes, but the soldiers were the stocky, brawny type of men who lacked the speed and quick thinking Wooyoung prided his knights in having. 

But he must admit, the soldiers were an intimidating sight at first glance, with their heavy builds and bulky equipment. 

With a tilt of his head, Beomseok began walking down the steps, two guards trailing behind, and Wooyoung cautiously followed them. Beomseok greeted King Sungho with a handshake and a formal welcome, but Wooyoung tuned out of their conversation almost immediately. 

The Princess stood in front of him now. Up close, she matched his height, and he noticed the clear blue of her eyes. They were unusual, and they only added to her visual. 

Wooyoung should be delighted. He should be happy to have a beautiful bride. 

These days, happiness was far away, and no matter how fast he ran to catch it, it was always ten feet ahead. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. 

“Likewise.” Her voice was smooth and melodious as she offered a small hand to him. Wooyoung gently took it and brushed his lips over her knuckles. It was a standard greeting between two of the same rank, but knowing what would become of them, it felt oddly personal. Wooyoung wanted to run away. 

Their fathers were in deep conversation, and around them, horses were being led to the stables and bags taken from their saddles. The Princess smiled. It was sickeningly sweet, but a small part of his brain thought maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to see it every day. 

“Is there a servant to show me to my rooms?” she asked, and Wooyoung’s heart plummeted. 

He isn’t here.

Wooyoung tilted his head down, shaking off the voice in his head. 

“I thought I’d accompany you myself,” he said. 

“Then lead the way.” 

Wooyoung nodded and turned to the entrance of the castle. 

Her chambers weren’t too far from his own, and its interior was the same, minus the few touches of Wooyoung that only existed in his own. It was a pleasant living space, fit for a princess. Sena seemed satisfied upon walking in. Wooyoung glanced nervously back at the door. 

“Shall I leave you to rest?” Wooyoung said. “It must have been a long journey.” 

She shook her head, “Actually, I was wondering if you’d stay for lunch. We should get to know each other, Prince Wooyoung.” 

“‘Wooyoung’ is fine. No need for formalities,” he said. 

“And the same applies to me. You may call me ‘Sena.’”

Wooyoung nodded, and he bit his lip. He very much did not want to have lunch with her today. He had other things to do: People to visit, feast preparations to complete before tomorrow evening. He’d have plenty of time to talk to her after. He could put it off for a bit longer. 

“I’m afraid I have other duties to attend to. Perhaps another time?” 

Wooyoung couldn’t read the look in her eye. She didn’t seem to take offense, so maybe it was curiosity? When she didn’t reply, Wooyoung took a hesitant step back, and with an awkward bow, he stumbled slightly out the door and sped away from her room. As getaways go, it was far from clean. He didn’t care. 

He had somewhere to be. 

He heard Hongjoong sigh as he pressed the doors open- the small clink of glass and the scratch of a quill followed. Hongjoong was sitting at a desk, and Wooyoung wondered what had him so deep in thought. Wooyoung’s random visits to the physician’s chambers have been common for the past few days. 

San was on his side, facing the doors. No one believed he would make it, but the way he avoided death was a miracle Wooyoung didn’t want to question. San’s own stubbornness must be at fault, and he thanked god for it. Hongjoong had left the quarrel in for the longest time- something about how taking it out would kill him faster than just leaving it in. But eventually, he took the risk of removing it. There was blood everywhere, and Wooyoung could only watch from the corner of the room with bated breath and grit teeth. Hongjoong let him in because they all thought it would be San’s last day. Even Yeosang came in and took Wooyoung’s hand, squeezing his fingers tight. 

That was yesterday, and somehow, San was still alive. 

“Hi, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said. “How is he?” 

“Still breathing. I think. You might want to check for yourself.” Hongjoong returned to his glasses and papers, barely sparing Wooyoung a glance. 

Wooyoung knew this nonchalance was Hongjoong’s way of giving them privacy, and he internally thanked him. He made his way over to the cot, eyes catching on the bandages wrapped snug around San’s upper chest, blossoms of red blooming through. Hongjoong would have to change them soon. San’s eyes were closed. They’ve been closed for the past three days. 

He knelt down and took San’s hand. His fingertips brushed across San’s wrist, and he closed his own eyes, the fluttering pulse keeping him anchored to the ground. 

He didn’t realize how much he loved San’s voice until it was gone. He had been going through his days purposefully avoiding any thought of San. But every once in a while, he expected to hear a sharp quip, or a small chuckle, and he would turn his head and find no one there. It was exhausting. It choked him up, making him drown in air. 

“I can’t believe you’re pulling through this,” he muttered, his grip on San’s hand growing tighter. “How are you so strong?” He reached out to touch him—his cheek, the bandages, the bare skin of his stomach, anything—, but he stopped, his hand curling into a fist. 

Eyes settled on him, and he looked back over at Hongjoong, who turned his head away so fast he must have gotten whiplash because a wince quickly followed it. His papers lay abandoned on the desk. 

Knowing Wooyoung caught him, Hongjoong sighed. “Sorry,” he said. He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you like this before.” 

“Like what?” 

Hongjoong gave him a faint smile, and he paused, thinking for a moment before he spoke. 

“Afraid.” 

Wooyoung almost laughed. “Hongjoong, I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid in my life.” 

With a slight shake of his head, Hongjoong stood, the abrupt movement almost toppling his chair over in a fight against gravity. “I’m going to… run errands,” he said. “Stay as long as you like.” 

Wooyoung nodded and returned his attention to his servant. He was so serene in his sleep. Wooyoung wished he would just open his eyes. San was close, but he felt so, so far away. He was untouchable, even as Wooyoung laced their fingers together and held San’s skin against his. Faintly, he could hear Hongjoong puttering around the room, doing his rounds before leaving them alone. 

Hongjoong opened the door with a slight exclamation, and Wooyoung froze. From beyond Hongjoong, he caught a glimpse of a stumbling figure with long locks and piercing eyes—Sena was there, behind the door. 

Wooyoung slowly leant back, taking his hand away from San and already missing the contact. He gulped. Of course, of all the people it could be, it was her. Fuck, he didn’t feel strong enough for this right now. He wanted to be with San, alone, with no one there to see his vulnerability. His shame. 

