ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

After the conversation with his mother, Wooyoung found himself at the throes of his own mind. He locked himself away within his study, picking apart different treaties and lists of previous guests, trying to decipher which houses to invite versus which ones to avoid. The list was incredibly large, and taking all of this on felt like a mere burden.

The sun was now close to setting, inching closer and closer to the horizon line with subtle beams of pinks and reds, dissipating into the indigo that would consume the entire sky. Wooyoung watched with a patient gaze, listening to the calls for dinner ring out into the halls of his castle, yet he ignored them, staying isolated and away from the duties of remaining anywhere near his mother. She had been so callous, so dismissive and irritated, but Wooyoung couldn't ignore the fact that there were parts of her angry words that were true. He knew that he was procrastinating the inevitable, but could she blame him? Could anyone really, truly blame him? He was hardly of a man's age and he was being practically forced into a role that was too demanding of him. The crown wasn't even yet his and it still called his name vigorously, making him wish he could hide away in the fractures of the world, deep down where no one could find him.

Yet, he remains. He sits at his desk, twirling his quill delicately between his fingers, staring at an invite to a kingdom he hardly holds any knowledge of. He rereads his words time and time again, allowing the ink to dry well past its due before he could even properly finish the invitation itself, lingering in a thought that was too consuming to ignore.

He had spent many hours scaling through lineage documents, gathering names and persons of interest who may yet be eligible to rule at his side, though possibly undeserving of such a title. It was a delicate balance, trying to weed out the weak and unworthy, while also trying to remain as unbiased as he could be. He knew of some of these other princes, though remained unsure of their intentions. Some came with previous knowledge of how they were raised, and given the relationships his father withheld with these other kingdoms, came a sense of sudden calamity, knowing that his invites wouldn't be met with distaste.

Han Jisung, prince of Celestia, was a humble, soft spirit. From all he knew, Jisung was raised around nature, engrossed within it, rather. Celestia was a smaller kingdom, known for their abundance in pelts and herbal medicine, signifying their importance to the trade routes as a whole. The entire kingdom was surrounded in a large, redwood forest, doused in an abundance of nature, never once seeking to need an outside food source. Deer, hogs, and various birds roamed the lands outside of Celestia's gates, making their importance key to any other kingdom's survival; especially in the winter. Wooyoung hadn't talked to Jisung previously, but Jisung's father, King Han Wonsik, had always been an empathetic, simple ruler. Wooyoung supposes that inviting the Han family would not be the worst idea, so he chooses to sign the invitation, setting it aside to be properly rolled once the ink had dried.

Then there was Prince Kang Yeosang, taking the place of his father, King Kang Haneul, living on the coast in Nautica. Their kingdom was proud, though not incredibly wealthy. With their fishing ports, an abundant navy, trading harbors and overwhelming stock of anything that would come from across the sea, Nautica remained at the top of the trading list, finding that fish and other delicacies were hard to pass by. Yeosang was incredibly studious, from what Wooyoung remembers hearing about at least, spending most of his time enveloped in novels or riding his horse in the trails just outside the castle. It was almost as if the life of a prince was too much for him too, his inner soul calling out to something else, wishing for something with less purpose yet more of a chance to actually live. Wooyoung wasn't sure what the Kang family would be interested in, considering that they hardly relied on another kingdom to act as an outside supply source, but an invite wouldn't hurt, Wooyoung supposes.

Then there was Choi Yeonjun, prince of Auretica. Acting as son of King Choi Eun, Yeonjun remained an enigmatic figure, laden with surprises that echoed across the realm. He was the spitting image of his father, or so Wooyoung hears, both in looks and in personality. From what he had heard from his father, King Choi Eun was nearly ruthless, lacking empathy in those he ruled over as he sought to increase his fortune in any way possible. Auretica resided over a vast cave network, laden with gold and silver alike, feeding the fortune that Eun had always sought to conceal for himself alone. But, what Auretica didn't have was pure access to water, or that of farmland and medicine. Though they were wealthy, they still relied on everyone else within the realm for anything they could obtain, making the idea of an alliance with them hardly likely. But, an invitation was an invitation, Wooyoung supposes, so he signed it anyway.

