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Chapter Text

“Do you have to do this?” Even as he regarded Yoongi with absolute concern in his eyes, Taehyung’s deft hands didn’t stop packing up Yoongi’s belongings swiftly and efficiently.

Swallowing, Yoongi looked out the window. Mostly to avoid Taehyung’s eyes, but also because he knew it would be the last time he’d be seeing this view. By tonight, Yoongi would be leaving for Goryeo.

It was both a blessing and a curse to know he’d at least have Taehyung by his side. As much as he didn’t want to rip away Taehyung from his home as well… well. It wasn’t like either of them had much of anything for them here, apart from the other.

And Yoongi wasn’t completely naive or blind. He had an inkling that whatever awaited him at Goryeo was nothing pleasant. At best, things would be the same as Yuan, but at worst… Goryeo and Yuan’s history was far too violent after all – too grim and bloody for something as simple as a peace treaty to resolve.

But hopefully, with Taehyung there with him, things would be bearable.

“You know my uncle,” Yoongi finally said after too long of a silence, his tone flat. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Is there really no other way?”

“It is what the Jeonha wants. So it’s the only way that matters.”

Namjoon, personally, did not agree with the plan. But lives were being lost – Goryeo’s, and he was willing to admit, if begrudgingly, Yuan’s as well. The peace treaty was, for all intents and purposes, good for the citizens. But no one – the citizens of both lands included – were happy with this decision.

Suppressing a sigh, Namjoon side eyed the people around him. Seokjin and Jungkook stood with their backs ramrod straight, at attention. And though Namjoon could spot even Hoseok in the crowd, Jimin was notoriously absent. Namjoon didn’t blame him.  If there was anyone to take this decision the hardest, it would be Jimin, who must be feeling personally betrayed.

At the sound of the priest’s calls, Namjoon shifted his awareness back to the focus of the crowd.

Newly wedded, the king of newly crowned queen of Goryeo stood, both equally grim-faced, looking nothing like happy spouses, even as they bowed to each other and then faced the crowd with their joined hands.

“First advisor Kim, I require your council.”

Rarely ever did Namjoon have to say anything the king didn’t know already. A smart and intelligent man, Namjoon found himself more often than not acting as a sounding board, only actually advising on a handful of occasions. Yet still, he bowed his head respectfully, and joined the king in his chambers, masking his surprise to see the military commander already there. Apart from a raised eyebrow to convey his confusion – which went steadfastly ignored, as the military commander resolutely looked straight ahead – Namjoon’s head stayed bowed the entire time the king laid out his plan, even as the disbelief within Namjoon grew to epic proportions.

“You want to marry the heir of the Yuan dynasty?” He eventually summarized, barely able to conceal his flabbergasted expression.

The king nodded, regarding him with knowing eyes. “With their heir in our kingdom, Yuan will have no choice but to comply. And with that power, we can easily bring them into my fold.”

Namjoon opened his mouth, and then hesitated, eyes flickering over to the military commander. But while the military commander stayed silent, the king was too shrewd to let it slide. 

“Do you have anything to say against my plan, advisor Kim?”

Namjoon sighed. “It’s just… is the assassination of the Yuan heir really necessary, Jeonha?”

The king’s face remained eerily impassive as he continued to stare at Namjoon, unblinking. “Sympathy and pity can blind many, advisor Kim. Even the people of Yuan can fall prey to it. Their weakness will be our advantage. It will all work out for the greater good of Goryeo.”

Now, the military commander stepped forward. “We will not fail your plans, Jeonha.”

The king nodded, sharp and pleased. “Select your best men, commander. The world will soon come to mourn one more member of my family, all on the same day. But it will be the last death we must face, and Goryeo will rise, all the stronger for it.”

“Is the consummation of a sham wedding really necessary?” Taehyung muttered under his breath.

As soon as Yoongi could see, freed from one of the many fabrics Taehyung was unraveling from his body – a decorative doll, they both agreed that Yoongi had become – he shot him a sharp glare, effectively silencing his servant’s tongue. 

All too aware that the king was on the other side of the – admittedly, vast – chambers, also getting undressed by his own servant, not another word was uttered until they were left with only a layer above their undergarments.

Despite being signaled to leave, Taehyung hesitated. When it looked like he was about to open his mouth again, Yoongi shook his head, only the barest of movements. 

With a look of silent agony on Yoongi’s behalf, Taehyung soon left, his jaw clenched and head down.

Yoongi watched his friend close the doors to the chambers, desperate for one last form of eye contact, but Taehyung’s eyes were downcast as the doors slid closed. Perhaps it was for the best, because not even a second later, the warmth of the king was all too stifling of a presence at Yoongi’s back, even if he could tell there was an inch of space preventing them from touching.

“Shall I help you undress, Mama?”

Fighting off the instinctual urge to grimace at the feel of the king’s breath against his cheek, Yoongi closed his eyes. Taking a deep, measured breath, he kept his eyes closed as he nodded, falling back into the subservient roles he’d been long since engrained with.

As he felt the king’s hands descend upon him, Yoongi grit his teeth. 

The king rose before sunrise, leaving without a backwards glance at Yoongi. And until he could hear the birds chirp to begin greeting the rising sun, Yoongi lay in bed, unseeing eyes directed at the canopy of it. It was the sound of the doors opening again, bringing in servants to tend to the king’s chambers that had Yoongi shaking himself free of all thoughts and miseries shackling him to the bed. 

Using every ounce of power left in his body to control the shakiness of his hands, Yoongi gathered his sokgot around himself as he stood, ready to make the long trek back to his chambers so he could perform his morning ablutions, wanting nothing more than to submerge himself in a tub of water the servants had hopefully prepared. Passing by the servants with a reassured gait, Taehyung strode over to him, only to come to an abrupt halt in front of him, not even reaching out to help Yoongi adjust the hastily adorned robes to cover the marks on his body. 

One look at Yoongi’s face, and Taehyung’s own stoic facade crumbled. But with a warning glance aimed at the many ears around them, he pressed his lips together, visibly steeling himself again as he finally reached out for Yoongi’s clothes. And still, a silent gasp left his friend’s mouth, and it took a second for Taehyung to regain his composure and resume helping Yoongi straighten out his hanbok before helping him out, a grim look on his face when Yoongi had to lean on him the entire way back and until they reached his chambers.

The entire time he was being undressed, finally in the relative safety and privacy of his own quarters, and even when he was being lowered into the bathtub with Taehyung’s assistance, Yoongi avoided looking at his own body. He knew all too well that he was a single breath away from collapsing into helpless tears, and it would no doubt trigger Taehyung’s own mask into breaking. But as he sank into the warm water, a relief to his aching muscles, Yoongi gripped tightly onto the metal of the tub, the solidity of it unrelenting against the tremors. Trying to draw comfort and strength from it, Yoongi focused on nothing but his breathing as Taehyung shooed the few servants who had prepared the bath away, leaving him alone to tend to Yoongi now. 

“Hyung…”

Yoongi sighed, eyes opening. Whatever progress he’d manage to fool himself into thinking, of how he was still in control of himself and his emotions, was all shattered with that single word, uttered in such a heartbroken tone. 

“Let it be, Taehyung-ah.”

“But hyung—”

“We knew this would happen.” Yoongi sat up straight, and though he did not meet Taehyung’s eyes, couldn’t meet Taehyung’s eyes, his posture was as firm and rigid as the rest of the royalty he’d be forever surrounded by. “And we know it will only get worse. Crying now will help us achieve nothing, Taehyung. You understand me?” He forced himself to meet his friend’s eyes as he emphasized the reality of his own situation. “Nothing.”

“The northern villages faced the brunt of the attack. With their crops ablaze and our rations already spread thin, there is doubt if they will be able to survive the winter.”

The king took a deep inhale, his hands tightening on the arms of his throne. Around him, murmurs arose with the people’s unrest. The northern villages were more so crucial for their trade in fabrics than food, but still. The king wouldn’t take to the falling of any lands under his domain lightly. 

Even though Namjoon had predicted the fall of the northern villages first, sharing borders with Yuan. The king had been aware, but in the end, they were all guilty for the naivety of their optimism. Of course, Yuan wouldn’t accept the beginning of winter as reason for a temporary ceasefire.

But now, their optimism was to be the cause of lives lost. And no one in the council would be able to leave these chambers without that knowledge hanging over their head like a sword at their neck.

In the king’s chambers, Namjoon quietly regarded the man. Despite having summoned him, the king refused to meet his eyes, instead staring out the open doors to the calm lake and surrounding trees blanketed in pinks and whites, drinking from his cup of mulled wine. If it weren’t for the crease between his eyebrows, Namjoon could have foolishly thought the king even looked serene. But the tension in the air said otherwise, and Namjoon was no foolish man.

“The consummation night has passed,” Namjoon finally dared to utter – and maybe he was a foolish man after all, but he would only accept a thought if all the king had summoned him for was truly just to share a quiet drink this morning. “Has the plan proceeded as per your expectations?” With the king refusing to have his new queen share chambers, there was no sight of the Yuan heir. Namjoon was sure it worked out to everyone’s favor, but it did mean he was unable to garner the answer to his question himself, needing to resort to voicing it aloud. And risking the king’s displeasure. 

The crease between the king’s eyebrows turned to a full blown frown as the king set down his cup, finally looking up to meet Namjoon’s eyes. “Yes. Now all we must do is wait for the news, and we can proceed with the next step.”

Fighting a grimace, Namjoon took a sip of his own drink instead. When he was sure his face was firmly under control again, he set the cup back down. “If I may speak as a friend, Jeonha,” he said, tone quiet. The king regarded him for several long seconds before nodding wordlessly. “You are sure that your plan is truly worth this? Bedding another man when in love with another? Is controlling this person’s body and future the only way to succeed?” Namjoon sighed, taking a deep breath. “Is this not against your own oaths you had taken when taking the crown?”

“Enough.” The king’s voice was sharp, the sound of his cup hitting the table loud in the otherwise silence. “Do you dare doubt me, advisor Kim? Or are you sympathizing with the heir of our enemy?”

At the recalling of his title, Namjoon straightened, evenly meeting the king’s eyes even as the conflict within him continued its commotion. “I merely wonder if you are truly invested in a plan that may cause some unrest within our own courts. The people are not fond of anyone from Yuan, and the news you anticipate may not be enough to garner the reaction needed.”

The king exhaled harshly, nostrils flaring with the action. “We will make the announcements and ceremonies grand enough that they will have reason to forget that a member of the Yuan is involved at all.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows in disbelief at this. “There may be someone who won’t be able to forget.” Staring at the king, knowing he held a question he wouldn’t ask, Namjoon simply uttered one word. “Jimin-bin.”

The king inhaled deeply, looking back down at his cup. Namjoon cocked an eyebrow. “Have you spoken to him at all since the wedding?”

Looking rather stiff, the king picked up his cup again and finished off the drink. He poured himself another before Namjoon could reach forward to do so. Instead of raising it to his mouth, however, he cupped it in both hands, leaning forward as he stared pensively into the liquid. “He has refused to see me at all.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting. Not many were privy to the depths of the relationship between the king and his concubine, and it wasn’t because those who knew went around talking about it. “I’m sure he’ll come to see reason.” Namjoon said instead, rather stiffly. He highly doubted his own words, and judging by the look the king sent him, so did he.

“It’s a lot more… open here,” Taehyung muttered, looking around the place with a swiveling head. Yoongi held back a snort.

“It’s not as cold here,” he responded, voice equally pitched low. They had nothing to hide with what they were saying, and yet, as the only two out of place in a completely different kingdom, it was only natural they wished to protect the bubble they felt to be ensconced in. “The warmer weather allows and requires the place to be… less restrictive, compared to where we grew up.”

At this, Taehyung let out an unabashed snort, and he surely would have said something had they not rounded the corner at that moment, and nearly bowled into the person coming from the other side.

“I apologize,” Yoongi immediately said, more out of instinct than anything else, as he dropped his head down. It wasn’t a complete bow, and even if the slight gesture itself was unneeded, old habits forcefully engrained within him were hard to break.

Tilting his head back up at the lack of a response, Yoongi got a look of who they’d bumped into. The man had plump lips on his otherwise delicate features, but the long blond hair trailing down his back freely yet adorned with what Yoongi could tell were expensive pins combined with the telltale hanbok the man wore… this man was clearly the king’s concubine. And judging by how his sharp eyes were regarding Yoongi with disdain, it was clear he knew who Yoongi was as well, even if they had never formally met beforehand.

“You.” The lack of honorifics shouldn’t have come as a surprise, with how the man had already been staring at Yoongi, and yet, Yoongi found himself raising an eyebrow at the blatant disrespect. “You don’t even know the depths of how far your apology must go, but even then, would it truly mean anything?”

Now frowning, Yoongi tilted his head. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I don’t understand. If I’ve done anything to offend you–” 

The man scoffed. “Please. The Yuan heir apologizing to a Goryeo concubine?” The man’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Yoongi felt that there were more layers to the man’s words than what he said. “Oh, but I forget. You’re the queen of Goryeo now,” the man bowed mockingly, his eyes never leaving Yoongi’s. “If anyone should apologize, it should be me.”

As the man stood straight again, Yoongi wiped off all emotions from his face, staring at the man calmly and coolly instead. “And yet, you have not,” he noted.

Whatever semblance of a smile the man had on his face, albeit mockingly, slipped off as he went back to staring at Yoongi with thinly veiled hate. “I haven’t,” he agreed.

Yoongi refrained himself from raising his eyebrows again as he attempted to repeat himself. “If I’ve done anything to offend you personally, then I would like to apologize.” Even if his voice was otherwise flat, Yoongi found himself genuinely meaning the words. “I do not wish to be enemies with anyone in Goryeo, especially if I am to be a part of it.”

At this, the man let out a loud burst of laughter, the sound scathing and sharp. “‘A part of it’?” He repeated, eyes wide in what seemed to be disbelief. And then his eyes narrowed as he abruptly drew so close to Yoongi, their noses almost brushed. Yoongi tensed his muscles, fighting off a flinch at the sudden motion. “You might be a part of my Jeonha’s bed, but you will be nothing more than that, Mama.” And before he could even give Yoongi a chance to react, he was striding past Yoongi with a swish of his hanbok, not even casting Taehyung a glance. 

Taehyung, who was staring at the man with an absolutely gobsmacked expression.

Quietly sighing, Yoongi adjusted his chima even as he stared at the man’s retreating back, while Taehyung finally tore his eyes away from the man to fixate his still unchanged expression onto Yoongi instead. “Are all concubines supposed to be well out of their minds to attract royalty?” He asked, and Yoongi snorted, uncaring of how unseeming the act was for a person of his status. Not like anyone cared who he was, and besides, Yoongi himself didn’t have to care about who he was supposed to be when he was with Taehyung.

But then he looked back to where the man had disappeared around the corner, his brain quickly yet efficiently nitpicking their interaction until he found what he needed. “Only the ones madly in love with their Jeonha’s,” he said with a sardonic grin.

