Trope: Enemies to lovers | Assassin x Royal | Fugitives on the run
Pairing: Fuma (assassin) × EJ (last crown prince)
Vibe: Grit, longing, reluctant protection, "You should hate me but you don't"

👑 Prologue: The Fall

The palace burns behind them.

EJ stumbles over shattered marble, a torn cloak dragging behind him. Smoke stains his lungs, grief strangles his throat.

He was a prince this morning.

Now, he's just... alive.

Because Fuma didn't finish the job.

🗡️ ACT I: The Hesitation

The blade was at EJ's throat. Steady. Cold. Merciless.

Then it wavered.

"Why?" EJ whispers, voice raw.
"Why did you stop?"

"I don't know," Fuma says. But he's already pulling him through a side gate, already throwing his crest to the dirt, already running from the army that once called him theirs.

Now they're fugitives.

The assassin and the heir.

No food. No allies. Just ash and accusation.

🏚️ ACT II: Shelter

They find shelter in a half-burned chapel, three days from the capital.
Fuma cleans EJ's wounds without speaking.

EJ doesn't thank him.

"You killed my family."

"I spared you."

"Why?"

Silence.

"I didn't want to anymore."

EJ laughs—bitter, broken.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

🩸 ACT III: The First Fracture

EJ fights him the next night.

Not with blades—he'd lose—but with grief. With fists that shake and words like knives.

"Do you think sparing me undoes everything else?"

Fuma lets him hit him once. Twice.

Then catches his wrist and says, quiet as thunder:

"No. But I'd bleed for it if I could."

🌙 ACT IV: The Quiet Between

They sleep back-to-back at first.

Then shoulder to shoulder.
Then, one night, EJ wakes with Fuma's coat draped over him and Fuma sitting just a little too close.

"You should hate me," Fuma murmurs.

"I did," EJ whispers.
"Until you started looking at me like you wanted me to live."

💔 ACT V: The Turning Point

A bounty hunter finds them in the ruins of an old temple.

Fuma takes the hit meant for EJ.

Blood. Dust. Silence.

EJ cradles him, hand pressed to Fuma's side, shaking.

"Why would you do that?"

Fuma smiles weakly.

"Because I already chose you once. I'm not choosing anyone else."

EJ stays with him until the bleeding stops.

They keep running.

But now when they stop to breathe, EJ doesn't ask why Fuma spared him.

He just reaches for his hand—and holds on.

💌 Fuma's Letter

Hidden in the lining of his coat. Tucked into the seam like a secret he didn't want to exist.

EJ finds it two nights after the fight. The bleeding has slowed, but Fuma still sleeps too heavily, too pale.

The letter is folded neatly.
No name on the outside—because there's only one person it could be for.

If you're reading this,
I didn't make it.

You were never supposed to survive the fall of the crown. I wasn't supposed to let you. But you looked at me like you already knew I didn't want to finish the job. And that terrified me.

You weren't soft. You weren't helpless.
You were angry. Grieving. Brutal in a way that reminded me you were still human under the gold.

You were also the only one who ever asked why I hesitated—and waited for the real answer.

It's this:

Because you made me want to be someone worth sparing.

I don't expect forgiveness. Or legacy.
But if there's still a world left to rebuild, I hope you do it your way.

And I hope it's loud.

–Fuma

EJ reads it once.

Then tears it up, quietly.

He doesn't need a goodbye anymore.

Because Fuma wakes the next morning, breath shallow—but there.

And EJ just says:

"Don't ever write something like that again."

Fuma: "You found it?"

EJ: "I burned it."

⚔️ Sequel: The Crownless Rebellion

Weeks pass.

The bounty on their heads grows.

So do the whispers.

"The prince lives."
"The knight walks beside him."
"They're rebuilding from the dirt up."

EJ hides his crest, but not his name.
Fuma sharpens blades, but also ideas.

They meet with former guards in forests.
With scholars in caves.
With hungry people in shattered towns who say, "We thought no one would come back."

EJ, one night by the fire: "This isn't justice. It's just desperation."

Fuma, steady: "It's a beginning."

They learn to move as one.
To fight not for what they lost—but for what they could become.

💬 Final Line:

They don't rebuild the throne.

They build a banner.

And under it, side by side—

They stop running. And start leading.