With three out of the way, Wooyoung places down his quill, sealing off his ink pot before he rises away from his desk, staring down at each of the letters with a hesitant gaze. These three men, of which Wooyoung knew very little about, let alone what they looked like, felt like the answer he should be seeking. But, these answers only sought to bring more questions, making him truly wonder if this path was worth divulging towards.

"Your grace," a voice beckons from the otherside of the door, one that was unmistakable in its depth and concern. "You missed dinner."

"I know I have," Wooyoung responds, reaching his hands up to unbutton the top of his shirt, feeling a swell of warmth cast in from the world outside the open windows.

"May I come in, your grace?"

"You may," Wooyoung allows, glancing at his surroundings before the door opens, revealing the figure who's concern knew no bounds.

"Please, if I may talk plainly," Hyunjin begins, closing the door behind him subtly.

"Go on, Sir Hyunjin, I do not mind."

"Is there a reason of your sudden avoidance?" Hyunjin asks, his dark eyes shining with genuine curiosity, a glimmer of the man who lay beneath the facade of his armor. Hyunjin's dark hair, though short, dangled in front of his gaze, giving him a near-angelic appearance, despite the violence he craved when faced with an adversary. Wooyoung knew, more than anything else, that he could trust Hyunjin with the innermost parts of his soul, but this truth felt too vulnerable to be shared.

"Nothing that is to be of worry," Wooyoung replies, watching as Hyunjin's eyes watch him intently, almost as if he was studying the words, waiting for a moment of error where vulnerability would seep through.

"Your mother was quite displeased at your sudden disappearance from the council this evening," Hyunjin explains, resting his hand on his sword. "But I can imagine that there was good reason, was there not?"

"Excuse my lack of formality when I speak, but my mother quite literally fucked me over in asking for me to decide on the guest list for a ball I do not particularly wish to host. I have to decide my own fate here, with men I do not even know, writing letters to kingdoms we have not spoken to since my father took his last breath, and I cannot find the power within me to sign another one of these God forsaken letters because it feels almost as if I am signing away my life without properly knowing who I am to be wed to."

Hyunjin stands there, quietly, taking in every word with a slight wince. He nods, however, understanding the stress in having to deal with such a task, though he will never be privy to experiencing it.

"I see, your grace," Hyunjin replies calmly, glancing down at his hands, furrowing his brow. "I wish that I could take but a part of that away, but no one had ever said once that it was easy to be a part of the royal lineage. If it had been easy, I am quite sure a lot more people would invest their time into gaining a title, trying to be a lord or lady in an advance to gain something of higher standings. Some are content with the easy lives spent at the bottom of the food chain, working their life away without a care as to who rules and who dictates their future."

"But I was born into this, Hyunjin. I quite literally do not have a choice in the matter!"

"I hear you, I truly do. But what I am trying to say to you is that the lot of us dare not be picky of the lives handed to us, as that is all we have. We must make the most of it, to try and survive in a world where famine and illness is common. We are lucky to have such wealth and prosperity here in Etheria, as I do fear that one day it will all disappear."

"It is not that I am ungrateful, Hyunjin," Wooyoung explains, folding his arms against his chest, seeking some sort of refuge against the guilt settling in his stomach. "I know my role, and I know what I must do to keep my lineage pure and safe from harm. All I am trying to express is that I feel like I am suffocating. I am above land, and yet my lungs feel so heavy and full of water, and I simply cannot breathe."

Hyunjin's gaze softens as reality sinks in, the truth finally becoming a sentiment that felt hard to truly ignore.

"I am trying. Not just for myself, but for my father, who rests in a grave somewhere in these lands, lost because of someone else's disdain for the crown. I was not meant for this, as I fear I am too naive to rule such a kingdom. I know nothing of riches and titles, nor do I have ties to other kingdoms and alliances. How am I to marry when I know nothing of what I am to do as king?"

"I do not have an answer for you, your grace. But, I can try and tell you that not no one could ever be fully prepared to step into such a role. Yet, we take the time to learn, to roll with the tide of change, to lean on those who care for us so we can adapt in the only way we know how."

Wooyoung's voice is tentative and soft, a subtle whisper in a room where only candlelight warmed his features. "And what way is that, Hyunjin?"