Taehyung tilted his head, visibly acknowledging Yoongi’s point. After a second, he blinked, shaking his head as if to clear his mind from whatever thoughts occupied it. “Shall we continue with our tour then, hyung?” If his cheer was forced, Yoongi didn’t let himself look too closely into it, instead taking his friend at face value as he smiled back, trying to seem as unfazed as he always had to be. “We shall.” 

Although it was Taehyung who said it, it was Yoongi who took the lead, all too aware that neither of them had any clue as to where exactly they were headed. It was yet another sign of how unwelcome they were, despite the supposed treaty. No other servants of the court had come to assist Yoongi or even Taehyung, but the both of them had silently agreed that they would take to being left alone as opposed to having to constantly face the constant hatred. Especially after their – or rather, Yoongi’s, as Taehyung’s existence went largely ignored – interaction with the unnamed concubine.

Treading forward with silent yet rapid footsteps, they passed by many doors as they continued on. Most were closed, but the sounds of people – royals or servants, neither knew or cared enough to find out – had neither of them willing to intrude just to sate their curiosity. Instead, they kept moving onwards, walking deeper into the palace, and as even the sounds of servants in the background faded away, their pace slowed down. The two looked around with curiosity at the seemingly abandoned section of the palace they found themselves in, evident as the thin layer of dust that surrounded the furniture around them. Taehyung, not for the first time and Yoongi knew and hoped would not be the last, broke protocol to walk alongside Yoongi instead as they craned their heads to take in their surroundings.

“Did we stumble upon one of Goryeo’s court secrets?”

The corners of Yoongi’s lips quirked upwards at the comment. “Would be a poorly kept one, if no one bothered to prevent a Yuan heir from being able to access it.”

Unbothered, Taehyung shrugged. Their pace slowed down further as they approached a corridor, the walls adorned with portraits that even Yoongi could recognize as the royal ancestors, with the occasional door interspaced between the portraits. “You’d think a place like this would be better maintained,” Taehyung muttered beside him. Yoongi hummed without responding aloud. Whatever aura surrounding them prompting Taehyung to lower his volume didn’t leave Yoongi unscathed. Even if Yoongi was normally prone to speak minimally, if efficiently, the place they found themselves in seemed to challenge even that.

They continued to pass the portraits – the majority of them seemed to be mainly of one woman, though who she was, Yoongi couldn’t place – largely unsure of where they were heading. At this point, Yoongi wasn’t sure they should even be there – for all that Taehyung’s flyaway comment was entertaining on its own, Yoongi had no desire to risk anyone’s wrath if they really were trespassing on one of Goryeo’s less publicized history.

And despite the nagging curiosity within him that urged him to keep walking – maybe they could even try one of the doors? – he was just about to tell Taehyung that they would be better off heading back, when Taehyung paused beside him.

“Oh, that door is open!”

Silently, internally, Yoongi sent a prayer to whoever was listening. If Taehyung hadn’t unknowingly just voiced the very sentence that would henceforth cause Yoongi’s life to go askew in unpredictable ways… then Yoongi would definitely become more invested in every ceremony there was to worship whatever gods he was directed towards from now on.

As much as he wanted to push forward, something still held Yoongi back – the innate need for survival, maybe – even as Taehyung walked past him. Peering past the slight gap between door and wall, Taehyung let out a small gasp of surprise. The sound was apparently enough to push away Yoongi’s reservations as he found himself joining Taehyung while he pushed the door open all the way. 

They both gaped at the sight, Yoongi hardly daring to believe what was in front of him. Distantly, he was aware of Taehyung’s wonder morphing into faint amusement. “So Goryeo’s secret is… your heaven.” 

He didn’t even bother responding to that, far too mesmerized at the variety of musical instruments within the chambers. Everything was in a similar state to the corridor outside, the thin layer of dust blanketing the instruments revealing the room’s disuse.

Suddenly, Yoongi’s mind began to work again. If this corridor was truly abandoned and no one seemed to frequent the room, and it was well enough removed from the rest of the palace… 

Well. No one needed Yoongi just as much as they didn’t need these instruments, it would seem. So it was only logical for Yoongi to be able to find some new friends. Friends needing company that truly valued their worth as well.

He didn’t need to voice a single thought to Taehyung, his loyal friend easily interpreting the changing emotions on Yoongi’s face, however minute. “We could look around,” he offered with a smile. “And I‘ll see if I can find out about this room tonight, just in case it does have other visitors,” he added. 

Yoongi cast him a grateful smile. Truly, Taehyung was more of a blessing than even this room, even if Yoongi was completely enamored already. Of course, his friend would go out of his way to look out for him, even though Yoongi was aware that Taehyung wasn’t finding it any easier than Yoongi to mingle with the palace’s serving staff. Even if Taehyung had no royal blood in him, was bright and cheery, and had the most uplifting aura about him, the people of Goryeo remained firm in their stance to ostracize the two due to their Yuan heritage. Frankly, Yoongi wasn’t sure he would’ve been any different, had he been in the comforts of his home but having himself forced to host a Goryeo citizen. He wished he could say he would be more kinder, but… the long history of unrest, tension, and distrust, to say the least did run deep.

Which left Taehyung to stick to Yoongi’s side constantly, if at least for the only interaction unmarred by any forms of negativity. Neither of them minded, even if things were quiet otherwise.

Presently, Yoongi stepped forward, each step taking him further into the room past so many instruments, enough for an entire orchestra. And the sight of each one had the tension progressively slipping away from his shoulders, until he was smiling freely at the end of the room. He turned to face Taehyung, aiming the full force of his grin at his friend. “Do you think anyone would hear if I played right now?” There was another layer to his question, asking his friend if he thought Yoongi should wait until Taehyung gathered information on the room, or if he could get his hands on the instruments right away. Normally, Yoongi had long since learned to control his impulses, but it had been so long since he was able to indulge in his one favorite activity, the one thing to truly calm and settle his mind unlike any other, to bring him peace and serenity… his fingers were practically itching with the urge to thrum at the string of one particular instrument, and of course, Taehyung could tell. Taehyung noticed everything about him, and maybe Yoongi shouldn’t have been surprised, or maybe a part of himself was counting on his friend to not be the voice of reason, to be weak to the first sign of happiness on Yoongi’s face in ages, because Taehyung easily gave the answer Yoongi had been yearning for, as if Yoongi had been asking for permission.

“If you play soft enough… no one will hear, right?”

And it was enough for Yoongi to round the instrument his heart had been reaching out for the moment he’d seen it. Easily settling himself on the floor, unbothered by the dust that would dirty his hanbok, he dragged a careful arm over it, letting his sleeve wipe away the signs of disuse, and then breathed out, centering himself. 

Placing delicate hands on the gayageum, Yoongi’s head absently tilted forward as he closed his eyes, and began to play.

Carefully scrubbing the dust from Yoongi’s hanbok, Taehyung cast a careful glance around him. The other servants were cheerily talking and laughing happily, but they formed an easily visible group that Taehyung was clearly not a part of.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. He knew what to expect the moment Yoongi had confided in him about the marriage as soon as Yoongi himself found out. Which was only the night before it was publicly announced. So while Taehyung grappled with the reality that he would have to uproot his life to accompany his childhood friend to a land where they would undoubtedly be hated – there was no way Taehyung would leave Yoongi to struggle alone – he knew his friend still got the shorter end of the stick in so many ways. So Taehyung would deal, and he would do whatever it would take to bring Yoongi peace wherever he could. 

After all, Yoongi’s smile from earlier that day was firmly seared in Taehyung’s eyelids. He couldn’t remember the last time his friend had smiled so brightly, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t help keep the reason for that smile still accessible to his friend.

And if that meant he’d have to brave initiating a conversation with the other hostile servants, well. Not for the first time, and he knew not for the last either, Taehyung wouldn’t let it faze him.

Moving to the side to rinse off the hanbok, the action drew him closer to the outer circle of the group, and where conveniently enough, one girl was more preoccupied with her task than gossiping with the others.

“Psst.”

The girl slowly raised her head, both eyebrows raised as she looked at Taehyung, face clearly emoting her disbelief at Taehyung addressing her. Despite the large staff at the palace, Taehyung wasn’t surprised that she recognized him. They’d already been here for a few weeks since even before the marriage in preparation for it, it wasn’t far fetched that people had seen him around Yoongi, the only one to accompany the Yuan heir to Goryeo and stay, and the only servant willing to tend to Yoongi personally.

Not like Yoongi would have hired anyone else anyway.

He cast her a large grin. “Can I ask you something?” There was no point in pleasantries, that would only make the girl lose interest faster, and Taehyung was on a mission here.

“What.”

“The corridor in the south side of the palace, the one that’s really dusty… does no one clean it?”

The girl stared at him as if he was crazy. “What are you blabbering about?” 

“It’s just, we were taking a tour of the palace earlier,” he didn’t have to elaborate on who the ‘we’ in question was, but he breezed on before the girl could try to ask just in case, “and we noticed how that particular corridor seemed… abandoned. Of course, we didn’t want to intrude, but… I only have the queen to attend to, and nothing much else to do, so I have plenty of time in case the palace could do with an extra hand.”

The girl, having long since ceased washing the clothes in her pile when Taehyung began talking, now straightened, fixing him with a glare. 

“That corridor is off limits,” she hissed with vehemence, and Taehyung was momentarily taken aback with her particular ferocity. “It was the Jeonha’s grandparents section of the palace, and he is preserving their memory with great honor. How dare you imply that it is not maintained to perfection, or that you think you’re worthy of going anywhere near such a prestigious place?” With an aggravated scoff, she pushed herself away from the basin and gathered her pile of clothes instead, clearly intending to move away from Taehyung and signaling an end to their conversation. “If you know what’s good for you, then you’d refrain from sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, northerner,” she hissed the word like the curse word Taehyung learned it to be in Goryeo, and stalked off. 

Blinking, Taehyung waited until she was out of hearing range, before turning back to his own pile of laundry. But he still didn’t move to wash it just yet. “Well maintained?” He muttered to himself. Pouting, he tilted his head to the side. “Maybe no one here has a dust allergy.” Shrugging, he shook his head and resumed rinsing off Yoongi’s hanbok with careful hands. While his friend wouldn’t scold him if he did happen to rip it, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to help out so Taehyung could push the blame on them, even if as a lighthearted joke.

Finishing quickly with the admittedly small load of clothes, Taehyung gathered the clothes to hang them in Yoongi’s antechambers, where he resided. It took one incident of Taehyung finding a tear too large to be accidental before he decided that he’d need to be more involved with his duties. If that meant he had to duck around meters upon meters of fabric to get to bed, then so be it. At least he came out of it with a room that constantly smelled of freshly laundered clothes now.

Hanbok in hand, Taehyung made his way out of the laundry room, head already in the clouds as he imagined what he would say to Yoongi. If the corridor was supposedly maintained but looked abandoned – or should he say, preserved – then maybe Yoongi could still visit the room with all the instruments, provided no one was around…

Maybe Taehyung should’ve been a bit more conscious of his surroundings though. Because as he rounded a corner a little too fast, excited at the thought of Yoongi’s smile that would for sure appear on his face at the news, he barely had time to register someone’s surprised face before he was colliding with the person.

“Shibal–” biting his lips with a grimace, Taehyung rapidly righted himself, taking hasty steps away as he struggled to keep the freshly laundered hanbok from touching the floor. He glanced up, prepared to quickly ascertain who he’d bumped to and fully ready to look back down and act as subservient as possible to deescalate the situation. Only, when he registered who was in front of him, a strange sense of Deja vu washed over Taehyung even as his face shuttered, the apology previously at the ready on the tip of his tongue dying out.

Inhaling, Taehyung forced it out anyway. At the end of the day, he was still a servant, and he didn’t need any trouble. Not when he was supposed to be delivering good news to Yoongi.

“I apologize,” and as much as he hated it, he got down on his knees. The action wouldn’t weigh too heavily on his mind if it was literally anyone else in front of him. But this man seemed to have a personal vendetta against Yoongi, and Taehyung wasn’t above feeling just as vindictive after the interaction he’d witnessed.

Sure, anyone and everyone would have it out for Yoongi and Taehyung just for being from Yuan. And it would’ve been just as reasonable for Taehyung to be leery of all Goryeo citizens just for that. 

But the hatred that had flashed in this man’s eyes when speaking to Yoongi, the utter contempt and disdain, as if Yoongi was below him… not everyone in Goryeo could do that, if at least to respect his status as the Goryeo queen. So if this man disliked Yoongi and could show it so bravely as he had done so, then Taehyung disliked him too, as simple as that.

What wasn’t simple was getting down on his knees for the man, but Yoongi and his happiness was Taehyung’s priority. He couldn’t go around offending the Goryeo court to achieve that, more like the exact opposite.

“It was completely my mistake. Please, allow your leniency to have mercy.” It was far too grand words for a mere concubine, but if the man was susceptible to Taehyung’s buttering, then hopefully he could get out of here faster.

But the man’s response took Taehyung by surprise. “Oh, please, do get up. You have nothing to apologize for, it was a simple mistake.”

When he dared to look up, the concubine’s face was one of what Taehyung dared to call kindness, and he couldn’t stop his eyebrows raising from disbelief. Did this man not realize who he was? Because the servants behind the concubine sure did, if the look of their disbelief at the concubine’s reaction mingled with distaste at Taehyung’s presence was anything to go by.

The man giggled, bringing Taehyung back to the – reasonable, he would think – worry if this man was in his right mind. “No need to look so alarmed,” the man smiled brightly, his eyes almost disappearing at the action. “Are you new here?”

Taehyung stared. And stared. And then he blinked. “No.” He finally managed to say, voice flat. “If you’ll excuse me,” he bowed, ready to get this interaction over with. If the man didn’t even recognize him… then he was definitely not worth Taehyung’s time right now, “I must get these to my master.” 

“Oh?” But the man did not make way, instead, moving along with Taehyung to keep the path blocked. Not in a way to intimidate, Taehyung didn’t think… not with the… almost flirtatious smile on the man’s face.

Taehyung locked his muscles before his lip curled up into a grimace of disgust.

“Who’s your master?” The man’s gaze dropped down to the hanbok in Taehyung’s arms. It may have been Yoongi’s casual attire, but anyone in the court could’ve been able to tell by the quality of the fabric and the colors alone that no one who wasn't royalty would be the owners of these clothes. 

And sure enough, a slight furrow appeared between the man’s eyebrows as he seemed to be connecting the dots. “Are you one of the Jeonha’s new servants?”

Taehyung clenched his jaw. Blessedly, or maybe not, before he could even decide on how to answer that, one of the servants from behind the man stood forward, a hand cupping his mouth as he whispered something in the man’s ears.

Who Taehyung was, no doubt, as the furrow grew deeper. 

“You’re the Yuan’s heir servant?” The man asked. His voice was sharp, but there was almost something disbelieving in his eyes. Taehyung couldn’t understand why, and frankly, nor did he want to.