Sena was going to look at him and know something Wooyoung himself wasn’t ready to accept. 

“Ah, apologies. I came to speak with the Prince,” she said. “I’m Princess Sena, from Essetir.” 

Hongjoong gawked at her, but he offered his name before stepping to the side. He looked back at Wooyoung before giving him an awkward thumbs up. 

Wooyoung couldn’t hold back the wince. 

The physician ducked out of the room, and Wooyoung could hear his footsteps clapping against the stone flooring. Soon, it was just the two of them alone, or three, if Wooyoung counted the labored breathing of San behind him. 

“I must admit, I followed you,” Sena walked towards him, gliding through air. With a head tilted up, she scanned the room, taking in the organized chaos of Hongjoong’s workplace. Her eyes roamed around before latching on to Wooyoung’s tense shoulders and the body that lay behind him. 

She whistled under her breath. “That looks painful.” 

Wooyoung pressed his palms flat against the cot and kept his fingers from curling into fists or grabbing San’s hand again. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, and while his words did not waver, they did nothing to hide the panic that lay building in his chest. 

Suddenly, she was next to him, kneeling down and nudging him to the side. Wooyoung startled from her close proximity, from the warmth that radiated from her. He stared as she brushed a thin finger over San’s cheekbone. He held himself back from pushing her away.

“Who is this?” she asked.

He didn’t have an immediate answer. That was the golden question, wasn’t it? Who was San to him? He wasn’t sure, but there was no way he’d let Sena catch on to that. 

Ever since he learned of this marriage, he tried not to think about San and his bride… coexisting. Interacting. He wanted her to like him. He wanted her to be San’s friend too. He wanted her to let them stay the way they were now. 

Beomseok’s words wouldn’t leave his head, though. 

‘She’s cunning. She’s willing to make tough decisions. She fills in the qualities you lack’

Wooyoung didn’t think San would like someone like that. San was all soft edges and small kindnesses. 

Sena was still waiting for an answer Wooyoung didn’t want to give, so he offered a half truth. 

“He’s my servant.” 

If the words surprised her, she didn’t show it on her face. 

“You refused to dine with me to instead kneel by your servant’s side?” 

Oh god. Wooyoung didn’t have an excuse. Sena caught him red-handed. What was he supposed to say? 

His silence was a response in itself, and she shook her head. “In most cases, I would take this as an insult.” 

As she probably should. 

“You’re lucky he’s pretty,” she mumbled, and Wooyoung’s world froze in place. His jaw threatened to drop to the floor, so he clamped it shut. The words didn’t process correctly in his brain. They went through one ear and out the other, and the only thing it left behind was a resounding ‘what the fuck?’ 

She brushed a hand against San’s upper arm before trailing to the bandages, and as if Wooyoung hadn’t screwed up enough, he itched to tear her hand away and physically get between them. 

“Wh-What are you doing?” Wooyoung stuttered through the question as she teared the bandages, jolting Wooyoung out of his stupor with her sudden movement. San let out a small whimper in his sleep, and Wooyoung caught her wrists. “What are you doing?”  

She glanced over at Wooyoung, her blue, doe eyes wide. “He’s going to die,” she said, tilting her head toward San’s body. 

“No, he’s not. He’s gotten through the worst of it.”

Sena shook her head. “Listen to the way he breathes,” she said. 

Wooyoung had been ignoring it ever since he walked in- the almost inaudible rasp of San’s breath, like each was a harder struggle than the last. “It’s okay. He’ll be fine.” 

“So you’re that kind of person? Ignore it and it’ll go away?” She pushed Wooyoung’s hands away. “I know we just met, but you’ll have to trust me.” She returned to San’s bandages, pulling at the cloth and tearing them away from his skin. 

He wasn’t… He wasn’t ignoring it. She.. 

She tore the last piece off, and Wooyoung had to look away. He had seen many injuries. He had given people injuries. 

He didn’t like seeing it on San. For the first time in many long years, he was reliving his first execution, that same feeling returning and bile rising in his throat. 

Sena made a noise of disgust. “What happened to him?” She pressed a few fingers over the wound, hands lightly placed on his chest. 

“Crossbow bolt in the back,” he mumbled, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. 

“In the back?” She rose off the floor and tilted San towards her, eyes scanning the torn skin that mirrored his front. “How is this man still alive?” 

Wooyoung didn’t have an answer. 

She shook her head with a huff. “Do not break my concentration, or he will die.” 

Wooyoung furrowed his brows. What was she trying to do? 

She began muttering words under her breath, and Wooyoung didn’t understand what was happening until her eyes glowed gold and San’s breathing eased. 

She had magic. 

God, she really had magic. 

Wooyoung clenched his hands into fists as she spoke, holding his breath. After what seemed like forever, San’s skin knit together like nothing. San whined, the sound burning into Wooyoung's memory, but Sena was… she was healing San right before his eyes. 

Sena fell back onto her legs, and Wooyoung caught her against him. Her breaths came heavy, and Wooyoung leant her gently against a table behind them. 

“Is he…?” 

“He’s fine. He’ll wake up hungry and confused.” 

Wooyoung’s head snapped up and looked over at San in wonder. A discolored patch of skin replaced the wound, the only remaining evidence being small traces of dried blood. Wooyoung ran his fingers over San’s chest and found only smooth skin.

“It’s a miracle,” he whispered. 

Sena closed her eyes. “It’s magic.” When she opened them again, the gold faded back to blue.

And then Wooyoung wanted to cry because San was okay. He wasn’t going to leave him. Magic wasn’t going to leave his life that quickly, not after he’d just found it. The fear that had been building up, the chasm that grew below his feet over the past few days slowly disappeared. Everything was going to be okay. 

Wooyoung stared at San’s face. His features seemed softer. They had been so tense earlier, but now that his breath evened out, San was pouting in his sleep, the curve of his lips taunting him. About what, Wooyoung didn’t know, but they were always taunting him, teasing him. 

Behind him, Sena sat up, her own fatigue already dying away. Wooyoung shifted in front of her, closer to San. Now, more than ever, he wished he was alone. Yes, she saved him, but Wooyoung was selfish. He wanted to lie his head on San’s chest. He wanted to brush his fingers in his hair. He wanted his face to be the first thing San saw when he woke. Sena’s presence was a barrier. 