"By being human, because that is the only way any of us know how to truly make it through this thing we consider life."

For a moment, Wooyoung simply ponders Hyunjin's words, taking them in stride, giving himself the chance to truly find the meaning in such a sentence. He could see where Hyunjin was coming from, but it didn't quite feel as if he had the answers he sought after.

"I'll return to my chambers," Wooyoung mutters, glancing at the letters laid on his desk. "Please have those sent to the delivery riders and sent out at dawn. If I am to expect guests to arrive for the ball, they must be delivered within a days' time."

"Are you sure, your grace?"

Wooyoung nods, smoothing out his shirt before striding closer to Hyunjin, plastering a smile on his lips to obscure the turmoil that was slowly beginning to consume him.

"I have to be, I am the Prince, after all."

Hyunjin nods, glancing at Wooyoung before glancing at the desk, taking in his orders before responding. "At once, your grace. I will have them delivered."

Wooyoung smiles as he moves on, exiting the comfort of his study, leaving the door ajar as Hyunjin gathers the letters in a careful, delicate manner. Wooyoung turns to his right, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears as he treks onward, moving about the vacant corridors of his lonely castle.

Nighttime was a tranquil part of his routine, walking amongst the stone corridors without bothering to see who had been nearby, listening to the swaying of banners and curtains hung near the open windows and archways, highlighting the beauty that came with the moon's rise to power. Each of Wooyoung's steps echoed slightly, bouncing off of the walls, clicking with definitive steps that somehow matched the beating of his own heart.

He was tired, possibly exhausted from the relentless will of his mother's undying wish to scold him in every waking instance, but all he could desire was the cusp of his pillow and bed linens. Eventually, he reaches his bedroom, turning the corner to spot no other than San and Mingyu stationed at their post, waiting as they usually had in this late hour.

"Sir Mingyu," Wooyoung greets, offering a nod. "Sir San."

"Good evening, my Prince," Mingyu greets as both males bow their heads in tandem, pausing before rising back upright once more, their eyes locking with Wooyoung's almost immediately.

"Is there anyone else on the rotation tonight for patrols?" Wooyoung asks, clasping his hands politely behind his back, raising a brow as he looks to Mingyu.

"Hyunjin is on patrol, my Prince. He paid you a visit in regards to your mother, did he not?"

"He did," Wooyoung affirms, flicking his gaze between the two males. "Are you aware of our agreement?"

"Sir San has filled me in on the details," Mingyu explains, sparing a glance at the male standing to his left. "You insist on this foolery once more? What would the council think?"

"I care not what the council thinks of me, Sir Mingyu, as they are not the men I chose to advise me. Yunho practically talks my ear off in the times I seek royal advice, thank you, and that is enough."

"Forgive me, your grace, for speaking so plainly. I shouldn't assume," Mingyu says, lowering his head slightly.

"Mingyu, you must remember, I am not my father. I share his name and his blood, but our resemblance is little to none." Wooyoung stands before Mingyu, offering a smile as he leans closer, wetting his lips subtly. "I like what I like, and I take interest in the things that captivate me. Do I need to sway you further, or will you just keep the Prince's little secret?"

"You know I am loyal to you," Mingyu explains, resting his hand on his sword. "If you insist that you will be careful, I care not of what you partake in. Heed my warnings, your grace. I can look out for you, but eventually this game must seize."

"I understand," Wooyoung chides, a playful smile curling on his lips. "Goodnight, Sir Mingyu."

Mingyu nods, turning his attention away, giving Wooyoung the peace of mind to push his chamber doors open, listening to the steps that follow him indoors. The door closes with a definitive click, and all Wooyoung can do is sigh.

"You really had to interrogate him like that?" San asks, his hands moving to loosen the belts that held his armor together, slowly beginning to remove piece by piece.

"Who would I be if not the witty Prince? Isn't that my reputation to uphold, Sir San?" Wooyoung turns around, his hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt, moving to undo the third and fourth, trailing further and further down to expose more of his toned chest. "You act as if he had been unaware of our foolishness for the last three months. If only he knew that we had begun this agreement months before that–"

"Mingyu is always aware," San explains, finally undoing the remaining loops of his chest plate, using his hands to carefully guide the armor over his head, setting the piece down near the large red sofa to his right. "You know better than to reprimand him. He has been at this post for a long time, and he has only ever sought to protect you."