“Yes.” And as much as he’d been wanting to keep this interaction short, a part of him that had been screaming with curiosity burst free before Taehyung could pull the reins on it. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are.” Maybe it could've been worded better, if his shortness conveyed his animosity.

The man’s nostrils flared as he straightened, looking at Taehyung with an unreadable look in his eyes. Yet, he wasn’t the one who answered, the servant from before stepping forward to get Taehyung’s attention even as he stood a respectable distance behind the man.

“This is the royal Jeonha of Goryeo’s first consort, Jimin-bin. Watch your tone, for you must still address him with respect,” the servant said haughtily.

Taehyung appraised the man – Jimin – in front of him, before remembering himself. Jerking back into another bow, he kept his gaze on the floor this time. “Then I apologize once again. I meant no disrespect.”

There was a small pause before Jimin hummed, a light, melodious tune. “It’s no problem,” he finally said. “You must not have known,” an airy giggle, sounding as fake and forced as Taehyung’s show of respect with his still bowed head. “As long as it doesn’t happen again…”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, the action hidden with his head bowed, and held back a scoff. If Jimin didn’t dismiss him soon, respect be damned, Taehyung was going to walk away soon without waiting for one.

At the lack of a response from Taehyung, he could feel Jimin seeming to wilt in front of him without needing to look. Although why, he didn’t know.

“Very well,” Jimin finally said. “I’m sure you have… duties to attend to, and I wouldn’t want to keep you from them.” Jimin took a small step to the side, the servants behind him fluidly following the motion, so that enough space was given for Taehyung to pass through.

“Thank goodness,” Taehyung muttered under his breath as he hurried past. At that point, he didn’t even care if Jimin had heard him not. He wasn’t told to halt and repeat himself, and that was all that mattered, as he rushed back to Yoongi’s personal chambers.

It had been two moon cycles since they found the music room. And almost every day, Yoongi found himself back in there. After Taehyung had revealed to him that it was as good as abandoned, even the risk of potential punishment for trespassing on Goryeo’s revered memory wasn’t enough to dissuade Yoongi from returning. No, the ability to lay his fingers on a gayageum that was rapidly growing close to Yoongi’s heart outweighed risks he hadn't thought too hard about.

But maybe he should have. Because for two blissful moon cycles, his frequent retreats to this room had created a sort of sanctuary for him. Well. As blissful as his time in Goryeo could ever be, because these chambers definitely were a sanctuary, more than his own, from the king who had only grown increasingly agitated with Yoongi. And he wasn’t oblivious as to why.

Two moon cycles had passed, and Yoongi had still not conceived. The thought was as sickening as it was a relief, because for every day his body remained unchanged, he was selfishly satisfied to not have to carry a more permanent reminder of the king’s touch on him.

But for every day his body remained unchanged, the king seemed to take it as a personal mission to try bedding Yoongi again. And as the days went on with the king growing impatient…

He hadn’t been a gentle lover to begin with, the night they consummated their marriage. But by now, it was as if whatever diplomacy they’d at least pretended to show for the wedding was completely stripped away. In its place was a man who truly detested Yoongi and everything he represented. And Yoongi was now carrying the marks of the man’s hatred with regularity. 

Taehyung had tried to bring it up a few times. The first time, Yoongi reminded him of their situation and ultimately, their inability to do anything about it. The next few times, he stayed silent, if only because by then, Yoongi knew he would’ve broken down if he opened his mouth. After a while, Taehyung got the hint and stopped asking, but it didn’t stop him from looking at Yoongi with wide, concerned eyes. On far too many occasions, those eyes had even gone glassy with unshed tears for Yoongi. But if he cried for Yoongi, then Yoongi was never privy to it, and for that, he was glad. With Yoongi holding on by mere threads, if Taehyung cried as well, then Yoongi had no idea what he would do.

So. This restricted area of a kingdom that loathed Yoongi’s existence apart from what his body should’ve been doing for the king yet was failing to. Which could potentially bring him even more danger if he was discovered and he knew his battered body would barely manage to survive any additional punishments, if at all. And still, it was the only time and place his mind was at peace.

Of course, he should’ve known, like the few meager good things in Yoongi’s life, nothing would last as it were. Because what should’ve been just another day with Yoongi plucking away at the gayageum, Taehyung sitting a few feet away tending to the chores he was able to bring, was abruptly interrupted with the door sliding open, and a man stepping in. 

Instantly, Yoongi’s hands stilled, and beside him, he could see Taehyung in his peripherals also frozen in fear. Heart in his throat, Yoongi hardly dared to breathe as he took in the newcomer.

Dressed in royal garbs, the man was clearly part of the court, but beyond that and combined with his frighteningly large stature, Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to remember who exactly this man was. A faint tickling at the back of his mind was barely enough to alert Yoongi to the fact that he definitely knew this man. They must’ve been introduced during the first couple of weeks of Yoongi’s arrival here, when Yoongi was barely just given enough introductions and knowledge of the court members and procedures before the marriage. But with Yoongi’s general isolation and current panic, there was no way he would be able to place a name to that face.

The face that was regarding Yoongi with an unreadable expression. His eyes flickered to Taehyung, and Yoongi could see – he didn’t dare to look away from the man – from the corner of his eyes as Taehyung sprang into action.

Prostrating, head pressed to the ground, Taehyung spoke. “Forgive us,” he cried out, voice tinged with panic but buried well enough under absolute deference that Yoongi was sure only he could hear it, “we did not mean to cause any offense. I only heard that these chambers were not in use, and the Mama enjoys playing instruments–”

“Taehyung.” Yoongi’s voice was soft and dry, but effective at silencing his friend. The man’s face was still placid, but there definitely wasn’t a hint of warmth in his eyes as he continued to stare at Yoongi. Fighting the urge to fall silent again, Yoongi swallowed. “We do apologize for intruding upon this corridor. But I assure you, we do not mean to dishonor or disrespect the Jeonha or his family by being here.” 

The man raised a hand, stilling Yoongi from uttering anything else. “You know you shouldn’t be here, and yet, you are?” He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. It only added to his intimidating aura. That, and his surprisingly deep voice. 

And of course, the words he’d said.

Unsure what to say, Yoongi kept quiet, inhaling deeply to try and keep calm. As if at a standoff, they regarded each other silently, before the man sighed. His hand lowered, and he looked to the gayageum that Yoongi cradled still with careful hands.

“Jeonha’s late mother enjoyed the gayageum the most as well.”

He probably should’ve kept quiet, but Yoongi couldn’t fight the curiosity within him. “I thought these chambers belonged to the Jeonha’s grandparents?”

The man shot him a sharp look. But perhaps to their mercy, did not lash out at Yoongi’s interruption. “It was. It was due to them that these chambers are filled with all sorts of instruments. However, the Jeonha’s mother was particularly fond of the gayageum alone.”

“Oh.” Unsure as to what to say, Yoongi looked back down at the gayageum, unable to continue looking at the man. If the man told him that he should never return, then Yoongi surely would have no other choice to comply, whether or not the man told the king.

His heart was constricting at the thought of abandoning the gayageum now, though. Just as it had been before Yoongi came.

“However,” the man continued to speak, and Yoongi found himself looking at him despite himself, “the king himself had no interest in music as a whole. Ceremonies involving music played by servants require them to bring their own instruments, or the Jeonha provides other equipment for them. He would never allow those not of Goryeo royalty to lay their hands on his mother and grandparents’ pride and joy.”

Dread resumed to latch their claws back onto Yoongi, and he could only watch with bated breath, awaiting the man’s next words.

“Because of that, no one has touched these instruments like they deserved to be in years.”

Yoongi blinked, uncomprehending. Was it just his imagination, or had the man’s tone… softened, somewhat?

“I myself have tried to play them, but I had neither the time or skill to do these instruments justice.” The man turned his sharp gaze back onto Yoongi, and Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat once again at the piercing eyes that seemed to carry the ability to look into Yoongi’s soul. “Your playing… it reminds me of how the Jeonha’s mother used to play.”

For a while, it was completely silent, Yoongi still at a loss for words, and to his side, Taehyung seemingly holding every cell in his body stiff, for fear of breaking whatever tension it was that seemed to permeate the air now.

The man looked at the gayageum once again. “With love,” he finished, his voice soft.

Silence reigned once again, and Yoongi hardly dared to break it, even if he had known what to say. His body held still, he ultimately resigned himself to await his judgment. Whatever was going on in this man’s head, unless and until he decisively told Yoongi to stay away…

“You should be more careful,” the man said. And if he hadn’t gone back to looking at Yoongi rather dismissively, Yoongi would’ve almost taken those words as a gesture of kindness. “It is hard to predict when the Jeonha might decide to visit the site of his mother and grandparents’ memory.”

Yoongi hardly dared to believe it. Sure, it wasn’t like this man had the power to surpass the king’s decision – at least, he didn’t think so. Yoongi highly doubted the king himself would allow Yoongi to return here if he knew what was going on. But from the man’s words, it sounded like the man wouldn’t be telling the king of Yoongi’s whereabouts. If anything… he might’ve also just been warning Yoongi to be more careful instead. And if that were so, then Yoongi wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He bowed his head down, a gesture of gratitude that he would not dare to voice aloud and risk testing whatever leniency this man was showing. “I shall keep that in mind,” he said instead.

With that, the man nodded, casting one last look around the room. When his eyes landed on Taehyung, he quickly threw himself back onto the ground, far less reserved with his appreciation than Yoongi was. “We thank you, my lord.”

The man’s face shifted at the addressal, a quick spasm of muscles, before he smoothed out his expression again. Not responding, he instead cast one last appraising look at Yoongi, before he was gone.

For several long seconds, the two left in the room stayed still in their position, processing the past few minutes that had transpired. And then, as one, they moved, Taehyung lifting his head off the ground so he could turn his head and meet Yoongi’s wide eyes. “I guess we’re still in the clear, hyung.”

Taehyung’s grin was wide across his face. Despite the ominous feeling curdling in his guts, Yoongi pushed away the anxiety of a future that hadn’t yet come to pass, one they may have actually narrowly missed just now.

He smiled back at Taehyung. “It would seem so, Taehyung-ah.”

Namjoon didn’t care for the Yuan heir just as much as anyone else in Goryeo. For all he cared, the man was a physical embodiment of the violence and bloodshed Goryeo had suffered for the past few generations. Every time Namjoon laid his eyes upon him, it was only a harsh reminder of all the lives that had been lost, families shattered, and lands destroyed. In fact, Namjoon had every right to hate the man’s existence, just as much as everyone else in Goryeo.

Sure, the man was also Goryeo’s queen now, but only in title. Never had he appeared in court. Whether or not the man himself wanted to be present in the affairs of the Goryeo kingdom, Namjoon didn’t know nor care to find out. None of the court members, Namjoon himself included, would have appreciated seeing him there though, so his absence worked just fine anyway. If the Yuan heir did show up, chances are, nothing would get done, because who would want to reveal anything of how their kingdom operated to the enemy? 

Namjoon was aware that the Yuan heir had never been directly on the battlefield himself. But as a royal, even if he hadn’t been the one to strike a sword through the chest of Goryeo citizens, he was undoubtedly involved in the decisions that led to the continuous battles that had taken place in the decades-long war between Yuan and Goryeo. To have such a person on Goryeo’s council now, and to pretend everything was fine? All because of a peace treaty and marriage vows that neither party had been particularly interested in participating with in the first place?

No. Humans were fickle creatures. Adaptable, they may be, but resistant to change they also were. A couple of pieces of paper with the ink barely dried upon it, and even a revered ceremonial ribbon weren’t enough for Goryeo to forget the history and play nice yet. It was too soon for that to happen.

Maybe, if a few generations have passed and peace continued to successfully reign, then the citizens of both lands Could mix with less reservations. For that, Yuan and Goryeo would have to abide by the treaty rules at the present.

It was a possibility, Namjoon knew, that could be beneficial for the future generations to come. But he knew the people presently involved, and even if he didn’t know what the future held precisely, Namjoon did know it wasn’t going to be like what everyone actually expected.

He could only wait with anticipation, but until then…

Until then, Namjoon was questioning himself, rather than the permutations of possible futures. Namjoon was unable to understand as to why he would willingly spend time with the Yuan heir. He’d gone over every reason why he should detest the man – and did, in fact – many times in his head. So how was he able to look past the man and all that he represented, just to listen to the music he played?

Then again. It wasn’t just music. It couldn’t be just music when it was played from the very gayageum that the king’s mother had played while she was alive. Years had passed, yet Namjoon could still remember the songs she used to play, a serene, content look on her face.

It was the same look on the Yuan heir’s face when he played as well. And when Namjoon had seen him like that, playing – not the old queen’s songs, nor anything he recognized either – the gayageum that had brought the king’s mother so much joy and happiness… any rightful indignation he should’ve had, seeing a Yuan play a beloved instrument was washed away. No, at that moment, all Namjoon could see was a man who seemed to love music as much as the old queen, cradling her instrument with as much respect and honor as it deserved and playing it so beautifully…

Selfishly, Namjoon let himself forget. Forget about the blood, the violence, the grief and unrest. Stupidly, he let himself be, and instead requested to accompany the man, wanting, yearning to hear more. 

He felt like a naive child, and his only saving grace was that he knew he was able to maintain his composure in front of the Yuan heir and his servant. Namjoon may not have shown his appreciation for the music the Yuan heir played, but it was a mercy that Namjoon hadn’t shown or let his anger reign either.

Maybe for both of them. Because if Namjoon had let his initial reaction at finding the Yuan heir to be the one laying hands on the old queen’s instrument take over him, then neither would the man have been able to keep playing, nor would Namjoon have been able to hear it being played either. No, chances are, if Namjoon had gone a step further and taken his discovery to the king, the king may have very well burnt the gayageum, seeing it as being tarnished now. 

A year ago, such a negative thought of the king would’ve been preposterous, Namjoon knew. But seeing how the king was behaving in front of him at this very moment…

“Jeonha.” Namjoon dared to speak, after letting the king go on for so long with his angrily muttered rant. Namjoon could really only catch every other word, the king uncharacteristically lowering his volume and letting his dictation slip, but none of it sounded good. Privately, Namjoon was torn. Namjoon knew that lessons as a child taught the king to always speak clearly so whoever he addressed would never be able to misunderstand him. But from what Namjoon was picking up, what he was hearing wasn’t the most… flattering, to say the absolute least. It left Namjoon wondering which was a bigger concern; the king forgetting years of training that he’d never slipped on before, or if it was better to not be able to hear everything properly if it meant he didn’t have to hear things he did not want to know about the Yuan heir.

“Jeonha,” Namjoon tried again, raising his voice so that the king could overhear him over his own muttering. “There is still time yet.”

At that, the king whirled around angrily, his hanbok flying with him at the action. “Time?” He exclaimed, staring at Namjoon with a mix of anger – Namjoon had to remind himself it wasn’t directed at him. Most probably – and disbelief, as if Namjoon had dared utter something stupid. “Two moon cycles have passed, and the northerner has yet to conceive.” The insult was uttered so venomously, that if Namjoon hadn’t been guilty of doing the same at his lowest moments, he would’ve recoiled. “I have spent almost every night forcing myself to lay with him when I can barely bring myself to look at him.”