“You can wake him now. He’ll be good as new,” Sena said, and Wooyoung gulped. With shaking fingers, he flicked the top of San’s head, and if he used it as an excuse to briefly run a hand over the spot, then Sena didn’t have to know. San grimaced, but he didn’t wake. Wooyoung pushed San over flat on his back and shook his shoulders. 

Wooyoung’s throat was dry as the muscles tensed under his hands, and his breathing grew slightly uneven in the anticipation. Behind him, Sena moved, nudging Wooyoung out of the way and settling back at San’s side, breaking their connection. A scream of frustration threatened to escape his lips, but he clamped it down. 

San’s eyes fluttered open, and Sena loomed over him, Wooyoung dejected and sitting by his legs. San lifted his head slightly, groggily looking up at Sena above him. 

“Uhh,” he slurred, blinking slowly. “Hi.” 

Wooyoung sighed inwardly at the sound of San’s voice. 

Sena chuckled. “Hello. What’s your name?” 

“San.” 

Sena smiled, and Wooyoung winced. San looked entranced. Either that, or he was still half asleep. Knowing his servant, it was probably the latter, but the image still burrowed its way into Wooyoung’s head. It hurt, though Wooyoung refused to acknowledge why. 

“I’m Princess Sena,” she said, and San’s eyes grew comically wide. 

“O-Oh!” San startled. “From Essetir.” 

“Yes,” she smiled again. “I didn’t know the servants here were so handsome.” 

San blinked, and Wooyoung held his breath. “You should see Seonghwa,” San said. 

Sena was obviously preoccupied, so Wooyoung let his fingertips fall against San’s hip. He was needy for attention. San hadn’t even acknowledged him yet. His fingers threatened to clamp down and squeeze. 

Did… was San mad at him? The idea struck him at once. He should be. This was all Wooyoung’s fault, after all. He didn’t think he could handle an angry San and keep his composure around the Princess, so he dropped his gaze, staring where his hand brushed against the side of San’s hip. 

They were still talking. Words drifted in the air and went right over Wooyoung’s head. He didn’t bother to listen in until he heard his name fall from San’s lips. His head snapped up, and there San was, staring at him and leaning back on an elbow, slightly propped up. 

Sena was watching him as well with an eyebrow raised. “I think I will retire to my quarters,” she said. “I’ll see you both at the feast, I presume?” 

“Yes, of course,” Wooyoung replied, and he awkwardly cleared his throat. “And thank you. For healing him. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” 

“This... alliance will be sufficient,” she said. She rose to her feet and nodded before walking away. 

Finally. 

Wooyoung shuffled over and smoothed a hand over San’s chest, his fingers burning where skin met skin. His composure finally broke, and he sighed, a half whine escaping his lips. San wrapped a hand around Wooyoung’s wrist. 

“You okay?” San asked. 

No. “Yes.” 

San blinked. And he smiled. Wooyoung wanted to hide. “She seems like a handful,” he said. 

Wooyoung shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. She only arrived today.”  

San hummed, and Wooyoung’s fingers curled against it. “She’s really pretty,” San mumbled. 

You’re really pretty too. “I suppose so.” 

“Your kids will be so beautiful.” 

Wooyoung choked. 

“Please, never say anything like that again.” 

“What? It’s the truth.” 

Wooyoung bat a hand against San’s chest, but his stomach dropped immediately after. Was San fully healed? Did he just hurt him? Oh god, oh- 

“If you really can’t get out of this marriage, you could at least try to find something positive in it,” San said. “I know it sucks, but she seems decent, and-” he looked down at his chest and laid a hand against Wooyoung’s, brushing over the discolored patch that used to be covered in blood. “She’s magic.” 

You are too.

Wooyoung didn’t want to look on the bright side. He wanted everything to stay the same. What happened to the San that told him to marry for love? What happened to the San that egged him to defy his father? 

“I don’t want to marry her,” Wooyoung said. “You know that.” 

Leaning back down, San closed his eyes, and Wooyoung kept himself from physically pulling his eyelids back open. They had been closed for far too long. Wooyoung wanted to see his eyes, to get lost in them. 

Wooyoung wanted so many fucking things he couldn’t have, couldn’t do. 

“This would be so much easier for both of us if you did want to marry her,” San mumbled. “As your friend, I mean, watching you go through with this.” 

“Yeah.” 

He couldn’t believe he was talking to San- a living, breathing, perfectly fine San. He almost pinched himself to break out of this dream, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go back to walking the castle corridors with a piece of himself on a deathbed. 

“San?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Never do that again.” Wooyoung let his head drop onto the cot. His face smushed against the soft material, the top of his head against San’s arm. He left his hand where it was, though, underneath San’s. It was childish, but he didn’t want San to see the tears welling in his eyes. “Never put your life before mine,” he said, his words muffled. 

San was quiet, and for a second, Wooyoung thought that was that and everything was settled. But then he spoke up. “You’re the Prince, Woo,” he said. “If it comes to it, I’d gladly do it again.” 

And at that, Wooyoung almost let out a sob. San was willing to drag him back through hell, and Wooyoung didn’t want that. He couldn’t. 

“San,” he said. “If I dropped dead right now, how would you feel?” Wooyoung lifted his head and watched San’s eyes change, a slight furrow to his brow and a part between his lips. San shook his head slightly, but Wooyoung continued. “That’s what I’ve had to live through for the past few days.”

 San’s hand tightened over his own. “Trust me, it’s not the same.” 

“Just promise me you won’t do something like that again. That’s all I want.” 

“I can’t.” 

Wooyoung pressed his lips together in a straight line. “Then I guess no more hunting trips for you.” 

San groaned. “Thank god. I can finally get a break from you.” 

It was a change of subject, an open invitation to return to their light-hearted banter. But there were so many things swirling in Wooyoung’s head, so many things he wanted to talk about—the magic, the hole San left in his chest, Sena, his father.. So many things. 

“Can I go get some clothes? And some food? I’m starving.” San shot up, startling Wooyoung away. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and frowned, stretching as his blood flow returned and the stiffness in his limbs grew apparent. Wooyoung offered a shoulder to lean on, but San ignored it. Wooyoung’s heart ached a little at that, but that was okay. 