"Can we stop discussing my guards and get to the task at hand?" Wooyoung nearly whines in a breath, undoing his shirt all of the way, allowing the silky fabric to part naturally.

"You have become so pushy, your grace–"

"Do not start with me," Wooyoung says playfully, resting his hands on his hips. "I have had quite the day, and I wish to spend my night in your arms. Is that so wrong of me?"

"It is wrong of you, technically," San chastises with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know that I have always been fond of this side of you."

"Only because this is the side I save for you, and only you," Wooyoung quips, leaning forward slightly. "We do not have as many of these rendezvous as of late, and I find myself wondering why it has become so hard for us to just meet like this."

"Your mother," San says, undoing the belt that kept his sword attached to his hip. "That is exactly the reason why."

"You have become my only solace in all of this," Wooyoung mutters, his tone suddenly becoming earnest, shying away from the playful jest that once adorned his voice. "You were all I had when my father took his last breath."

San pauses, his jaw tensing before he fully removes the final bits of his armor, the noise of his shuffling the only thing that seemed to break apart the tension that stored itself in the candlelit room.

"These little escapades we embark on, even if we spend the night looking at the stars or talking until the sun comes up, regardless of what we experience together–" Wooyoung pauses, glancing down, unable to meet San's gaze as the words he had been harboring consume his thoughts. "You feel as if you are the only person I have anymore. You listen to me, well and truly listen, and unlike everyone else in this God forsaken castle, I find myself clinging to you in a manner I know is far beyond appropriate."

San is quiet, his movements at a pause as he simply listens to Wooyoung's every word, his armor resting on the floor, leaving him adorned in clothes that Wooyoung thought made him look a little more like himself. A simple shirt, simple trousers and a gold necklace, something that San had been holding onto for many moons previous which only drew the Prince to become even more curious. He never fully expressed the reasoning behind such a piece, but Wooyoung knew better than to pry into his knight's private life.

Wooyoung stands there, watching San from only a few arms' lengths away, slowly beginning to fold his arms against his chest. San, for once, seemed timidly unsure of how to proceed, words failing his tongue as he stood there, brushing his palms against the sides of his legs. Wooyoung never wanted to admit to this, knowing entirely of what was at stake, especially with knowing that this was completely against what they agreed to.

This fling, or whatever Wooyoung wanted to refer to it as, had always been a means of intimate contact that would hardly ever touch on the cusp of feelings. Each and every time they sought to push away the things their hearts begged for them to reveal, it spurred on an intimate partnership that refrained from anything romantic.

They both understood what was at stake, as Wooyoung's crown could be compromised, as could his chance at marriage because of all of this, and even more so, San's career as a royal guard would see to be forfeit. They were crossing boundaries strictly set in place to avoid such telltale lies and conspiracies, shying away from tradition that Wooyoung paid no mind to.

In having been intimate with San, more than once, Wooyoung knew that the more they kept on with this facade, his heart would soon become compromised, yearning for something it could never have. San didn't come from royal lineage, but rather the farm fields near their fishing harbors in Islan. San's family wanted nothing to do with him, which landed him in the line of duty, wielding a sword when he was barely a teen.

Marriage with San was far from the picture Wooyoung saw his life turning into. He'd be forced to marry someone he didn't love, and more than anything else, he'd be forced to bed that someone, to lead a country amicably and pretend that his heart didn't belong to someone else. How his mother and father went so many years in a marriage where they didn't love one another was far beyond him, as love felt like the only emotion he could ever feel anymore.

Between the stress, the anxiety, and the overwhelming mass of duty laid upon his shoulders, being with San intimately remained as the only steadfast thing his life could ever conjure. Deep down, he feared losing this safe space. He never shied away from being vulnerable with San, as he truthfully felt no reason to hide who he really was after having their skin and hips selfishly pressed together time and time again. But, even so, San felt like the only person who could see beyond the facade of his Princely antics.