Namjoon hesitated, unsure what to say. He laid his hands atop the table he sat in front of, shifting around in place. The pillows in the king’s chambers may have been the softest the land could offer, but with as long as he’d been sitting here on his knees while the king ranted and raved, his knees were starting to strain while his calves had long since gone past the stage of pain into numbness now.

“When I see him on my bed, all I can think of is how he’s responsible for all the turmoil we’ve gone through. And when I have to lay my hands upon him?” The king fell silent, his face twisted up with revulsion. Clearly, whatever he was imagining wasn’t pleasant. For more reasons than one, Namjoon didn’t feel inclined to ask.

Abruptly, the king sighed, closing his eyes. He took deep breaths, visibly calming himself, before he opened his eyes again, finally joining Namjoon at the table. Namjoon watched as the king poured himself a drink – his own cup needed no refilling, still left barely touched beyond the initial sip or two. The king brought the goblet to his lips, taking a drink and then set it back down on the table. His muscles went lax as he slumped over, looking every bit the image of a defeated man. “Every time I touch him, I can feel my control on my anger slipping away, bit by bit. I see his face, and I wish…” the king’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Namjoon subconsciously held his breath to hear the king better. “I wish it wasn’t his face I was looking at. But it is, and when I have to rest my hands atop his skin… I am unable to keep my rage, my fury on a leash.” The king raised his hands in front of his face, staring at them as if they had personally betrayed them. “I depend on this man to carry my heir, and he needs to be in prime condition. Instead?” He looked at Namjoon over his hands, his eyes wide and lost. “I am only using his body as a means to vent my anger over the fact that… it is not Jimin I am with.”

Namjoon did not say a word, couldn’t. Distantly, as the king fell silent, his lungs reminded him to breathe again, and the oxygen rushing back to his lungs cleared his mind. He almost wished it didn’t though. Not when the king was looking at him like a lost child, looking for all the world like he needed to be appeased and loved just like one. It frightened Namjoon to see the king in such a state, one that he had never witnessed before.

Licking his lips, Namjoon swallowed, trying to get past the sudden dryness in his mouth in order to speak. “Good things take time, Jeonha,” he stated, but his voice was hoarse and dry, leaving neither man to believe his words. If anything, Namjoon was only left with one more daunting question to weigh heavily upon his shoulders; what kind of good things was he even talking about now… and for who?

Chapter Text

Barely a week had passed, and as he was often prone to, Yoongi was in the music room again. Reverent hands plucking away at the gayageum, he was sufficiently distracted by the song he’d begun composing since discovering the room. It wasn’t complete yet, his fickle mind finding notes to tweak here and there, but it was as good as a fully constructed song. 

Beside him, Taehyung was happily humming along to the tune while mending Yoongi’s robes, easily keeping along after hearing it so many times. Absently, a part of Yoongi’s mind drifted to wonder how Taehyung always seemed to be working on one of his many hanboks whenever they were here. It wasn’t like he treated them roughly, he doubted it would need much maintenance. But if it kept his friend well enough occupied while they were there without actually laying a hand on the other instruments, if only to clean them, then Yoongi wouldn’t say anything.

A positive, he surmised, of Taehyung being as much of an outcast as he was. He only had to serve Yoongi, and as low maintenance as he was, there really wasn’t much for Taehyung to do. Almost guiltily, Yoongi made a mental note to talk to Taehyung later. If the man really had nothing else to do, then Yoongi would make sure Taehyung had the materials for whatever he wanted to do. It was the least Yoongi could do in return for all that Taehyung had done for him, after all. 

Letting the thoughts slip away into a corner of his mind to be brought back later, Yoongi let his mind fully focus on the song again. The ending notes didn’t sound as right, something almost jarring with the dissonance of the song’s general melody…

The doors slid open, and Yoongi’s fingers ceased their movement, just as much as Taehyung’s. Looking up, he was startled to see the same man as before. He wore the same indifferent expression, but this time, he entered the room and slid the door closed behind him.

Beside him, Taehyung stiffened, his hands clutching his needle and Yoongi’s hanbok tightly.

Swallowing, Yoongi forced himself to remain calm. “Is everything alright?”

The man paused, looking between Yoongi and the gayageum. When he spoke, it was without meeting Yoongi’s eyes, staring hard at the gayageum instead. “I would like to listen, if you don’t mind my presence here.”

Yoongi blinked rapidly. His heart seemed to be racing from the whiplash of emotions that had been thrown onto it, and it was all he could do to ignore it in favor of responding to the man. “Of course not.” He bowed his head back down, but as a gesture of goodwill to the man rather than a dismissal in favor of returning his attention to the gayageum. Not quite yet, he wouldn’t, if only to play along with whatever strange game this man was starting. “Do you have any requests?” 

The man stepped further into the room. Yoongi fought his muscles from locking with tension, trying to remain relaxed. It wasn’t until the man sat down cross legged on the bare floor, a good distance away, that he responded, and Yoongi was able to uncurl his stiffened fingers.

“Whatever you were playing before was fine,” the man said, his expression unchanging.

Blinking again, Yoongi merely nodded, his head falling back down, this time to look to the gayageum. There was still tension in the air, Yoongi not ignorant of the man’s discontent with Yoongi himself. But they seemed to reach a stalemate of sorts… a shared compromise in favor of music. And that, Yoongi could get along with.

Resting his fingers atop the gayageum strings again, Yoongi played his song from the beginning. Beside him, Taehyung stared curiously at Yoongi, seemingly not daring to look at the man himself. It took several notes before Taehyung resumed his own work, and apart from the melody emanating from the gayageum, the room was in silence.

It wasn’t comfortable, a part of Yoongi on edge the entire time. When Yoongi came to the final notes he had composed thus far, he let the sounds die out instead of adding on to it like he normally would. The man swiftly rose to his feet when he realized Yoongi wouldn’t play anymore, if at least with him still there. His face still a blank mask, but he nodded at Yoongi.

“You play beautifully.” There was almost a hint of begrudgement to his tone, Yoongi was amused to note. He refrained from the urge to let the corners of his mouths quirk up, knowing any trace of humor would not be appreciated, tenuous as their interactions were. “I hope you wouldn’t mind if I could hear more some day.”

Yoongi tilted his head to the side. “I would not deny you access from doing so whenever you pleased.”

The man stared at him, his eyes almost narrowing, before he bowed. “I shall see you again soon then, Mama.” As he straightened, Yoongi bowed his own head in return. He tilted his head at Taehyung in acknowledgement before leaving the room, as swift and silent as he’d entered.

Taehyung let out a whoosh of an exhale beside him. “I can’t tell if he hates you or…” Taehyung made a weird face, “or if he hates you.”

Yoongi smiled, admittedly feeling at a lot more ease now that the man was gone. “Or a secret third option; perhaps he just really loves music as well.”

He plucked a few more notes, restarting the sequence at the end, before he paused again, looking at Taehyung. 

“By the way.” Taehyung had an intense look of concentration on his face, biting his lip. He didn’t look away from where he brought the hanbok and thread closer to his eye, but hummed inquisitively to show he was listening. Briefly, Yoongi spared a thought of concern, hoping his friend wouldn’t poke himself in the eye, but also trusting his years of experience to avoid that from happening. “Do you know who that man is?”

At that, Taehyung paused. He looked to the door, where the man had left through. His eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Wasn’t he the first advisor—“

“Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi cut off, the memory returning. “Yes,” he muttered, looking to the door as well. “That’s who he is…”

The second time Namjoon passed by the corridor in the palace that led to the music room, less than a week after the first time he’d discovered the Yuan heir in there, he had only paused for a few seconds. He could feel the shame boiling low in his stomach for even considering it, but the need to hear the old queen’s gayageum was far greater, outweighing the guilt creeping in the back of his mind. Steeling himself, ensuring that at least the Yuan heir and his servant would not be privy to even a glimpse of his thoughts, Namjoon had stepped towards the room.

The time after that, a mere few days having passed, the shame only grew in fervor when he didn’t even pause.

And the time after that, only two days since he’d last visited, his lungs tightened when he realized it was far too easy to ignore the shame and guilt. His steps were too practiced and easy as he headed to the music room. His gait unfaltering, unthinking.

If not every day, then every other day, Namjoon soon came to realize, the Yuan heir would be studiously plucking away at the gayageum. And every other day, Namjoon was finding himself shirking away from his duties, if only for a while, to sit with him and listen to him play. Later, he’d go back to tending to the duties he’d put to the side. Later, he would go back to hating the Yuan heir. Later, he’d console the king, who would confide in hushed whispers of his slipping control. And always, he’d ignore how that last one led to Namjoon looking at the Yuan heir in a different light, knowing what had transpired to the man only the night prior. But as much as the Yuan heir gave no indication of the king’s treatment of him, then Namjoon as well would continue to ignore this new shaky path he’d already begun to travel upon.

For every day he could spend playing the gayageum, Yoongi had long since learned there was equal servings of pain and misery. The words may have been extreme when Yoongi felt calmer, but right now, with the waves of agony still causing his muscles to uncontrollably spasm at random intervals, Yoongi thought those words to be an apt description of his life.

The physician attending to him in his personal chambers didn’t make a sound as he assessed Yoongi. Behind him, Taehyung was barely holding back tears. His hands were still stained with blood. Yoongi’s blood, from when he tried to wipe it away from his legs with shaky hands after the arduous journey back to his chambers. Neither one of them had wanted Yoongi to stay in the king’s chambers after the deed had been done. A deeper part of Yoongi was afraid to spend a second longer, afraid of the king returning, afraid the king would perhaps find himself with another burst of vengeful energy, afraid of the king…

Swallowing, Yoongi turned his gaze back to the ceiling and held back another moan as the physician pressed a hand to his abdomen.

“Nothing has been permanently injured,” the physician finally said, drawing back. Vaguely, Yoongi tried to recall the man’s name, but it kept slipping away as waves of discomfort enveloped him instead. “But it would be advisable to refrain from strenuous activities until you’ve healed.”

Yoongi barely held back a scoff. As if he had any say over the activities his body was subjected to.

As if reading his thoughts, the physician winced, looking away. He bowed his head in thanks when Taehyung came up with a bowl of water in one hand and a rag in another. Dipping his hands in the water to cleanse them, the physician continued to speak without looking at Yoongi.

“I will… try to talk to the Jeonha. It would be in his best interests as well for your body to rest before any more attempts to conceive are made.” Even though he wasn’t looking at him, with Yoongi’s eyes trained on the physician, he didn’t miss the strange way the physician’s face contorted before he seemed to remember himself and busied himself with drying his hands on the rag Taehyung held.

“About that.” He struggled to push himself up, a hiss escaping his gritted teeth. Instantly, Taehyung was by his side, helping prop him up so that he was laying on the pillows instead of prone on his bed. “Why are we having… issues?” He hated having to ask, but he needed to know. If this kept up, Yoongi was frankly unsure how much longer his body could take this. “The physicians back home had nothing concerning to report on my fertility. Has…” he paused, feeling the words catch in his throat.

Yoongi didn’t want to be impregnated by the Goryeo king, even if he had no other choice. The thought of carrying such a violent and despicable creature’s child – he would never fault the child, of course. But who knew what kind of future was held in store for him, should he be pregnant? Would the abuse decrease? Would the king’s hand be stayed at least in reverence for their child? And how would the child itself be treated? Surely, not as bad as Yoongi, if the king was so intent on procuring himself a heir of his own blood.

No matter the unrelenting concerns that filled Yoongi, the ability to bear a child itself was not a trait he had qualms with. If only he had more control in his life, then a day would have come where Yoongi himself would have readily walked into carrying a child. A child he would adore, sired by a man he loved.

Whimsical fantasies, they were now.

But he still dared not to think if the ability itself were forcefully removed from Yoongi’s body, too much abuse and damage rendering him unable to carry. He may have hated the king, but not his own body. No matter the scars and bruises that now littered it, the ability to carry and bring forth life was still treasured, and he knew, if he weren’t who he was, where he was, then that respect would’ve been shown onto him by others as well.

The physician paused, his hands still holding the rag. He turned to look at Yoongi, something dark flashing in his eyes. His mouth was open as if to say something, yet the hesitation on his face clearly revealed his struggle as to whether or not he should say whatever it was he was holding back.

Yoongi quietly waited him out, his face impassive even as the twist of his organs was caused from something more than physical pain.

“The Jeonha is… infertile,” the physician finally dared to say.

Yoongi balked.

“I had mentioned it to him once before. He didn’t take too kindly to the implication that he would never be able to sire any of his own children.” It was as if the floodgates had opened, the words now leaving the physician’s mouth in a rush. Yoongi strained to listen carefully, trying to not miss a word that spilled from the physician in an incredible speed. “From what I’ve heard, it is why when Jimin-bin was unable to conceive as well… he decided to add the clause to the treaty with Yuan.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed as he fought to put the pieces together. “He thought he could… sire a child with me so as to further secure the treaty… despite his infertility?”

The physician shrugged, shifting on his feet. The look on his face was one of utter unrest, and he was no longer meeting Yoongi’s eyes. “He can be quite… prideful, as a matter of his ego.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Yoongi muttered. He looked away, thoughts racing as he fought to keep his breath under control. “If I fail to sire a child for the Jeonha…” 

Then what use would he be of to the king?

“I can tell him your body is stressed from the move and the acclimation to the new lands,” the physician offered. “But it will only last you so long. After that…”

After that, Yoongi was as good as dead. And it wouldn’t be a simple, painless way that he would be going either. 

A sudden chill permeated his body, and he shivered. Taehyung came closer again, swiftly and efficiently wrapping him up in his blankets. He kept his head down, hiding his face from Yoongi’s view. Yoongi knew his friend was absolutely devastated by the news.

As for Yoongi himself… he wasn’t sure what to do with the information he’d just been presented either.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to center himself. When he opened them again, he was as collected as he could appear when he looked at the physician. “Thank you for your help…” the man’s name slipped away from his tongue again, but it was the farthest thing from Yoongi’s mind than to try and retrieve it.

The physician merely bowed instead. “Rest well, Mama.”

Slipping away from his side, Taehyung rushed to get the door for the physician, while Yoongi found his thoughts drifting once again.

“Thank you, Hoseok-ssi,” Taehyung muttered, and ah, yes, that was the physician’s name. Taehyung bowed his head low as he held the door open for the physician to leave, and as soon as it was shut behind him, Taehyung turned back to Yoongi.

For the first time since they’d arrived in Goryeo, the tears in Taehyung’s eyes slipped down his face. But Yoongi felt far too shattered inside to be able to cry, now.

A week had passed, and the extent of Yoongi’s injuries were still hard to ignore, even as he studiously plucked away at the gayageum. He’d obediently stayed in bed rest for the first few days, especially as he was unable to even rise from his bed without Taehyung’s support. The physician must’ve spoken to the king as well, and whatever he had to say, Yoongi was grateful for the reprieve while it lasted, as the king had not summoned Yoongi to his chambers once.