“Can we scare some people? Pretend I’m the walking dead?” San picked up his old bloodied shirt Hongjoong had left strewn across a chair. 

Wooyoung fought the urge to bury his face in his hands and scream in frustration. This man was insufferable. 

But on second thought, the look on Yeosang’s face would be priceless. 

“Fine.” 

.

It was the day of the feast, and the castle corridors were a jam of bodies, people rushing to finish preparations. Wooyoung usually spent these mornings bored out of his mind. On days of festivities, it was customary for royalty to stay out of public eye until the event begins, which meant Wooyoung was stuck in his room for the entire day. 

San was… he was giddy. Throughout the day, the excitement buzzed off his skin as he made his way in and out of Wooyoung’s rooms. It was contagious. 

Seeing San up and on his feet had been a shock for everyone. Seonghwa nearly fainted, and Wooyoung never laughed harder in his life. To San, it was like his injury never happened. After a full meal and a night’s rest, he was back in top form- the same, bubbly San. Magic truly was amazing. 

When the grueling afternoon blurred into the hours of evening, San opened the door one last time. Wooyoung was half asleep on his bed. He was grateful for the extra rest the day brought, but he thrived off of human interaction and physical activity. He longed to be out training with the knights or just watching as preparations were being made. At least, he’d get his fair share of it at the feast.

So his heart leapt when the door opened, for a few different reasons. Yes, he’d finally get out of this cage, but god, San had just walked in looking fine.  

He wore a usual peasant’s shirt—long sleeved and cream colored, laces haphazardly tied to keep its v-neck intact—, but there was something different. San’s hair was usually floppy, untamed and left to the mercy of outside elements. Now, though, he used a paste to gloss it back, a dark swirl casting a shadow over one eye. As San grew closer, Wooyoung could make out dark smudges over his eyelids and a shimmer over his cheekbones, his lips pinker than they ought to be. 

He swallowed back a greeting in fear of cracking his voice. 

A bundle of clothes was in his arms, and Wooyoung knew it was finally time to get ready for his appearance at the feast. 

“That’s new,” Wooyoung gestured to his face. “You know only the women wear cosmetics, right?” 

San shrugged, biting a lip and looking away. “Sena insisted it would look good on me.” 

Sena? 

Sena was going to be bad for his health. “You’ve been… with Sena today?”

“Yeah! I never really thanked her for… the whole magic thing, so I went and our conversation got a little carried away,” San said. “Don’t tell anyone, but I found Hongjoong’s stash of makeup. It’s quality stuff too.” 

Great. Just great. He was happy San and Sena were getting along, but he didn’t need this. San was perfectly fine before. 

But Sena was right. He did look good. 

“I got your outfit fresh from the tailor!” San said. His eyes were sparkling, and there was a bounce in his step. He dumped the material onto the bed and pulled Wooyoung to his feet. “You’re going to love it, but I don’t have that much time to fix you up. I might have to rush through some things.” 

Wooyoung gulped as San invaded his space. Too close, too close, too close. 

San’s eyes, while always bright, were intense as his fingers fumbled against Wooyoung’s shirt. He sighed. “Can you get this off yourself today? I really don’t have time.”  

Wooyoung nodded, breathing again when San pulled away. He didn’t realize he had stopped. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” San said. 

“And you’re... “ Wooyoung trailed off, words escaping him. “You’re wearing makeup.” 

You’re so pretty I want to jump out the window. 

San gave him a strange look. “Are you… okay?” 

“Half asleep.” 

“Fair.” 

Wooyoung shuffled out of his shirt and prayed his blush wouldn’t show through his skin. San turned back with a white button down in his hands and threaded Wooyoung’s arms through the sleeves. Wooyoung had millions of these shirts. This was normal. Completely normal. 

San worked to button the shirt, fingers brushing lightly against Wooyoung’s stomach, and his touch-starved ass almost leapt out of his own skin. San’s lips glistened with product, and lord have mercy, Wooyoung wasn’t getting out of there alive. 

Once Wooyoung was fully dressed, San spun him around and pushed him across the room to show him in the mirror. He brought his arms around Wooyoung’s waist, hooking a chin over his shoulder. “Look at you,” he purred, and Wooyoung clamped his lips together to keep himself from smiling. 

Over the button down, he wore a dark blue velvet vest with silver linings and flowers twisting at the hems. A similarly colored cloak draped over him, the same silver petals woven along the edges. It fell in front of him on one side, the other hooked behind his shoulder and bunching underneath San’s chin. It was clasped in the middle with his family’s crest, an iron dragon holding it together. 

“The tailor told me you need to wear the circlet,” San said. His chin dug even deeper against Wooyoung’s skin as he spoke. Paired with the heat against his back and the picture they made in the mirror, Wooyoung melted on the spot. 

“Of course. I’m the Crown Prince, and this is a formal event,” he said. 

“I’ve always wanted to see what you looked like in it,” San said, unaware of what his words were doing to Wooyoung’s heart. 

“Go get it then.”  It didn’t exactly fit Wooyoung’s attire for the night, but there’s nothing he could do about that. 

The circlet had a permanent spot in Wooyoung’s room. It rested in the back of his wardrobe, only taken out in times of importance. In San’s second week as his servant, he had pulled it out unknowingly, and Wooyoung scolded him endlessly about it. It was a delicate thing, all silver swirls and red gemstones. It was ironic, how strong they wanted him to be while his crown was so fragile. They placed this circlet on his head when they named him Crown Prince. It was symbolic, a mark of his title, a taste of what he’d become.

San had it looped through his own arm now. It rested at the crook of his elbow, and he held a brush and a tube of paste in either hand, a goofy smile on his face. 

“Your hair is always so messy, Young-ah,” San said, and Wooyoung’s face grew hot. 

“Whatever you say.” 

San sat the items on the floor by Wooyoung’s feet and dragged a chair over in front of the mirror. As Wooyoung sat, San picked up the brush, twirling it between his fingers. Wooyoung’s eyes were drawn to the movement, and his heart flipped in time with it. 

This was normal too. San always fixed his hair. This was nothing new. He was used to San’s fingers in his hair, working through the knots and tangles. 