"San?" Wooyoung mutters softly, rubbing his arm. "Can you just. . . say something? I know those words are far from what you wish to hear, as we try to stray away from such truths, but I cannot help but feel as if I owe you genuinity."

With a breath, San finally looks up, his eyes meeting Wooyoung's in an unfamiliar plea. His gaze held so many layers of things Wooyoung hadn't seen before, and for a brief moment, Wooyoung found himself terrified that he had gone too far. But, just as he was about to scarcely apologize for his misjudgment, San walks closer quickly, using his left hand to cup the side of the younger male's jaw before pressing their lips together, submerging Wooyoung's every thought into forced silence.

Wooyoung melts into the warmth of the kiss, nearly arching into San's touch, feeling his body react exquisitely, in the way it always had, especially in the presence of someone so commanding. San could unravel his every desire, taking that ribbon, tying him up, presenting him as a gift just to unravel him once more. The kiss, at first, felt like a slowly burning fire, churning warmer and warmer as San slowly began to take control.

His hands, once peacefully dormant, now drifted to Wooyoung's hips, curling inwards to press into his skin that lay just beneath the fabric of his trousers. San slowly began to guide Wooyoung backwards in a familiar dance that had always landed with his calves pressed against the side of his bed before being carefully pushed backwards into his duvet.

"San, wait–" Wooyoung breathes out between fervent kisses, barely having a moment to utter another word before San is kissing him again, stealing away his breath and swallowing his sentences.

"Stop talking–" San mutters against Wooyoung's lips, sliding his hands up Wooyoung's sides, trailing up the bare skin that lay beneath the confines of his unbuttoned shirt. Wooyoung gasps, breaking the kiss, tilting his head back, giving San the perfect amount of access to latch his lips onto his neck deviously, kissing and biting his way along the line of his jugular.

"San–" Wooyoung breathed out again, his hands reaching to grab onto any part of his partner that he was able, needing a moment to ground himself with the influx of emotions coursing through him.

"Your grace–" San parts away, his eyes heavily lidded, a flush adorning his cheeks. "Please excuse me for speaking so plainly, but by the God's, just for once, shut the fuck up."

Wooyoung looks at San, a bit surprised in having heard such words come from someone who loyally served him, but at the same time, the words somehow lit a spark back within his soul, causing a laugh to breathe out from his lips. He nods, wrapping his hands around the back of San's neck as he pulls him closer again, pressing their lips together in a more desperate manner.

San, a bit more insistently, continues to guide Wooyoung backwards, relishing in each passionate, hungry kiss. Wooyoung follows his lead dutifully until the back of his legs collide with the side of his bed, his hands leaving the back of San's neck as they trail down to his waist, deftly moving frantically to undo San's leather belt. Their kisses continue to ignite the flame brewing between them, smoldering and growing urgently, causing their breaths to run hot and their skin to burn with electricity.

With a definitive pull, Wooyoung pulls San's belt away from it's loops, tossing it aside somewhere to his floor, resuming his ministrations in guiding San closer, curling his fingers against the hem of his trousers before yanking them downwards, pooling at his feet as they clattered to the floor. San's lips part away, his hands moving to find Wooyoung's shoulders as he pushes him backwards, listening as he collapses into the bed back-first. The bed creaks and slightly shakes, its wooden supports shifting with the newly added weight in a familiar dance that Wooyoung found himself continually entertaining. He watched as San parted away with his shirt, tossing the fabric somewhere to the floor before he crawled onto the bed, hovering over him, letting the necklace that slung itself around his neck, dangle in the space between them. Wooyoung reaches up, wrapping the necklace around his fingers before slightly tugging, pulling San closer to connect their lips once more.

With a few rushed movements, San's hands deftly removed the remnants of Wooyoung's clothes, tossing them away, unable to care about where each piece of clothing had landed amongst the littered floor. Carefully, they move towards the middle of the bed, finding the pillows, ignoring the subtle noises twirling in with the warm breeze from the open windows nearby. The candlelight warmed San's skin, highlighting the effortless curves and sharp jut of his jaw, glimmering in his eyes the moment he paused and looked down at Wooyoung.