Vaguely, he wondered if perhaps staying in bed longer would’ve continued to keep the king away, and if he was risking it by letting the king know he was up and about instead. But Yoongi had grown far too restless, missing the thrums of the gayageum’s strings too much to stay away any longer. So finally, here he was, Taehyung sitting closer than usual. Yoongi couldn’t fault him, as the long walk still tested his muscles beyond their limits, and he had only just managed to make it to the room, albeit resting heavily against Taehyung to be able to do so.

Taehyung had looked far too concerned and ready to cart Yoongi back to his bedchambers, but he had wisely held his tongue. Besides, after the journey to the chambers, whatever energy he had mustered for the walk to it was drained, and he’d need the break anyway to regain enough to return to his chambers. Knowing that, Taehyung had just resorted to surrounding Yoongi in more pillows than usual, and sat close enough that if Yoongi leaned any further to the side, he’d be leaning on his friend once again.

The first few notes he’d played had Yoongi wincing. They were discordant – not because of the time that had passed since Yoongi last visited. No, it could be years gone by, and Yoongi would still be able to handle a gayageum with ease. Injured, however, it took more tries than Yoongi was comfortable with for his brain and muscles to cooperate.

Eventually, he was able to get the first few notes of the last song he’d been composing out. It was shakier and slower than he would’ve preferred, but it came along mostly recognizable. Normally, Yoongi wasn’t one to settle with his music, but with his body as it was, he resigned himself to the quality he was able to produce at the moment.

Just as he’d gotten past the first chord, the door to the music room opened. He instantly stiffened, muscles locking from instinctual fear. Yoongi hated himself for it when Taehyung made a wounded sound, as if the physical pain Yoongi felt caused a sympathetic reaction in his friend.

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain centered around his abdomen more so than his limbs, Yoongi looked to the door. Despite his initial reaction, he wasn’t too surprised to see who it was who’d entered.

Kim Namjoon slipped the door closed behind him after he entered. After seeing the first advisor a handful of times already, Yoongi might have even said a tentative habit was seeming to form. Just as he was doing now, he would always enter, respectfully bow his head at Yoongi and even Taehyung – for all that his face was a tellingly blank mask the entire time – and then seat himself a respectable distance away. No matter what Yoongi played – and Yoongi tried to change it up on the days he visited, if at least an unsaid gesture of goodwill that the man wouldn’t understand anyway – he never said a word, seemingly content to just sit there and listen.

If Yoongi was a bit more naive, he might’ve said he even understood the man. And maybe he was, maybe it was as simple as a love for music that had the man returning with increasing frequency.

But the past couple of weeks had taken too heavy of a toll on Yoongi, and he felt unsettled, off-balance and now mentally struggling to find his footing again. So when the first advisor sat down, Yoongi wasn’t inclined to immediately resume playing as he was starting to learn to before his… absence. Instead, he sat there, fingers dancing above the keys, yet making no contact.

Perhaps feeling pressed to fill the silence for once, the first advisor spoke. “May I make a request?”

The words did nothing to settle Yoongi’s anxiety, but he was sufficiently taken aback at the distortion of their long since abandoned script that he could only stare at the man. Apparently taking his shock as a silent confirmation – or willfully choosing to see it as such, anyway – the man went on regardless.

“The song you were playing the first day I had come here… do you mind playing it again?”

It was the last thing Yoongi expected to hear. Beyond that first day when he had sat in, when the first advisor had dropped by the subsequent couple of times, Yoongi had played generic melodies. It was nothing too fancy, but enough to keep the atmosphere as calm and cheery as it could get, however forced. But after the second visit of playing tunes that Yoongi could’ve played with one hand and while asleep, Yoongi decided he’d rather be prepared with something far more satisfactory for all parties involved if he really was sensing a pattern to come. With a plan in mind, he had swiftly made a visit to the library. With Taehyung’s assistance, they were able to make enough copies of scores that Yoongi, thankfully, didn’t have much difficulty memorizing. By the next visit, Yoongi was ready, and switched to something that the first advisor was far more likely to be familiar with.

The first time that had happened, it was also the first time Yoongi witnessed the man’s mask slip properly, surprise overtaking his features for several long seconds before he was able to compose himself. Hiding away any of his own feelings of satisfaction and amusement, Yoongi had played on, and continued to play the traditional music that he knew was more favored in the Goryeo courts whenever the first advisor dropped by.

Hearing him request one of his own songs, however, that he had only heard once and a full moon cycle ago? Yoongi wasn’t too stingy so as to not dabble in various styles of music either, yet he knew the one he’d been working on had a distinctively more Yuan style to it. 

It was… unexpected, to say the least.

But Yoongi was not going to question it, far too many factors holding his tongue. No matter the slight discomfort at the idea of this man who was, at best, a stranger to him, wanted to listen to one of his unfinished works. Pushing those thoughts away, Yoongi merely ducked his head back down and obeyed, his fingers finding the right chords with more ease than a few mere minutes ago.

Without any further ado, he began to play.

The sounds of the familiar melody playing from the gayageum did a lot to ease some of Yoongi’s nerves – some, not all. Because he couldn’t – wouldn’t be able to relax completely when the king’s first advisor was still only sitting a few feet away. That being said, it was still calming to be able to somewhat slip back into the familiar mindset of concentrating solely on his music – distraction in the form of one really tall and imposing man aside – ears trained to hear whatever notes he deemed dissatisfactory and seamlessly making alterations to refine them. 

Far too soon, and an eternity later, the song drew to an end. There were still parts he wanted to fix, and he’d play through the song several more times before he was finally satisfied enough to move onto composing a new one. But for now, the song finally had a definite finish to it.

Fingers gliding along the strings without strumming them, he looked up. And blinked. The first advisor was looking at him. His usual mask wasn’t in place, but Yoongi still couldn’t sparse the meaning behind the furrowed eyebrows, dark colored eyes staring right at him. They looked like dragon eyes, Yoongi noted with a start. Fitting, with how fierce his gaze was. 

Faltering, Yoongi let his hands still, resting atop the wood of the gayageum instead. “Is there… anything else you would like to request?” He asked tentatively.

The first advisor came to a start, blinking as he sat back. Yoongi hadn’t even realized he’d leaned forward, as if drawn to the music. 

It had to have been the music.

The first advisor shook his head and got to his feet. “I have to go now.” Yoongi nodded wordlessly, watching as the first advisor made his way to the door. Before he opened it, though, he paused, looking back at Yoongi. “You weren’t here for a while.”

Yoongi froze, fingers curling in. “I was… indisposed,” he said, voice carefully even.

The first advisor nodded, but the way he looked at Yoongi… it was as if he knew more than Yoongi was letting on. “Will you be here again soon?”

Yoongi held back the surprise from showing up on his face. For all the times the first advisor had dropped by before, that had never been a question he’d posed to Yoongi. 

Stroking a finger along the wood, Yoongi tilted his head to the side. “Should I not have reason to be … away, then yes. I will be here.” The first advisor nodded again at his words, but Yoongi wasn’t able to figure out if the first advisor was pleased by his words or not. He had his mask firmly back in place, and with a quick bow to Yoongi and Taehyung, he was gone, sliding the door shut behind him softly.

Beside him, Taehyung spoke up, his voice soft. “Do you think he… maybe, missed you?” The words brought Yoongi out of his thoughts and back to reality faster than ever, and he shook his head with a sardonic smirk. 

“I wouldn’t think too highly of anyone here, Taehyung-ah.” He gave his friend an apologetic look, knowing what Taehyung was implying, what he hoped for. “It would be best if we were all on our guards here. We have no reason to trust them and…” he hated to remind his friend of it, especially after the mental load Taehyung must’ve undertaken just by looking after Yoongi. But the wounds were still too fresh, still too raw, for Yoongi to be able to dismiss it easily. “They’ve given us no reason to trust them either.”

Taehyung nodded, looking back down almost shamefully. His fingers fidgeted on his lap. And even though his head was ducked down, Yoongi could see him biting his lips.

Yoongi absently plucked a few strings of the gayageum, still looking at Taehyung. “Is there something you wish to say?” He prodded gently.

Taehyung shook his head, and then stiffened. Lifting his head, he looked at Yoongi with his face cast in almost grim determination. “I hate it,” he said decisively. “I hate that Yuan and Goryeo are so stigmatized against each other, even after this supposed treaty. I hate that we can’t actually be free and happy; how everything only feels like a farce, and I hate how everyone can go their merry way when I see how much you're the one being affected out of this. I just,” and then he sighed, looking back down as his muscles slumped over again, the wind taken out of his sails. “I just hate it all.” 

Yoongi softened, feeling his face crumple in sympathy. He reached a hand out, ignoring the pain in his side as he looped his arm around Taehyung’s shoulder, drawing him in close to side hug him. Taehyung curled up and let himself snuggle into Yoongi’s side. “I know, Taehyung-ah.” Pressing his face down onto Taehyung’s hair, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He squeezed his friend close as much as his weakened strength would allow for when he got a whiff of his friend’s scent; only the slightest hints of sweat buried under the scent of fresh linens. For once, he could understand the smell, knowing poor Taehyung’s hands must be cracked with the amount of rags and clothes he’d have had to wash free of blood lately.

He sighed. “I know,” he repeated in a whisper. And then, voice even softer that it was barely heard, he confessed, “I hate it too.”

That night, as Taehyung helped ease him into bed, adjusting the cushions around him so he wouldn’t roll around too much and hurt himself further, Yoongi remembered something.

“Taehyung-ah,” he called out, watching as his friend began to put out the main candles. His friend hummed in acknowledgement, moving around the room swiftly yet efficiently. “Is there anything you want?” 

At that, Taehyung paused. He turned to look at Yoongi with a frown on his face from confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I just,” Yoongi paused, shifting a little on his pillows. He was still only reclining, not yet laying down completely, so he patted the bed beside him, indicating for Taehyung to come sit down while he searched for the right words. “I know you’ve been busy lately, taking care of me… helping me recover.” Even as Taehyung sat down, at his words, Taehyung looked away, his jaw clenching as he stared at the ground. 

Yoongi didn’t notice at first, his own eyes averted as well. “But other than that,” he looked up, catching the tail end of Taehyung’s grimace, and he paused, smiling empathically. Reaching out, he patted Taehyung’s arm. “I know you don’t have much to do, not when there aren’t many chores you’ve been assigned with. I’m not saying you’re slacking off,” he added with amusement when Taehyung shot him a mocking glare, “but I do know you’ve probably been getting bored with nothing to occupy yourself with, hm?”

Taehyung shrugged, looking down at his hands where they were clasped over his lap. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I always enjoy your company, hyung. And besides… I’d rather have nothing to do than to have something to do because you’re injured.”

Yoongi sighed. “I get that. But I am recovering, and–”

“And once you’re recovered?” Taehyung asked sharply, pinning Yoongi with an uncharacteristic glare. “Since the wedding, the Jeonha has been bedding you every night. And every time, he goes further and further… the only reason he hasn’t summoned you yet is because the physician demanded you rest. But once you’re all healed, then what?” 

Yoongi stared, throat dry. “Tae–”

But Taehyung shook his head, eyes closed. He took several deep breaths, face twisting in a grimace. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looked at Yoongi again, a shade remorseful, but still visibly upset. Not at Yoongi, Yoongi understood that. But it was still off putting to see his normally vibrant friend abruptly outraged, even if he was now trying to control his outburst. 

“We’ll … deal with it when the time comes. I know,” he lifted his hand from Taehyung’s arm, raising it to quell Taehyung’s words before he could speak, “it does nothing to assure you. I can tell you that I have hopes that whatever the physician spoke to the Jeonha about will be enough to still his hands the next time we must… consummate.” Taehyung’s face twisted at his words, but Yoongi kept talking. “I can promise you that when – if things do get worse, we can talk about what we can do.” Blatantly ignoring the fact that there was nothing they could do, he continued to speak as calmly yet as forcefully as he could, ensuring his words reached his friend. “But I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that right now, Taehyung-ah. Right now, I want…” he sighed, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to center himself and remember what they started this conversation for. “I want to know what makes you happy, and I want you to have that. No matter how big or small.”

“And what about your happiness, hyung?” Taehyung retorted, looking pained. “What if it is your happiness that I want?”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “Playing the gayageum makes me happy,” he pointed out. “I have that. But also seeing you smile would make me happy. We could go in circles, but can you please just work with me and give me something that I could do for you? Something I could actually – something I actually have power over,” he emphasized. 

Taehyung sighed. He regarded Yoongi for a few seconds, looking rather dejected. It twisted Yoongi’s heart to see him like that. Still, he held strong, smiling hopefully at his friend without breaking eye contact. Sure enough, Taehyung finally caved with another sigh. He looked away, eyes pinned to the frames decorating Yoongi’s rooms so that he wouldn’t have to keep meeting Yoongi’s eyes as he mumbled something incomprehensible.

Yoongi raised his eyebrows. “Could you repeat that?”

“Painting,” Taehyung said, voice louder. And now, Yoongi realized – he hadn’t been looking at the artwork as a distraction. There was something deeper in his eyes, something that spoke of interest, something faintly wistful. Personally, Yoongi had never taken a closer look at his chamber’s decorations himself, beyond the initial cursory glance and a general spatial awareness of the objects. But now, he turned to look at it as well. Or, as best as he could from his position with the frame that held Taehyung’s scrutiny behind him, anyway.

It was a painting of a landscape, delicate brush strokes depicting fields of grass with two hunters astride horses, both of them holding a bow in one hand with the other pulling back the arrows cocked in them. It was rather serene, Yoongi decided, the emotions it seemed to invoke one of happy camaraderie rather than thoughts of a fast paced chase.

Yoongi smiled. Finally, he had something to do, something he could give Taehyung. Yoongi may not be able to obtain the paint supplies himself, but Taehyung would have a much more difficult time gathering them if it was for himself. “Find out where you can get them and set it up in my chambers,” he said. “And find something you can easily transport. Maybe you can do something other than add more stitches to my intricately embroidered hanboks while I’m playing the gayageum.”

The smile Taehyung gave him was small and sheepish. But it held enough traces of happiness that Yoongi was able to fall asleep that night with more ease than he’d had in weeks.

Taehyung had a task. It felt odd, labeling it as such, when he knew the task’s end goal was for his own direct satisfaction more so than Yoongi’s. However, Yoongi had promised him time and time again that Yoongi wasn’t bereft of getting anything out of it. Yoongi’s satisfaction was more indirect, correlated to Taehyung, but it would still be there.

So. He had a task. As far as the other servants were concerned, the Mama was interested in painting, and was keen on picking up the hobby with nothing much else to do in Goryeo. 

Taehyung was trying to ignore the fact that if anyone came to see any paintings, their judgment would not affect Taehyung, the actual artist, but Yoongi. It would be yet another thing for his friend to be affected by, if they didn’t turn out well. No matter that Yoongi would undoubtedly tell him to paint whatever he wished, however he wished… maybe he could also find an instructor, someone willing to offer personal classes for the Mama … that Taehyung would also be sitting in for.