Jung Wooyoung, this was nothing new. 

He bit his lip to keep a noise from escaping his lips. He watched in the mirror as San set down the brush, pinching playfully at Wooyoung’s ears. 

“Are you excited for the feast?” San asked. 

Was he? Wooyoung wasn’t sure. He had been to so many of these throughout his life. It was his first with San, though. San would be a constant presence behind him, available at his beck and call to refill his wine goblet or do his wishes. So yes, he may be a little excited. 

“Not as much as you,” he said. “You’re practically bouncing off the walls.” 

“You should see the great hall, Wooyoung! It’s amazing.” 

Sinsu knew how to throw its feasts, and the decor was always over the top. When he was younger, Wooyoung loved it. He thrived on the ostentatious. That was before his father began cracking down on him: his studies, his duties to the kingdom.. the works. 

“I can assure you I’ve seen it all before,” Wooyoung said. 

San shook his head. “Not like this.” 

Wooyoung furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ll see,” San said. “They let Sena out of her room.” 

“What?” 

San shrugged and giggled behind a hand at Wooyoung’s shocked expression. “I can’t wait to see your face.” 

Wooyoung would shake his head, but San was setting the last few strands of hair in place. He didn’t do anything particularly special with Wooyoung’s hair, not like the swirl in his own, but Wooyoung was still in awe. Even if he didn’t feel like a prince, San certainly made him look like one. 

The last piece was the circlet. His eyes tracked every movement as San picked it up. His hands paused, and for a second, Wooyoung thought San would place it on his own head. Wooyoung wanted him to. He wanted to see San with his colors, his gemstones in his pretty hair. A delirious part of him wanted to shove San into the chair and do it himself, to set the jewelry on his head and tell him- 

‘This is what you could look like if you were mine.’ 

Wooyoung froze. What the fuck? Where had that come from? His heart-rate picked up, his breath suddenly uneven. He- 

San sat the circlet on Wooyoung’s head, and his train of thought trailed away. He met San’s eyes in the mirror, something unreadable in his face as a solemn silence took over the room. San’s knuckles were heavy against the back of his neck, and Wooyoung reached back and took San’s hands, placing them flat on his shoulders. He stared at the mirror, and a prince and his servant stared back, nothing more. 

Someone knocked on the door, and San drew away, almost tripping over his own feet. “I think that’s our cue to leave!” 

Wooyoung kept his eyes on the mirror, the space behind him now empty. 

.

Wooyoung had to admit, the great hall was pretty nice. 

Yeosang had always called it ‘the great hell,’ but walking in now, it was the furthest thing from hell. The room was vast, almost cavernous. Wooyoung always tried his best to avoid the great hall due to its proximity to the throne room, but alas, seeing it now, he may go back on that idea. 

It was long, with windows running along its sides. The room was lit by a mass of floating white orbs- Sena’s work, he presumed. It cast an eerie, wintery glow around them, their shadows constantly shifting against the stone architecture. 

They arrived after the main crowd, so people were settling in by the time they walked in. At the end of the room, three long tables sat on a slightly raised dais, forming an open square. Beomseok and King Sungho were side by side, and further down, Sena sat with an empty chair next to her. Important advisors and court member took up the rest. On the floor, two long tables and benches stretched along the sides of the room for castle residents and the rest of the Essetirian delegation. The center of the hall was packed with people of all types, but would later be emptied for entertainers. 

The warm aroma of roast and wine already filled the air, as well as the chatter of guests and the clink of glasses. Everyone wore bright colors and expensive materials, save for the servants. Besides the magic above their heads, it seemed like any other Sinsu feast. Wooyoung mentally prepared himself for a night of sitting up straight and playing the role. 

San was enamoured, though. As he walked behind Wooyoung, he stared at everything with wide eyes. He reached up and tried to touch an orb as it hovered over his head, but his fingers passed right through. 

Wooyoung sighed and began walking to the dais, smiling politely along the way. The bounce had returned to San’s step, and Wooyoung felt like he was leading a dog on a leash. 

He reached the end of the room and bowed quickly to his father before taking the seat to Sena’s side. She wore a lilac dress, her body swathed in silks. Her dark hair was pinned up, and her jawline almost rivaled San’s. She noticed his presence and gave a slight nod before smiling back behind him. 

“San! You took my advice!” 

San smiled and brushed a hand against the back of his neck, eyes lingering on Wooyoung. “Yeah… I did.” 

“It looks good,” she said. 

When did they get so cozy with each other? Wooyoung scrunched up his nose. If only they had let him out of his room… 

“It’s good to see you again, Sena,” Wooyoung said, trying to take his mind off of it. 

“It’s good to see you too.” 

San fidgeted behind him and scanned the room, probably looking for Hongjoong or Seonghwa. Yeosang hated these events, and he made it a point to never show up until the last moment. His empty chair was on the other side of the room. Beomseok learned early on that it was never a good idea to keep Wooyoung and Yeosang in close proximity during these kinds of things. 

Wooyoung sighed. “San, go get it out of your system. Just keep in mind your break will be shorter.” 

San smiled and left the table, quickly mingling into the crowd. Wooyoung imagined he was picking food off plates as he went by, much like he did Wooyoung’s daily meals. That man was a menace. 

“He’s something special,” Sena said, and Wooyoung’s head jerked up. 

“He’s my servant.” 

She turned her head to the side. “Yes… and no. He said you are friends.” 

Friends. Yeah, they were friends, but Wooyoung thought there was something more. At least, he felt it. He didn’t understand it, and he couldn’t find the words to describe it. Yeosang was his friend. San was both that and more. 

“I guess you could say that,” Wooyoung said. “It’s a bit unorthodox, but yes, we’re friends.” 

Sena leaned back and smiled. “A prince and a servant.” 

“It’s not my fault. He has that… friendly aura. It’s impossible not to befriend him.” 

“I see what you mean,” she said. “It helps that he’s attractive too.” 

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. Her jewelry gleamed at him from the soft glow of the hall, and he struggled to keep his focus on her face. “You… you do know they plan for us to marry?” 

Sena shrugged. “You befriend who you want, and I’ll marry who I want. If it happens to be you, then great,” she said. “I’m keeping my options open.” 