He had always done this, searching Wooyoung's gaze in a rush to seek confirmation, almost as if he was giving the younger a chance to back away from all of this, to stick true to the boundaries that kept them socially adrift. But, Wooyoung smiles, untwirling the necklace, using his hands to cup San's face, drawing him closer, feeling as their breaths warm the mutual space that hovered between them. Wooyoung could feel the sudden chill of San's necklace pressing against his bare skin, sending sudden trill through his spine, only seeking to elongate this moment.

San connects their lips again, gently this time, using his left hand to trail down Wooyoung's hip and thigh, hiking his leg higher, pressing against him in a tense moment of intimate anticipation. Wooyoung allows himself to melt into the kiss, knowing all too well what was coming, too entranced by the feeling of San's lips to even bother worrying in regards to all of the social standards and principles they were breaking. He didn't care about the rules set in place to prevent intimacy and relations like this, even though he knew what consequences were to come of such an encounter. But that was just the thing; they couldn't get caught. Wooyoung vowed all those moons ago to protect San in any event that the council found out, which was partially why he involved Mingyu in the way he had. He would give everything to keep this part of his life intact, unwilling to ever release San from his grasp. Especially to have and hold him like this, to truly feel connected to him not only physically, but emotionally; it all became everything Wooyoung thought of.

San parts away, whispering a silent command against Wooyoung's lips. "Take a breath."

Wooyoung nods, reaching his hand into San's hair, curling his fingers carefully into the male's red tresses. The moment he deeply inhales, he feels the immediate pressure of San pressing into him, followed by the slight sting of such intimate contact. San waits, moving his lips to gently trail kisses along the jut of Wooyoung's jaw, softly grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin of the younger's neck.

Wooyoung's back arches, pressing his body against San's, sinking further into a familiar feeling that was a synonym to utter bliss. Slowly, San moves his hips, forwards and back, releasing a shuddered breath that spoke volumes of his relief. Wooyoung allows himself to remain pliant, relishing in every single movement, pressing his hips back against San's to deepen the feeling that was slowly beginning to unravel him.

Hot breaths and quiet moans break free of their lips, submerging themselves deeper into the impasse of overflowing desire. Wooyoung's hands fumbled about before curling into San's back, desperately trying not to leave marks on the back of someone who wasn't even supposed to be having intimate relations with anyone, let alone the Prince, but with every deepening thrust, a flurry of breathy moans slip past his lips, encouraging the elder even further.

San's hips suddenly snap forward, quickening his pace, leaning down to tug Wooyoung's lip in between his teeth. A strained noise leaves Wooyoung's tongue as he lets San ravage him, feeling as his mind becomes a blur of utter need. Absently, his nails curl inwards, dragging lines down San's back, which in turn earns a guttural groan from deep in the abyss of San's lungs.

There weren't supposed to be feelings involved in any of this, but Wooyoung was feeling everything. He wanted more, simply wanted to just breathe San in, taste him and relish in this feeling for as long as he shall live, to selfishly pluck San away from the arms of anyone else who would dare to take his safe place away. All Wooyoung found himself caring about was this, curling his nails in deeper, pressing his hips against San's and arching his back, feeling the sweat of their bodies drip and mingle, trailing down to the linens beneath them.

He was finally feeling something other than the burdensome weight of a crown that felt too heavy to ever bear alone. He felt adored, wanted, possibly even slightly loved by someone who wasn't forced to feel such things. If just for a moment, Wooyoung clings to the idea that he could escape from the reality of such duties, to drift away from the stress of having to marry a stranger. He could hold San, feel and taste him, kiss the breath from his lungs and press their hips together selfishly. He didn't want any of these feelings with anyone else; he just wanted San.

But he couldn't have him.

So, he succumbs to the moment, pulling San back towards his lips as he sinks into another kiss, moaning into San's mouth as if he could elongate this moment and prevent it from ever seizing. But the familiar tightening in his stomach was a warning, a preceding feeling that would signal a snap, followed by a mass of heavy breaths and a tumble down from such sinful euphorics.

He can't hang on to it. Everything was slipping away from his fingers, freeing themselves into the space that was drowned by candlelight, lost in the room that had always felt empty the moment San left this embrace. He was trickling closer and closer to that fateful end, hanging in the balance, harrowing in on the feeling of where their bodies were intimately joined.