His thoughts were a whirlwind, but it didn’t stop Taehyung from his objective. The servants were resistant, unsurprisingly, but also genuinely ill-informed on the topic of painting. It seemed like no one within the palace had reason to indulge in the activity, so unless he ventured outside of it, Taehyung’s hope was rapidly dwindling. He didn’t want to leave the palace, if only due to his disinterest in going too far from Yoongi. Maybe, if he returned empty-handed today, he could discuss going down to the markets with Yoongi, but the fanfare it would involve for a royal – one that was disliked, especially – had Taehyung shuddering to even think about.

Straightening his back, Taehyung turned the corner to enter his last destination for the day. He rarely had reason to enter the palace’s armory as Yoongi had never been particularly interested in fighting beyond the basic skills he’d been taught years upon years ago, so Taehyung himself hadn’t been here often. Which was probably just as well, if the suspicious looks that only increased in fervor were immediately pinned on him upon his entry.

Taehyung paused as he took in the occupants of the room. There was only one servant attending to a knight, and as they both stared at him, unmoving, he wondered if he should’ve come in here with a game plan of sorts first.

“Ah… hello?”

Clearly, they’d recognized him, as the servant stared at him with an unimpressed look. The knight, however, seemed less hostile, staring at him more inquisitively than anything else. 

“Is there anything you need?” The words could have been rude, if not for the polite, borderline formal addressal the knight directed at Taehyung. Feeling a little more emboldened at not being immediately turned away – especially by the knight himself, Taehyung took another step into the room.

“I understand this might seem a little … unexpected, but I was hoping someone could direct me to where I might be able to obtain some materials for painting?”

The knight and servant stared at him, the latter more so as if Taehyung had gone and sprouted two heads. The knight, on the other hand, seemed to be perking up. His round, rather doe-like eyes were regarding Taehyung with newfound interest, and he even turned around so that he was facing Taehyung instead of the servant now.

“I can lend you a hand with that,” he said. He was actually smiling now, and Taehyung blinked, unused to the uncharacteristic warmth from this practical stranger. “I dabble with paints myself, so I can definitely point you in the right direction.”

Taehyung paused, looking back and forth between the knight and the servant – who was looking distinctly more and more unimpressed by the second, his face practically contorting into a sneer behind the knight’s back. “Ah, I wouldn’t want to impose upon you, my lord…”

“It’s totally fine!” The knight waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t know anyone else interested in this particular set of arts myself, except for maybe the market vendors… so I’d be your best and only bet anyway.” The knight smiled, the action making him look far too boyish for his stature, but Taehyung wasn’t going to comment on it.

He bowed instead. “I greatly thank you for your assistance then, my lord.” 

The knight tilted his head back at Taehyung. “Just give me a bit to change and I’ll be with you.”

Taehyung gaped. “Right… now?”

The knight nodded, pausing at Taehyung’s hesitance. “Unless you have other chores to tend to…”

Taehyung shook his head rather furiously. “No, not at all. I will wait for you whenever you are ready.” 

The knight grinned at him again, looking rather reminiscent of a bunny as he did so this time, with his slightly large front teeth. It wasn’t exactly unattractive, only adding to his endearing charm if anything.

The knight turned back to the servant, who had wiped clear the look of distaste from his face. The servant’s face was back to being perfectly impassive as he helped the knight remove the rest of his armor. “By the way, what’s your name?” The knight called over his shoulder.

“Taehyung, my lord.” He waited for the next question, and suddenly found himself tensing with the anticipation of it. If the knight decided he didn’t want to help Taehyung once he realized who he was – or rather, where he was from, then Taehyung would have to resort to braving the markets by himself after all…

“You’re the Mama’s personal servant, correct?” And without even waiting for an answer, the knight turned to glance at him. He had completely shed his armor now, and the servant was hastily grabbing the knight’s jeogori to help him into them. “I’m Jungkook. It’s nice to meet you, Taehyung-ssi,” he smiled again before returning his concentration to tying his jeogori together. Taehyung just stared.

Maybe not everyone in Goryeo was so narrow-minded to the point of blind hatred.

And maybe, just maybe… Taehyung might be able to make a friend here after all.

Yoongi was surprised, to say the least. He definitely hadn’t been expecting Taehyung to be able to acquire the paints so soon, but he wasn’t going to complain either. Especially after seeing something bright in his friend’s countenance. Actually, Taehyung looked far happier than could be explained away by merely obtaining the materials required for a new pastime. And that… that had Yoongi’s interest piqued.

“How did you even get them so quickly?” He couldn’t hide the hint of befuddlement in his tone, not from Taehyung, but he knew his friend couldn’t blame him for it. Not when three different servants had come to his chambers, all ladened with various supplies, which they quickly and efficiently begun to set up in his chambers under Taehyung’s careful directions.

“I actually had some help,” Taehyung said. He wasn’t meeting his eyes, using the excuse of scrutinizing the servants in Yoongi’s chambers. They were all as blank faced as the better trained servants in this palace, but Yoongi knew that neither he and Taehyung nor the servants were particularly happy to be around each other.

It was because he was mindful of their presence that Yoongi didn’t press further until they had left.

Approaching one of the larger tables set up right in the center of his room, Yoongi tilted his head down at the multitude of colors sitting atop it. “Who exactly helped you buy something like… this?” He asked, one part still curious about Taehyung’s strange behavior, and the other part absolutely perplexed at the size of the scroll that was spread out and held down to the table with little decorative weight. “Did you let them know you’ve – or rather, we’ve – never even painted before?”

Taehyung walked over to stand beside him, and they looked down at the scroll together. “We might have… gotten carried away?”

Yoongi snorted, taking a step back from the table. “You don’t say.” He peered around the rest of his chambers. Before, he hadn’t bothered to decorate it with any of his personal belongings – not that he’d had any to decorate the chambers with in the first place. So it had remained as it had been when he’d first moved in, with only whatever tasteful decorations had been deemed fitting for his chambers as Goryeo’s queen. In all fairness, Yoongi had never really cared for how his chambers had looked, especially not after he’d discovered the gayageum instead. 

But now, with all this painting paraphernalia around him, Yoongi couldn’t deny that even he was feeling fascinated enough by the paints to want to try it out.

At least there was plenty of materials to go around.

“So,” he pressed. He glanced at Taehyung before slowly settling down. The wince was easier to hide, and the cushions at the ready under him certainly didn’t hurt. “How did you come by all of,” he waved a vague hand around his chambers, “this?”

Taehyung smiled, a bright thing. Something in Yoongi’s chest loosened at the sight. Although Yoongi had gotten used to his stiff torso that was slow to heal, he was suddenly able to breathe a little more easily at how joyous his friend appeared.

“I actually had some help.” Yoongi raised an eyebrow. Of course, he figured Taehyung would’ve needed some guidance, but the way he was smiling despite the words – or maybe, because of the words… 

Gratifyingly, Taehyung didn’t seem to need any further prompting to elaborate. “There’s this young knight named Jungkook. Apparently, he’s quite into painting himself, and was more than happy to learn that someone else was interested in his passion.”

The other eyebrow raised to join the first, as Yoongi now looked at Taehyung with a sense of guarded bemusement. “Does he know–” you’re a Yuan? was what he wanted to ask, but at the last second, he chose to change his words, “–who’s actually going to be painting?” It wasn’t as pointed, more vague enough to imply more than one question at once.

But Taehyung smiled all too knowingly, understanding what Yoongi was and wasn’t saying, and still didn’t seem to be put-off by it. “He knows that it’s for the Mama, but he was informed that I will be sitting in on the lessons. I think my involvement made it more … approachable for him, and he had no reservations telling me everything he could share – even if some of the stuff he was saying almost went over my head without the basic knowledge required. But he was nice about that too – letting me know that I’d soon learn and we could talk about the more advanced techniques in detail once we’ve gone over it with an instructor.”

Yoongi cocked his head to the side, pondering over Taehyung’s words. “An instructor would be beneficial… but how often would we be expected to meet with one?”

“Don’t worry, hyung,” Taehyung smiled reassuringly. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t interfere with your own sessions.” He highlighted his words with a wink, and despite the cheekiness, Yoongi admittedly did feel a part of himself settle at the consideration.

And Taehyung held true to his words. It somehow also translated to Yoongi finding his days a lot more occupied than they had been previously. Before, he would only risk going to the music room every other day, finding the alternating days bored out of his mind with nothing to occupy himself with either. Granted, he had initially tried to go for strolls around the palace – this time ensuring he was actually acquainting himself with places not necessarily restricted. But it was both a hindrance to Taehyung’s own chores, his friend feeling obligated to accompany him, and… 

Frankly, his body was far too often battered to think of walking for a prolonged period of time. It was something they’d both been studiously ignoring, even as tensions arose in the air on the days Yoongi found it particularly difficult to walk, Taehyung studiously avoiding eye contact as he cleaned after Yoongi.

Now, he had his free days taken up with painting lessons. It was both a balm to his body, being able to be surrounded by soft cushions to support his body, and his mind, finding it more satisfying than he expected to get lost in the soothing strokes of his brush. It didn’t matter that the instructor was obviously displeased to learn that his pupils were from Yuan and hence acted tellingly. It didn’t matter that Taehyung was finding his knack for the art more quickly and hence, advancing faster than Yoongi with the lessons and expectations their surly instructor had set. If anything, Yoongi was doubly happy for Taehyung to have found something he was joyful to partake in and consequently excelling in it.

As far as Yoongi was concerned, painting was relaxing and even interesting enough to keep him busy on the days he wasn’t playing the gayageum, so he honestly considered it a win. No matter that his body was steadily deteriorating from the constant… abuse – and there really was no other word for it, was there? – with something he could look forward to daily, Yoongi ensured that whatever happened during the night didn’t cross his mind once the sun had risen and announced another day, another morning where he was still – at the very least, alive and breathing.

It was hard, maintaining the optimism. But if not for his own sake, then for Taehyung’s, Yoongi would persevere. And the gayageum, his only one and true love – it helped, more than painting, maybe as much as Taehyung’s smile and relaxed stance if not more so.

Even if…

“Do you mind if I stayed here longer?” Kim Namjoon, the king’s first advisor, sat across from him in the music room. As always, his expressionless mask was fixed in place, even if his eyes flitting between Yoongi and the gayageum seemed to be saying something – what exactly, Yoongi had not yet learned to decipher with ease yet. But the man would always stay for one song only, quickly making his excuses when it would come to an end, not giving Yoongi the chance to ask if the man wanted to listen to anything beyond that.

Even if the man’s appearance had at first been a little daunting… Yoongi had been startled to discover one day that at some point, he’d gotten accustomed to the man’s presence. To the point that it almost felt rather odd now, if the man couldn’t make it – not that Yoongi would fault him for his absence. Surely the man was far busier than Yoongi would ever be, and it wasn’t like the man had ever shown any sign of finding joy in being present with Yoongi or Taehyung’s company as much as he must have just favored the gayageum being played.

Still. Yoongi wasn’t sure when his own defenses had decreased, not feeling as guarded as he once was with the first advisor’s presence. Sure, he was still wary. There would always be a part of him wary, he thinks, so long as he was constantly belittled and reminded of his heritage every night. 

But maybe, Yoongi could say that at least there was some form of camaraderie formed, an alliance of sorts based on their mutual understanding and care for music. It was enough for Yoongi to not be too intimidated by the request, although the unusualness of it did have some of the comfort that had washed over him while he played to dissipate.

Nonetheless, he met the man’s eyes with his own even expression. “Not at all.” For the first time since the last, he dared to voice his question again, gambling on if it wouldn’t make the man run away when he’d already asked to stay. “Is there anything else you’d like to hear?”

The first advisor hummed, eyes on the gayageum. Enough time passed by where Yoongi began to wonder if the man would even respond, when the first advisor flicked his gaze back to Yoongi. “Do you know of the song the travelers play in the Goryeo courts?”

Yoongi tilted his head. “The one played at the feast a week after the wedding?” The word was a little bitter on his tongue, but he ignored it in favor of trying to recall the song that had been played. From what he could remember, it had been beautiful, whimsical and enchanting in its own way — a mix of styles that told of the travelers journey throughout many kingdoms, but leaning more towards the tunes Goryeons favored in respect of their location. 

“Yes, that one. I know we don’t have the composition for it, but I’ve observed that you’ve been able to play a few songs quite well by ear alone. If it isn’t too much of a challenge, would you be able to play that?”

It wasn’t entirely untrue. Yoongi hadn’t had much reason to actually hear enough songs of the Goryeo court to be familiar with them all, what with there being hardly any feasts beyond the initial wedding celebrations. But by now, he’d read enough compositions of traditional Goryeon music to understand what the kingdom seemed to lean towards in terms of music preferences. So there may have been a couple of times when he played a song or two he could remember from the feasts he attended a little more than three moon cycles ago, and the notes he couldn’t remember, either due to distractions or the passage of time itself, he simply created his own to keep the song going without straying far from its original melody. 

“I can try. But I ask you to forgive me if I fail.” Yoongi said, a little absently as his mind was already drifting, playing the song as best as he could in his mind while his fingers found the right strings. 

“I’m sure no matter what you come up with would still be pleasing to hear, Mama.”

Yoongi glanced at the first advisor, a little surprised. His face was still impassive, but the words were rather kind, even if the reminder of his status was a little jolting as well.

Rather than acknowledging the words, Yoongi merely ducked his head back down, concentrating on the gayageum, and began to play. 

As he did, he found his mind continuing to drift, more so than usual. Rather than the calm wave that would wash over him, silencing his mind and sinking into his entire body so the only thing Yoongi was aware of the notes he strummed alone, he thought of the wedding feast that the travelers had been invited to, on account of their musical skills. They were talented, obviously so for the king to allow their entry into the palace. For all that neither party had been particularly keen on being wedded, it seemed that the king nonetheless spared no expenses in making the wedding celebrations as lavish as possible. 

Yoongi wasn’t sure he could still understand why the king would go to such efforts to commemorate a moment neither cared for. It wasn’t like it could have been to appease the citizens and make them more welcoming to the new queen, but it seemed too excessive for celebrating just the passage of the treaty itself. Maybe the king was just upholding the traditions of their ancestors, but Yoongi couldn’t imagine any of the royal members being pleased to continue or endorse it when taking into consideration who was becoming the queen. 

Was it just a farce, then? The king pretending that he found more joy in the occasion — either the treaty’s passage or the wedding, whichever one — than he really did, if only for public appearances? It seemed the most viable option, but Yoongi still wouldn’t know. He wished he could have said better, but his interactions with the king were limited to their nightly encounters. It culminated to the point that after how the king’s visits to Yoongi’s bedchambers went, all he knew was that he had no reason to want to have any other interactions with the king otherwise.