Wooyoung gaped at her, and she glanced over her shoulder at the Kings. “If it’s just between us…” she began, then stopped, biting her lip. 

“No, do tell me what’s on your mind.” 

She shook her head. “It’s best you don’t know.” 

Wooyoung furrowed his brows. Why… why were the Essetirians here then? In Sinsu? Beomseok thought they were here to marry Sena off, but from the way she spoke, that didn’t seem the case. There was something off about this. 

“Well, I’m glad. Although, my father will need to know the change of plans,” he said. “I’m afraid he put me under orders to court you.” 

Sena sighed. “That’s what we’re here for- blindly following orders,” she said. “Sungho is under the same impression, so let’s not let it leave the table, okay? We can find a way out of it when it comes to it.” 

“O-Oh. Okay then.” 

Real eloquent, Wooyoung. 

But now, as far as he could tell, he was a free man now! They could find another way to seal the alliance, right? This wasn’t quite over, but he was happy to pretend it was for now. 

A horn sounded, and the center of the hall cleared out as people swarmed to the tables. Servants came and served the first course, and Wooyoung wondered where the hell San had gone. His absence would draw unwanted eyes, and Wooyoung wrung his fingers, not yet touching the roasted meat in front of him. 

He needed a drink. Or maybe talking to Sena would be a good distraction. Now that he knew they were not getting married, it’d be easier to befriend her. She seemed nice enough; at least, she had healed San knowing he was only a servant. Wooyoung would be in an entirely different mindset now if she hadn’t shown up. He.. He didn’t even want to think about it, so he pushed it to the back on his mind. 

“The lights are very beautiful,” he said. 

Sena smiled. “Yes, I suppose so.” 

“How did you learn magic?” Wooyoung asked. 

She thought for a second. “Well.. I think the better question is, how did you make it possible?”

“I didn’t.” 

She paused while cutting her food. “You must have done something.” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “No, I don’t think I did.” 

There was a small loll in the conversation before she spoke again. “Essetir has an archive of preserved magic books. They’re forbidden documents, restricted only to the royal family.” She brought a piece of meat to her lips and chewed. “Once I realized magic was back, I did some studying.” 

Magic books? With spells and incantations? She must have used that to heal San. 

“Did you bring any to Sinsu?” 

She nodded. “But only few people can do magic, Wooyoung. You have to already have it in here.” She tapped her chest. 

“I think San does.”

“What about me?” San’s voice piped up, and Wooyoung almost shot out of his chair. He twisted back, and there San was—all dimply and pretty. He was leaning forward, trying to get an ear into their conversation, and Wooyoung overestimated the space between them. 

Wooyoung froze, almost knocking their heads together. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared at San’s wide eyes in front of him, their smokey edges carving a spot permanently in Wooyoung’s head. 

And then they were back in the clearing, blood spilling between his fingertips. San’s eyes were half lidded and blank, lifeless, and Wooyoung’s world was falling apart. 

He gulped and quickly turned away, smoothing his palms against the table. “I was- I was telling Sena about your magic,” Wooyoung said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. 

“My magic?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” Wooyoung took a sip of wine. Hopefully, a few glasses will take the edge off his nerves. San made him too jittery nowadays. 

“San!” Sena suddenly exclaimed, and Wooyoung almost jumped again. “I could teach you!” 

San beamed at her, and Wooyoung didn’t know whether to yell in joy or run out of the room. San was already a menace, but with magic? Actual, practiced magic, spells and all? Wooyoung was going to go insane. 

In the center of the room, a bard had set up on a stool, and he began playing on a lute, spinning tales of dragons and castles and knights. Wooyoung slouched back and gazed at him, purposefully ignoring the chatter behind him. San and Sena were gushing about magic, and all it did was make Wooyoung think about San with gold, sparkly eyes. 

What if San began doing his chores with magic? He could probably snap his fingers and Wooyoung’s chambers would be magically cleaned. That would be nice, but that also meant Wooyoung wouldn’t have an excuse to keep San there anymore. He felt so conflicted. 

And Sena. Wooyoung didn’t want to think about them spending too much time together. There was still something… fishy about her that Wooyoung couldn’t put a finger on. 

San sat a hand on his shoulder, idly playing with Wooyoung’s cloak as he laughed at something Sena said.  

Wooyoung took another sip of wine. 

This was going to be a long night. 

(。-`ω´-)

San was having the time of his life. 

Yes, he almost died, but that paled in comparison to finding out he had magic. At least, he thought it did. His crossbow incident would have affected him more if his memory was intact. All he could remember was the pain. Everything else was a complete blur. 

Wooyoung was shaken up. Like, really shaken up. He spaced out a lot, and his eyes kept lingering on San with something like fear. It was like constantly looking at a kicked puppy. San wanted to pull him in to his arms and tell him everything was alright. He didn’t. He had to stop touching Wooyoung so much. 

He gave in a lot, though. Sometimes he could help himself. Wooyoung would walk by, and San would automatically poke his side. And in return, Wooyoung would look at him with tense eyes and a slight frown. Kicked puppy all over again. 

San kept daydreaming about Balor, too. He kept seeing Wooyoung laughing in the kitchen with his mom (Wooyoung thought he was being so sneaky, but San caught him more than once in there). He kept seeing him playing with the village children and burying his face in San’s neck. He kept seeing him happy. 

At least Sena seemed really nice. Wooyoung got really lucky with her. The feast finally ended, and after a quick farewell, San followed a slightly tipsy Wooyoung back to his rooms. 

“Had a bit too much to drink, sire?” San laughed as they crossed the threshold of the room, quickly closing the door before Wooyoung made a fool of himself in front of the guards that were still posted outside his rooms. 

“Not as much as I should have.” Now alone, Wooyoung slumped against his front, hands latching onto San’s elbows. 

San would be lying if he said he didn’t steal a few sips of wine himself. He, too, thought he should have stolen more. The slight fuzziness in his vision disagreed. 

San hummed. “I’m sorry, Woo, but I don’t think I can draw a bath tonight. I could bribe Seonghwa to do it if you want.”

“Don’t want Seonghwa to bathe me, want you…” Wooyoung slurred through his words, pulling tighter. 