With a sudden rush, everything he hopes to cling on to simply flees, snapping just like the cord in his stomach. He holds his breath, feeling as San buried his face in the crevice of his neck, letting out a shaky groan that belaid the true depth of how much he too needed this. Wooyoung catches his breath, his chest rising and falling in tandem with the steady thrum of his racing heart, climbing back down into a sense of reality, listening to the breeze rustle the curtains within his chambers.

"Thank you," San mutters, pressing a kiss to Wooyoung's shoulder.

"For what?" Wooyoung asks, watching as San slowly leans upright, looking down at him with a sated, satisfied gaze.

"For always trusting me, even with our circumstances," San replies gently, reaching his hand up to brush sweat-riddled hair off of Wooyoung's forehead.

"You are the only person who has ever truly seen me for me, beyond the whole Prince "heir to the throne, ruler of the seven kingdoms" bullshit. I cannot trust anyone else; you know this."

"I know, and I hear you. Though, we do need to remain careful. With the upcoming ball and your impending marriage, I think. . . we should begin to stray away from relations like this."

Wooyoung takes a breath in, feeling a thicket of emotions swell on his tongue. "Is that what you want?"

"This cannot be about what I want, your grace," San mutters quietly, leaning away slightly. "It is about your safety, protecting your virtue, and keeping the crown's reputation intact."

"Not yet," Wooyoung rushes out in a plea, moving to sit upright, feeling as San fully parts away, settled on his knees, sitting before him with confusion glued to his gaze. "Share in this with me for a while longer. I cannot lose you just because I am to be married to some stranger."

"But I fear for you," San expresses gently, his words falling to silence.

"Fear not, because with you, I am safe. Trust me, San. Please," Wooyoung pleads, reaching his hands over, cupping the sides of San's jaw. "Please."

"A while longer," San says, giving in just barely. "I will stay just a while longer."

Wooyoung smiles, beginning to lean towards San in a motion to kiss him, but the sound of a haste knock deters him away, causing him to scurry backwards. San pushes himself off of the bed, bending at the waist to collect their clothes hurriedly. He tosses Wooyoung's clothing towards him before redressing himself, tugging his pants over his legs, re-buttoning his shirt closed, moving to walk towards the area where he discarded his armor. Wooyoung slowly pulls his trousers up, re-fastening his belt before slinging his shirt onto his torso, allowing it to remain open for the time being.

"Must you leave so soon?" Wooyoung asks, disregarding another series of knocks that was likely from Mingyu.

"You know better than to ask for me to stay, my Prince," San says, albeit sadly. "I must return to my post; we both know this."

"I know–"

"I will see you first thing," San reassures, quickly striding over, reaching across the small space to squeeze Wooyoung's hand. "Sleep well, and do not worry for me."

Another knock rings out, heeding as their last warning.

"Go on, then," Wooyoung mutters, trying to force a smile to his lips. "Or shall I just lock you away in my chambers for the rest of eternity?"

"A fervent wish, my Prince," San smiles, leaning closer, pressing a kiss to Wooyoung's cheek. "A world I wish we could linger within. Please, get some rest."

Wooyoung nods, feeling San's hand drift away from his own, listening as the male hurriedly fastens his armor back onto his body with a myriad of creaks from the leather, followed by sharper noises from the iron of his armor. Wooyoung watches longingly, feeling an ache begin to build in his chest, radiating around his heart.

San turns to glance over his shoulder, offering a bow of his head before he makes his leave, his steps receding until he reaches the door and leaves without another word. Wooyoung takes an uneasy breath in, turning away, feeling the warmth of the outdoor breeze press against his bare skin. But, the warmth from outside had barely been enough to chill the sudden vacancy of shared warmth that San's presence once held within this room.

This entire agreement had caused his heart to run astray, drifting away from the mannerisms that isolation had once taught him how to entertain. But, truthfully, Wooyoung knew what all of this was. A distraction, a lapse in time so he could forget about the reality that waited for him just beyond his door. He wasn't sure how much time left he had with San, but he would hold onto it viciously, praying that the God's above would grace him with more time.