And as if just thinking about the king was enough to summon discussion of him, Yoongi lifted his left hand a little too high up to reach one of the lesser used chords that was more common among the travelers, and the sleeve of his jeogori fell to his elbow, revealing his arm. At first, he wasn’t bothered, aware of the action only because of the cool air against his skin. But a sharp inhale abruptly reminded Yoongi that he wasn’t alone with Taehyung, and there was someone else in the room who would easily perceive the marks encircling his wrist. 

He swiftly pulled his hand down, the gayageum’s strings all being released creating a jarring sound, but Yoongi was more focused on how the action forced his sleeve to cascade back down his arm and cover his skin. For a moment, all was silent except for the faint hum of the still vibrating gayageum until even that ceased. He was all too aware of Taehyung’s wide eyes silently gaping back and forth between him and the first advisor. Yoongi didn’t have to look to feel the first advisor’s gaze burning holes on where Yoongi’s sleeve covered his wrist. But he didn’t dare look up to meet the first advisor’s eyes in challenge, the lump in his throat preventing Yoongi from feeling any sort of bravery.

Teeth clenched, muscles stiffened, Yoongi waited – for what, he couldn’t say. For the first advisor to dare say a word, for Taehyung to intervene, for the gods he didn’t believe in to cause the earth below to rumble and create a perfect distraction, anything other than having to say something himself to break the silence.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Taehyung open his mouth. Just as he felt his muscles relax, full faith in his friend to get him out of this tense situation, the first advisor spoke up instead, causing Yoongi’s muscles to lock up again.

“That was beautiful.”

Which. What?

The statement was disconcerting enough to shock Yoongi into looking at the first advisor, feeling absolutely bewildered and even on the verge of feeling – not offended. He was too used to many wishing ill upon him, but he was certainly repulsed. If all this time, he’d been entertaining yet another man who really only harbored the wish to see Yoongi – or anyone from Yuan, maybe – victimized and abused–

“The song, I mean.” The first advisor added. For a second, Yoongi wondered if the emotion he saw flashing through the first advisor’s eyes – regret? Pity? Maybe even sadness, if that wasn’t a stretch – was real or a hallucination, but then that damned mask was back in place, and the first advisor was looking back at Yoongi. “I could hear your own twist on it, but you truly did it justice regardless. I look forward to hearing a finished version one day.” 

Was he really acting like he hadn’t seen the bruises encircling Yoongi’s wrist and even extending down his arm, in the perfect shape of a hand? A hand that could only belong to one man that none of them were unaware of?

Or maybe that was why the first advisor was acting calm. Maybe he wasn’t unaware of the king’s actions, and maybe he didn’t care…

But no. Even if Yoongi wasn’t confident that what he saw was real, there was also a part of him that strongly denied the surprise he’d seen as being his imagination. 

Whether or not the first advisor knew beforehand, Yoongi wasn’t sure. But there was no denying he’d seen the king’s violence now. And to act so indifferently… Yoongi wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

And maybe the first advisor knew that, because he then got to his feet, bowing like all was swell and normal to Yoongi and Taehyung alike. 

“Until next time, Mama.”

They both stared at his retreating back until he was gone, and neither dared to speak even after they knew the first advisor had to be long gone – past the corridor, well into the rest of the palace beyond the restricted areas.

For once, it was Yoongi who broke the silence first. “I don’t understand him,” he said bluntly, breaking Taehyung’s gawking at the door to peer at him instead.

Taehyung tilted his head to the side. “Can we truly understand anyone?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. While he could appreciate Taehyung’s attempt at lightening the still tense atmosphere, he wasn’t in the mood to entertain any philosophical debates now. Still, he responded anyway, if however shortly. “Maybe not. But I would hope to have a better understanding of anyone I would be spending copious amounts of time with.”

Taehyung nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his features. Yoongi, always more at ease with his friend, felt compelled to go on, knowing Taehyung could offer him insight even if talking aloud didn’t help Yoongi organize his own thoughts. “He makes it harder to understand if he has ulterior motives. I mean, he always has his thoughts and emotions hidden away, which – that, I can understand. But this… to pretend all is well, without even the slightest acknowledgment?” His voice drifted off, eyes dropping to the gayageum yet unseeing as he fought to make sense of the strange interaction. Taehyung stayed silent, perhaps sensing that Yoongi wasn’t done, was still struggling to get his thoughts in order by himself first. “Do you think…” for the briefest of seconds, Yoongi’s voice failed him, and he had to swallow that reappearing lump back down his throat to get the words out, “do you think they’re all aware of what goes on? That they–” they’re all in on it? That the king’s violent nature of bedding Yoongi was common knowledge, and perhaps even further instigated by – by who? The royal court members? The staff and servants alike? All of Goryeo?

“Hyung,” a gentle hand on his arm, so soft and unbearing, comforting in its familiarity, and effective in breaking Yoongi free from his rapidly spiraling thoughts. Only, Taehyung hesitated as Yoongi looked at him with unguarded emotions, a silent plea for help written all over his face. Clearly becoming uncertain with his words, Taehyung took his time before he spoke, all the while Yoongi awaited with bated breath to hear what his friend could possibly have to say. 

Finally, Taehyung blinked, something akin to steely resolve settling over his features. “Even if they were, would it matter?”

Yoongi blinked, taken aback.

“Whether they know, whether they care, whether they have a part in this… would it change anything?” At that, Taehyung winced at his own words, regret twisting his features, but the grip on Yoongi’s arm was still firm, and it explained everything Yoongi needed to hear again.

He nodded, exhaling a long, deep breath that he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding in his lungs for however long.

“No,” he said, but there was no despair in his tone, only grim acceptance. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

Chapter Text

He blinked, and then blinked again when the image still wouldn’t fade. But no matter how many times he’d blinked, how hard he rubbed at his eyes, it was as if the sight was seared into his eyelids, and nothing would make it fade. 

Namjoon silently groaned, desperate hands wrenching at his hair. He knew, he’d listened when the king would to him as if Namjoon had the ability to cleanse away his deepest darkest secrets and purify the king’s soul from his sins. But to be confronted with the reality of what the king would whisper to him in hushed tones under darkened skies, when no souls roamed around as all others were confined to their own chambers whether or not they slept…

The reality was daunting, and Namjoon had never been more uncertain of his place in life. That uncertainty brought questions, brought doubts, but what was he even to do?

He swallowed, straightening his form, even as his eyes still refused to take in what actually stood in front of him. At least, here, in his own chambers, he could have this turmoil in peace and privacy. However, he knew such conflicting emotions shouldn’t have even been held in the first place. 

Namjoon sighed. They had already planned for this, and even if things seemed to escalate, nothing was out of control.

The king wasn’t out of control – he couldn’t be, nor would he be. 

Namjoon had to have faith in his king. Goryeo depended on it, and Yuan… Yuan deserved it.

Namjoon would do well to remind himself of that. No matter how much his dreams that night tried to convince him otherwise. An onslaught of visions where pale skins were marred by furious shades of black and blue. A face familiar for its serenity becoming almost unrecognizable as it twisted in pain and agony.

Namjoon refused to contemplate the agitation he awoke with the next morning, and studiously paid heed to nothing but his duties as he went about his day. Today, at least, he would not visit the music room.

If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t visit the next day either, or ever again.

He refused to acknowledge the curdling of his stomach at that thought, something that felt too disturbingly similar to guilt.

No. Namjoon had duties to tend to, and attend to them he will, distractions be damned.

The first advisor was back the subsequent day. And he continued to behave as if nothing was amiss. By now, Yoongi was definite in his feeling that he didn’t trust the man. And yet, it was disarming, how the first advisor greeted him and Taehyung like always, how he quietly seated himself as always, and requested for Yoongi to play whatever he wished to – not like always, but more often than not that it was just about the norm anyway.

Yoongi wasn’t sure what to make of it. So he didn’t address it. But he knew his gaze was sharper than usual, perspective more critical than ever of the first advisor. And the first advisor must have known, because never before had Yoongi watched him so intently, always preferring to either keep his gaze on the gayageum or let his eyes drift closed. Yet the first advisor didn’t acknowledge it either, uttering no other words than requests or even, dare Yoongi call it as such when delivered with a lack of emotion causing a doubt of authenticity, compliments on his playing.

Yoongi tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. No matter what the first advisor thought of him – just like the rest of Goryeo – it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter, because it wasn’t like it would change anything. Not Yoongi’s present, nor whatever future was held in store for him.

But it was hard to keep that in mind. Especially with each passing day… Yoongi started to wonder if he’d truly gone insane, or if the first advisor’s mask was actually slipping. Because the ever present mask on his face was removed, if only for seconds at a time and only when Yoongi was playing the gayageum, as if the man was allowing Yoongi to see how much he was moved by the music. As if he wanted to show Yoongi that he truly appreciated his playing, or maybe just the sounds itself removed from the composer, that he was in awe and found genuine joy. 

They were no longer sticking to their norm, and it only served to unsettle Yoongi further. Maybe at any other time, anyone else, and Yoongi would’ve been content to see how his music swayed his audience. However, as the first advisor actually beamed at him, a mere week later, after he’d finished playing his song for the day, Yoongi realized he was starting to get angry. And he resolved that he would finally break the silence, that he would address it the next time they met. Only, the next time they met was at the end of the month after the king unleashed his anger onto Yoongi’s body once again.

Taehyung was just leaving Hoseok’s chambers, the morning sun’s beams shining through the palace’s entry directly on his face that he made no notice of. His focus was more on fresh supply of bandages and ointments his arms were ladened with, when a shadow falling upon the pristine white cloth in his arms had him coming to an abrupt halt before he collided with the person in front of him. He spared a quick glance to ensure none of the precious vials were in danger of falling and shattering to the floor before he looked up, ready to drop into a bow and make way, when he saw the familiar blond hair, and instantly drew short, fighting the sneer that threatened to curl his lips upward in visible distaste.

The king’s concubine was staring at Taehyung’s load with curiosity before he bothered to look up. When he registered Taehyung’s practically hostile stance, the man hesitated. His lips were parted as if he’d been about to say something, but now he paused, clearly thinking twice.

Taehyung refrained from rolling his eyes when he spoke anyway.

“It’s you.” Jimin stated astutely.

Taehyung pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding his head once, a sharp, jerking motion. 

“Do you need any assistance?” Jimin waved at the bundle in Taehyung’s arms, which were admittedly stacked rather haphazardly. But Taehyung would be damned if he let this man help him, and judging by the way the ever present servants behind Jimin shifted on their feet, subtle enough to not garner the concubine’s attention, they must have felt the same.

“I have it handled,” he said shortly. 

For some reason, Jimin’s face seemed to droop with disappointment, before he suddenly straightened. “I never caught your name the other day,” he said, looking straight at Taehyung.

“Perhaps because there was no need for me to give it.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. The servants behind him cast Taehyung a glare, which he easily ignored. “Have I done something to offend you?” He asked, and the words struck a chord in Taehyung, not unlike the rare moments when Yoongi’s fingers slipped or missed the right note on his gayageum.

“I don’t see why that should be of any trouble to you, Jimin-bin,” he dropped into a bow, but he knew that every iota of his stance was a mockery of the respectful action, there was no way Jimin would have missed the ingenuity of the action. “After all, it is not like I am a part of Goryeo, for my opinions to matter.” 

Jimin gaped, jaw slackened with shock. Feeling every bit as satisfied that he couldn’t even bring himself to regret his insolence, Taehyung went a step further. Literally, as he passed the king’s concubine without waiting to be dismissed. The servants made a sound of outrage, as if on Jimin’s behalf, but he disregarded it all as he confidently strode past the entrance to the castle right as someone came through it. He moved to the side, polished armor almost blinding him, and waited for the knight to pass, only to blink in confusion when the gleaming metal came to a halt in front of him.

“Taehyung-ssi?”

Instantly recognizing the voice, Taehyung brightened, squinting past the glare of metal to look at a familiar grin. “Jungkook-ssi!” He greeted, subconsciously letting his tensed shoulders to loosen a bit. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I just finished a training session with the new batch of soldiers,” Jungkook easily explained. His eyes shifted to Jimin, pausing. “Jimin hyung,” he greeted casually. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Taehyung turned to Jimin, eyebrows raised. Jimin seemed flustered, eyes dropping to the floor. “Oh, you know,” he said, “I’ve just been around.” He waved a hand vaguely, not meeting either of their eyes.

Jungkook hummed, looking back to Taehyung. His eyes dropped to the bundle in Taehyung’s arms, eyes widened as he became slightly concerned with the precariously balanced items. “Do you need any help?” He asked.

“Oh,” Taehyung blinked, “I wouldn’t want to impose…” Not to mention, the knight was sweaty, which Taehyung didn’t necessarily have a problem with, but the bandages in his arms needed to remain clean…

But Jungkook either knew what he was thinking of, or was just innocently insistent on offering his help, because he carefully plucked the vials from Taehyung’s arms, not even the barest contact made with the cloth. “It’s really no problem.” Easily grinning again, Jungkook tilted his head to the side. “Besides, this way, I can accompany you while you tell me all about your painting lessons.”

Emboldened and easily encouraged by that, Taehyung fell in step beside Jungkook. He ignored how Jungkook easily called back a farewell to Jimin, which was returned with much less enthusiasm. As they walked away, the two easily matching pace, Taehyung eagerly began to regale Jungkook with everything he’d learned thus far, both by the instructor and with his own experiments, not even thinking twice when adding with the occasional comments on Yoongi’s own comical mishaps. And Jungkook was the perfect listener, perfectly engaged, responding at the right places, and respectfully amused but not saying a word against Yoongi, which Taehyung found easy to accept.

Sucked into the conversation as he was from the get go, he failed to notice the look of conflict on Jimin’s face as the concubine watched the two walk off.

A full week had gone by without Yoongi entering the music room, confined to his chambers and on strict orders to remain in bed rest. It… wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But it looked worse than it was. So there was no hiding it from the first advisor when he visited the music room and saw Yoongi there for the first time in a week, and his eyes instantly zeroed in on the bruises around his throat.

Yoongi looked away, initially ashamed. The king was usually more… controlled, for the lack of better term, with where he’d allow his signs of abuse to flourish upon Yoongi’s body. This time, his hand had strayed a little too far away from where Yoongi’s jeogori would cover his skin. His highest collared jeogori barely did anything to conceal the garish red wrapped around his throat. For his own part, Taehyung made it so that Yoongi’s hair fell down his back rather than sit in its usually intricate bun fitting for the Mama. But they were both aware that it wouldn’t hide the red prints stark against the pale of his throat from the front. Which was where the first advisor’s eyes were drawn to with unwavering focus.

And the first advisor’s eyes stayed trained there as he drew closer, the door sliding shut silently behind him. It only broke when he fell to his knees in front of Yoongi, the unusual action catching Yoongi’s gaze. Yoongi met the first advisor’s eyes in muted bafflement as for the first time ever, the mask completely slipped away, and Yoongi could read every sign of anger and anguish upon the first advisor’s face.

His brow furrowed as he took it in, watching as the first advisor looked back down and took in his throat. 

“You–” whatever it was the first advisor was trying to say, Yoongi wouldn’t know, because as if words had failed him, the first advisor finally looked at Yoongi, despair in his eyes.