San squeezed his eyes shut. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Wooyoung was drunk. He was a lightweight. Okay. San filed the information away for later. Wooyoung was drunk, and he was spouting nonsense now. 

San wrapped an arm around Wooyoung and walked him back to his bed, sitting him down onto the side. 

“Okay, Young-ah, I’m going to get you ready for bed, and before you know it, I’ll be back in the morning with a glass of water for you. Is that okay?” 

Wooyoung didn’t respond, and San pulled away. Wooyoung had that kicked puppy look again, like he was somewhere far away. He stared at San’s face, eyes wide with unspoken terror. San patted the side of his face, hoping he’d break out of it. “Hey, you’re okay,” he whispered.  Wooyoung’s gaze dropped. 

San gently unhooked the cloak, letting it drop from Wooyoung’s shoulders. “Woo?” 

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” 

“Hmm, okay.” 

San avoided Wooyoung’s eyes and reached up. His fingers lightly traced over sharp edges before he took the circlet off Wooyoung’s head. It was light, but it felt heavy in his hands, like it really did hold a burden in its silver swirls. He pulled away. 

“Put it on.” 

San froze in place and gaped. “Huh?” 

“Put.. Put it on.” Wooyoung’s head drooped slightly. “I wanna see.” 

 San narrowed his eyes. “Why? So you can make fun of me?” 

“No.” 

Wooyoung didn’t say anything else, so San sighed and dropped it on his head, slightly askew. He felt ridiculous, like he was playing pretend. Was this how Wooyoung felt when it was on his head? San doubted it. Wooyoung was… He was regal. San could barely restrain himself from touching him during the feast, from rubbing his back or combing his fingers through his hair. It was torture, but the best kind. This circlet was made for Wooyoung, and him only.

“Happy now?” San asked, and he finally met Wooyoung’s eyes again. He wished he didn’t, though,  because the look on Wooyoung’s face sparked that small, infinitesimal hope that Wooyoung could ever love him back. 

He had to remember Sena. He had to remember the marriage. 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung breathed out, and San moved to take the circlet off before Wooyoung shook his head. “No. I want you to keep it.” 

“What?” San furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Take it with you.” 

Now that was ridiculous. He couldn’t.. take it. It was a fucking crown. And he was a servant. 

“Wooyoung, I can’t. The guards-” 

“Stuff it down your shirt. I don’t care.” Wooyoung fell back against the sheets with a sigh. “Just take it.” 

San couldn’t fathom the amount of trouble he’d get in if the guards found a royal crown stuffed up his shirt. He’d be executed. Damn. And Wooyoung wasn’t thinking straight. 

“Okay,” he said. He could slip it back in the wardrobe while putting away Wooyoung’s clothes. He seemed drowsy enough not to notice. This’ll be fine. 

He took the circlet off and set it to the side. 

Hopefully, Wooyoung wouldn’t find it. He never looked in his wardrobe, anyway.

.

San was learning magic today! 

He could barely contain his excitement as he made his way down to the training grounds. Sena had asked him if there was an open, secluded spot close to the castle, and the field of blue flowers immediately came to mind. He wished the castle had a garden. One would think it would, but Beomseok apparently didn’t think it was important. 

It would be nice, though. 

Wooyoung was stuck in a meeting with his father and King Sungho. Sena somehow weaseled her way out of attending, not that San was complaining. 

Wooyoung definitely was. That was all he could talk about all morning. 

‘I can’t believe they let her out of it! She’s a snake!’

They were going to have a few martial problems to work through. 

Sena was already waiting for him, sitting at the base of the hill and frowning at the flowers around her. Her hair was in a braid, and she wore a light yellow dress. San wished he had brought a blanket to keep the dirt away from it. In his defense, the prospect of learning magic clouded his thoughts, and he didn’t think ahead to this point. 

“Hello!” he chirped, sitting down beside her. 

“Hello, San,” she smiled. “Are you ready to learn?” She had two books on her lap, worn from age and falling apart. There wasn’t anything about them that looked particularly magical, but his excitement spiked. 

“Yes!” 

Sena laughed. “Alright then.” 

She opened the book on top and begin talking. “Wooyoung said you’ve done magic before. Do you remember what it felt like?” 

San shook his head. He had been too delirious to process what was happening after he got shot. 

“That’s okay, I can still work with that,” she started. “When you want to use magic, you have to pull it out of yourself. It’s a well, and all you need to do is tap into it.” She held her pointer finger up, and a small flame lept from her nail. “Magic requires spoken word, or spells. This is the extent of nonverbal magic I can do.” She pulled it back, looking away. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to do more with practice.” 

San soaked in every word, eyes brimming with excitement. “That’s amazing!” 

He genuinely didn’t believe this was happening. Magic.. 

“Magic also requires intent,” she said. “You have to know what you want, and you have to really want it. If you have nothing specific in mind, it could go out of control, and who knows what’ll happen.” 

“Got it.” 

Sena nodded. “Good. Let’s start with something simple, then.” She picked up one of the flowers. “This is a nice, pretty blue, right?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Not anymore. Let’s turn it pink.” 

An unrestrained grin broke over San’s face, and he practically glowed. “Okay! Okay, what’s the incantation?” 

She pointed to a line in the book, and San leaned over to get a good look. “Read it to get a feel for the words first, and then I’ll try to explain how to get the magic working,” she said. “The language is tricky, and you might feel silly doing it, but familiarizing yourself with the words helps before actually using the magic.” 

She was right. The letters were scrambled in an odd phrase, but he tried to make his best with it. 

“Ferien er lyserød..?” 

Nothing happened, but he didn’t expect it to. He looked up to get confirmation from Sena, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open, a look of horror on her face. 

“Is… Is there something wrong?” San felt his heart racing as he looked around, trying to figure out what spooked her. Was his pronunciation that bad? 

“San…” she brought a hand to her mouth and began giggling. “Fuck.”

San gaped at her. His body froze, and he stopped breathing. Oh god. “What’s wrong? Did I… Did I do something?” 

“Your hair.” She began laughing in full force, verging on hysterics. 

“My hair?!” He pat his head, and thank god it was still there. He sighed in quick relief, but then he saw it from the corner of his vision. He paused and stared. And he remembered the original purpose of the spell.   

“OH MY GOD.” He was going to have a heart attack. He did not just turn his hair pink. “That was magic? I didn’t feel a thing!” He frantically ran his hands over his head, hoping it would wipe off. Judging from the expression on Sena’s face, it wasn’t working. “Fix it! Sena, fix it!” 

She cackled. “No, I don’t think I will.” 

Didn’t she understand?! Wooyoung was going to see this! San would never hear the end of this. He laid back on the grass and groaned. 

“Don’t worry, San! You look good! It suits you.” Sena patted his knee, and if she meant for it to be comforting, it wasn’t working. 

San stared at her. “I am not walking around like this.” 

“Then you’ll have to change it back yourself.” 

“And risk walking around bald?” 

Sena laughed again. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

(。-`ω´-)

The meeting was boring, but what else was new? 

They discussed borders, trade, and taxes today, and they forced Wooyoung to just sit through it. 

How fun. 

He sat and let his mind wander, falling back to old habits as his foot tapped idly against the floor. His back ached from sitting too stiff for a long period of time, and he considered making San give him a massage. 

Great. Now all he could think about was San’s hands on his shoulders, his back. He wanted to grab them and press small kisses to San’s knuckles. 

And who could stop him? San didn’t mind Wooyoung’s touch. In fact, he was the one who initiated it most of the time. Would he think it was weird? 

His father would chew his head off; a Prince kissing the hand of his servant was unthinkable. 

San didn’t look like a servant last night, though. Wooyoung was drunk, but he still remembered everything, blurry edges and all. San had looked so beautiful. Wooyoung wanted to hold him and never let go. 

When his headache reached its worst, they adjourned, and Wooyoung stumbled to his feet. Small chatter filled the room as Wooyoung made his escape, ignoring the curious looks he got from the council. 

San was with Sena right now, learning magic. At least, he should be. And Wooyoung was not going to spy on them.

He climbed up a few spiral staircases in one of the castle turrets, ignoring the slight burn in his legs and his uneven breath. He reached the window that looked out into the training grounds and peeked through. He could barely make out two figures sitting in the field. Yes! They were there, and it didn’t seem like San was causing any trouble. That’s all he needed to know. He took a few steps back down, but- 

He paused, took a slow step back, and looked out the window again. 

San’s hair was pink. 

He blinked slowly. 

Okay, then. 

He walked away, only making a few feet before biting into his sleeve and screeching. The muffled noise reverberated around the tower, probably scaring a few pigeons outside. 

This wasn’t okay. 

When Wooyoung thought the bastard couldn’t get more endearing… 

In a daze, he stumbled back down the tower. 

Pink. 

His feet automatically moved towards the training grounds, and Wooyoung didn’t have the mental capability to convince himself to stay away. He had to see this before they changed San’s hair back.

He made it there at a record speed, surprised by the lack of people in the corridors. That was a good thing—less people to drag him into meaningless conversations. 

He jogged over to the field. Voices drifted over to him as he came closer, and he grinned. 

Before he knew it, he was standing above them. San was shouting and running his fingers through his hair, and Sena was cackling. Honestly, Wooyoung would be too if he weren’t so shocked himself. 

His hair. 

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “San.” 

San yelped and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head. A soft tuft of pink still peeked through, and Wooyoung was going to faint on the spot. 

“San,” he said slowly. “Put your shirt down.” 

“No,” he squeaked. 

Squeaked. 

“Choi San.” 

He didn’t move. Wooyoung walked over, crouched in front of him, and tapped his hand. “San, I could see it all the way from the castle. Put it down.” His voice was strangely calm considering how fast his heart beat. 

“You were spying?” 

“No, I wasn’t.” 

San tore his head up from the shirt and glared at him. “You can only see this field from the top of the towers, Jung Wooyoung.” And then he froze. 

San’s hair was a mess, but it was a pink mess. Wooyoung tentatively reached up and ruffled it. 

He had a magic servant- a magic servant with pink hair. A grin began to spread on his face, and San bat his hand away. 

“I knew you would laugh,” he groaned. 

“I’m not laughing.” Wooyoung cupped the sides of San’s face. “You’re pink!” And it was true. Not only was his hair pink, but San’s face was beginning to match the color too. 

San ducked away. “Sena, save me!” He scrambled away, putting her between them. Wooyoung had forgotten she was there. She was staring at them, turning her head between the two with an expression of shock. Ah. This must be the first time she saw them interact freely. 

Wooyoung considered reeling it back, pulling his shoulders up and becoming the Prince again, but another look at San, and he quickly chucked the idea out. If San was this comfortable with Sena, then Wooyoung could be too. In hindsight, he probably should have remembered she came from a warring kingdom, but that didn’t matter now. 

“Saaaan, come here.” Wooyoung vaulted over Sena’s legs and tackled him into the flowers. 

“Are we really doing this again?” San yelled, shoving hard at Wooyoung’s chest. 

San’s first day at the training grounds- Wooyoung pushed him down the hill. 

Wooyoung’s armor was off. San’s hair was pink. This time was different. 

This time, Wooyoung wanted to lean down and slot their lips together, to finally have San in the way he truly wanted. 

An invisible barrier forced him up and away, and he shouted, landing on his back. He pulled his head up and gaped and San, who had a demonic grin on his face. 

“Sena! Did you see that? I did it!” 

Wooyoung knocked his head back and groaned. Of course. He knew the magic would be a nuisance. 

But dammit, he wanted to touch San’s fluffy hair. He sprung into a crouch and tackled San again, knocking the breath out of both of them. 

“Y-Young-ah,” San gasped, and he froze. Their noses were touching, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but stare. 

He knew it then. 

He figured it out. 

Everyone said he would bring magic back, and then Wooyoung thought it was San, not him. 

But no. 

He couldn’t ignore it anymore, the denial falling apart at his feet. There was something, something so life changing and terrifying, and it was the only thing that could explain how he triggered the magic. It made Wooyoung’s knees weak and left him in a puddle of goo on the floor. It made him feel so, so small in front of something so big. The answer was staring him in the face, quite literally.

He was in love.  

Sena tapped his shoulder and pulled him away. Wooyoung let her. 

He knew. He remembered a faint dream, a muzzy memory. 

This will end in flames.