The anger had returned, and this time, Yoongi grasped it in both hands, and brought it out.

“Are you concerned?” He asked, contempt in his voice, hoarse as it was. “I don’t see why you should be. Is it not a moment of victory for you, to see your Jeonha doing to me what every citizen of Goryeo wishes they could do?” Hasty words falling off his tongue loosened by anger – anger at this man, anger at the man who laid hands on Yoongi like he was nothing more than the worst of vermin, anger at his entire situation. Maybe later he would regret allowing himself to rant to this man, but for now, the bite of the words felt gratifying, the spark in his guts roaring with satisfaction.

The first advisor closed his eyes, turmoil on his face.

Silently, he rose to his feet, and left the room.

Yoongi breathed out a shaky exhale, the flames in his stomach dissipating as silently as the door closing, but more faster than the slow motion of the first advisor pulling it shut behind him. Taehyung exhaled as well, but the gush of air sounded steadier than his own. 

Yoongi felt no more resolved about the situation than before.

Namjoon was dedicated to the king. A dedication born from spending his entire life beside the man. He’d seen the king as an innocent child uncomprehending of the treacherous life surrounding him. He’d watched when the king was an adolescent forced to acquire various skills, knowledge encompassing multiple fields, and even undergo traits adjusting his personality better befitting a king he’d become. And Namjoon stood beside the man who had later become an adult burdened by the weight of the country on his shoulders accompanying the crown on his head. For years, he’d spent alongside the king, as a close companion and even friend, one the king trusted most alongside only a select few. Their status prevented casual speech, but Namjoon knew the king cared for him, like one would a brother if unbothered by issues of inheritance, as much as he did for the king.

Which meant that Namjoon felt somewhat just in his concern for the king now. Concern, and nothing else, not doubt, nor hesitance –

But it was all that, and more. Because as the king grew steadily inebriated on the finest of ihwa-ju reserved for special occasions, Namjoon realized whatever affirmation he felt for the king was wavering. And it had been so for much longer than his revelation today.

Once upon a time, the king’s mostly sober ravings of the Yuan heir would’ve been correct and righteous in Namjoon’s mind. His drunken ramblings, however, was of no clear coherency, in both eloquence and logic. His hatred for the Yuan heir could have been understandable, but Namjoon was no longer a listener of the king’s actions, but had become a witness to the aftermaths of it. 

Hatred did not equate the allowance of-of torture. Namjoon may not have ever been directly on the battlefield himself, but he knew the logistics of battle, had undergone training to learn to fight like just about anyone in the royal court, and could kill a man with ease himself.

He saw no need to take pleasure in prolonging someone’s misery. No matter how much Yuan had affected Goryeo’s people, how many citizens were – simply put – hurt by the war, to Namjoon, it only emphasized the integrity in a straightforward killing when delivering justice. 

What the king was doing was inhumane, in more ways than one. 

As the night drew on, the king passed the stages of anger and into grief, silently grieving the absence of Jimin who still had yet to answer even official summons from the king. The entire time, Namjoon gave his silent company before retreating to his own bedchambers in the wee hours of the morning. And as he lay in bed awaiting slumber to take him in its arms, Namjoon still wasn’t sure if the pity he felt was enough to reinstate the king’s humanity.

He drifted off to sleep with only questions of his own humanity, as, not for the first time, flashes of bruised skin passed his eyelids.

The first advisor was back again, not a day missed since the last, and Yoongi began to consider the merits of giving up the gayageum entirely and committing his life to painting instead. Their instructor was at least more straightforward with his constant dislike of his pupils, but Yoongi was far too devoted to music to allow even an unruly listener to dissuade him from it.

A listener who now had something in his hands, whatever it was unclear to Yoongi until he sat across from him and held it out.

Yoongi stared at the vial, not yet reaching out to take it. He could recognize it as one of the many vials that the physician had already prescribed to him beforehand. But this vial – it was one of the stronger ones, he knew, and something the physician – Hoseok – had uneasily muttered something about not being able to provide him with more than a small vial of. 

This vial was easily three times the size of the one in his bedchambers.

When Yoongi still didn’t accept the vial, the first advisor cleared his throat, nervousness written all over his features. “It’s a healing ointment,” he explained, unaware of how unnecessary it was. “It’s one of the best our physician has to offer and I thought–I wanted–” the first advisor cut himself off, closing his eyes and looking for all the world as if he was praying for his regular eloquence to return from wherever it had seemingly run off to. “Please accept this,” he finally said, short and oddly enough, not meeting Yoongi’s eyes, keeping it trained on the vial instead.

Yoongi looked to the side, where Taehyung looked just as perplexed as he felt. But there was no hint of caution or wariness, so considering that a reassurement, Yoongi looked back to the first advisor, and reached out to take it. 

At least his sleeve remained in place this time.

Free of his charge, the first advisor seemed to be lost without anything in his hands now, and clasped them together, almost wringing it before his hands forcefully settled on his lap. Cradling the vial in his hand, Yoongi studied the first advisor, taking note of every flash of emotion he was finally privy to.

And although he was still confused, Yoongi thought he was beginning to understand. Just like their mutual passion for music, it seemed the first advisor and Yoongi shared something else too, as much as he loathed to admit it – but it seemed that the confusion wasn’t exclusive to Yoongi alone. And maybe that shouldn’t have been comforting, but there was a small pool of warmth in his gut, just like the vial had brought to his palm. Something mixed with a little bit of amusement too, seeing someone generally so stoic now looking so lost. Not necessarily in a mean way, but something that led Yoongi to feel more light hearted than he had in a while.

It doubled when the first advisor stumbled to his feet, making hasty excuses instead of staying like Yoongi had been about to offer him to. He didn’t take any offense to it, however, and just watched as the man left, and then looked back down at the vial still in his hand. 

“That was certainly… odd.” Taehyung muttered, his paintbrush long since abandoned. Out of a fit of desperation and encouraged by Yoongi to distract him from the troubles he’d had to undergo as well helping aide Yoongi, he’d brought his painting supplies with him today. It eased Yoongi to see how delighted his friend had become with the activity and how much it brought comfort to Taehyung, almost as much as the gayageum to Yoongi. Maybe even just as much one day, if Taehyung allowed himself to pursue it – Yoongi certainly wouldn’t forbid Taehyung from finding any forms of happiness here.

And Taehyung was of the same mind, clearly, because he also looked at the vial in Yoongi’s hands, the subject of his words clear even without it. “Perhaps he has potential…”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow at him. “Potential for what?” He asked, even though he had an inkling of what Taehyung might say.

Sure enough, Taehyung cast him a small grin, no less affectionate because of it. “Potential to overcome his biases,” he paused, then continued. “And perhaps, acknowledge you as yourself, and nothing of a larger scale.”

Yoongi huffed with amusement, understanding his friend’s words, but still unable to prevent himself from teasing. “Are you calling my existence miniscule?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, even as he leaned over to nudge Yoongi with his shoulder – gently, far more gently then he would’ve, still too aware of his hyung despite the many distractions they’d gotten today. “In the grand schemes of things, yes.” He straightened, looking at Yoongi with a more serious look, but the smile still playing at the edges of his lips didn’t fall away. “But that could be a good thing, right now.”

Yoongi hummed, looking back at the vial. The ointment was dark, but it seemed to almost shimmer in the evening sun peeking through the window he sat in front of as he rolled it back and forth in his palm.

The mark of a new moon cycle brought the motivation for Yoongi to begin a new composition. The notes flowed with such ease from his fingertips, matching the feeling within Yoongi as he watched the leaves turn red on the trees outside, slowly drifting to the ground. Within a day, he had a rough outline for it already played, and when the first advisor came by, looking uncertain despite the mask he seemed to struggle to put back in place, Yoongi smiled.

“I have something for you to listen to,” he offered, tone almost kind as the first advisor cautiously walked in. “Would you like to listen to it?”

The first advisor’s eyes seemed to widen by a margin. Still, he moved to sit down at his usual spot with more ease than he’d walked in, a small smile on his lips. “It would be an honor.” The words, once upon a time, would have been said with such a deadpan expression, it would have felt like a response trained for diplomacy. Now, without a mask in place, Yoongi was privy to the sight of the eagerness in the first advisor’s eyes, the upwards quirking of the corner of his lips.

It was all miniscule signs, really. But watching as closely as he was, Yoongi didn’t miss it. And he allowed himself to feel heartened by it. 

It was easy for him to find the right strings to begin the song, despite having only played it to the end once before. Allowing his own smile to play on his lips, Yoongi began to play. He relaxed immediately as he lost himself in the music, feeling as if the essence of the song managed to capture the atmosphere outside. From the changing of seasons, the quiet trees marking the passage of time with its colorful leaves, and the subtle cooling of the weather, all of it seemed to reflect the tranquility it brought to him in the sounds his fingers brought to life with the gayageum’s strings. Even his mind was blissfully silent other than the music he was entranced by despite his audience of two – one of which who was more busy scrutinizing his own artwork, while the other gave his complete attention to Yoongi alone. 

This time, however, Yoongi wasn’t too fazed by the complete and utter attentiveness upon him. Maybe it was the insight into the man’s emotions, maybe it was the potential olive branch in the form of a large vial, or maybe it was just Yoongi himself, too worn out and exhausted to hold onto his vengeance for long. He knew the first advisor had only ever been coming by for the sake of the gayageum being in use. But now that the first advisor was looking at Yoongi just as often as he was at the gayageum, he let himself bask in the attention, harboring a slight fantasy that maybe the first advisor didn’t truly detest Yoongi’s presence as much as he must have at the beginning. 

Minutes went by before the song drew to a close. It was longer than his usual compositions, but no less heartfelt because of it. And as he opened his eyes, having closed them in his reverie, he immediately looked to the first advisor for his reaction–

Only for his breath to be caught in his throat at the sight that awaited him.

The mask that the first advisor had always donned, that had lately started to slip and fall before being hastily reconstructed into place, that had slowly been splintering and fracturing as if it was being chipped away…

It was now completely gone. Yoongi was looking at the first advisor with no barrier between them. And the first advisor was gazing at Yoongi was absolute amazement in his eyes – there was no denying that was what it was. It was absolutely confounding, and yet, Yoongi still felt heat blossom on his cheeks at the realization that he was the subject of such wondrous eyes. It had been so long since he’d been the recipient of awed looks, of being beheld with positivity rather than hatred and anger. Yoongi hadn’t the slightest idea of how to react to this.

He cleared his throat, making his lungs expand and restart their sole function of providing much needed oxygen to his brain. Blinking rapidly, he glanced at the gayageum, fingers suddenly unsure as to where to settle upon the gayageum without starting another song impromptu. When he was able to regain the wherewithal to peer back at the first advisor again, it was to the sight of the first advisor blinking as well, although in a way that made Yoongi think he was shaking himself out of a trance.

Even back to his senses, the admiration in his eyes didn’t fade. The mask hadn’t been drawn back into place either, Yoongi absently noted.

“That was absolutely beautiful,” the first advisor said. His voice was hushed, as if he feared to break through the strange air that had descended upon them. “Truly, honestly so. I feel honored to be bestowed with the privilege to hear such a transcendent song being played.”

Yoongi blinked, shocked at the rather poetic words that were leaving the first advisor’s mouth. It must have also been the most the man had said. Bewilderingly, it seemed like he wasn’t done either, as he kept going.

“You are gifted with your skill at the gayageum, Mama.” The first advisor bowed his head briefly. Yoongi was almost dizzy, from the combination of the outpouring of heartfelt words from the first advisor, and the realization that the action seemed genuine. It was the most – maybe even only – gesture of authentic respect he’d gotten in Goryeo from one of its citizens. Still, the first advisor did not give Yoongi the time to process this onslaught as he only proceeded to add onto it. “It would be the greatest gift to my life if I was only able to keep hearing more of such creations from you for the rest of my life.”

Yoongi gaped, thoroughly flustered. The feeling crept into his very bones, rendering him unable to muster any words in response. His entire body felt at one with his tongue, brought to an utter standstill with no clue of how to react from the confession.

The smile the first advisor shot him, as if he could tell the effects his words had on Yoongi, didn’t help. Not when Yoongi made the heart wrenching discovery that his cheeks dimpled with the action. Yet, the first advisor didn’t seem smug or satisfied. If anything, he looked equally embarrassed, even shy despite being responsible for causing Yoongi to be in such a state.

It was terrible how Yoongi’s heart only continued to soften further at that. Not with affection, blessedly not that. But something that felt a lot more receptive to this man’s existence and his presence near Yoongi. 

Horrendous, really. Yoongi wanted to be appalled with himself for it. But the first advisor was looking at him so openly, no traces of deception or dishonesty to be found, and all Yoongi wanted to do was appreciate it like how the first advisor appreciated his music. With honor, and with joy.

Yoongi blinked again. Apparently, it was the only part of his body he had control over. And maybe the first advisor was able to recognize that as well, that Yoongi would have no capability to function any further for the foreseeable future, because he bowed his head down again, and rose to his feet.

Yoongi scolded the part of himself that was disappointed to find the man leaving already.

“Until next time, Mama.” 

And with that blasted smile still on his face, Namjoon took his leave, the door sliding closed behind him ever so quietly before clicking in place.

All was silent, yet to Yoongi, the sound of his blood rushing through his ears was thunderous. He gasped, almost expecting spots to appear in his vision as fresh air reached his lungs. For how long he’d been holding his breath, Yoongi had no idea. Now that he was breathing again, however, it was as if a bubble had popped and time had resumed its never ending journey around him. In the center of it all, Yoongi sat there, a mere dot in the vast galaxy struggling to breathe and function.

“Hyung?” The voice at his side alarmed Yoongi, and he whipped his head around. Frantic eyes searching for the source of the sound, his rapid heartbeat only calmed by a fraction to realize it was his friend. Taehyung, who he had completely forgotten was in the room with him, staring at him with large eyes from concern. “Are you alright?”

Still feeling out of breath, Yoongi only nodded at first. He hastily swallowed, throat bobbing up and down before he felt a fraction of his composure return, enough to elicit a response. “I’m fine, Taehyung-ah.” At his friend’s disbelieving look, Yoongi smiled, even though he could tell it was as shaky as he felt. “Really. I am.” He paused, toying with the words on the tip of his tongue, before deciding to let them out anyway. After all, it was Taehyung. Who else would he be able to confide in, who could understand and give him proper insight to the madness that had just occurred?

Yoongi licked his lips, his tongue peaking out as if testing the air anyway before bringing the words into existence. “I just-I feel like. Like maybe there is happiness in this world for me after all.”

It was as if the changing of seasons heralded a new stage. While the trees began to shed their leaves outside the palace, within the music room, a new relationship seemed to tentatively blossom between Yoongi and Namjoon. Namjoon was allowing himself to be more open, no longer bothering to conceal the emotions he now let freely pass over his face. In return, Yoongi felt increasingly confident with his own reservations being stripped away. He may not trust the man fully yet, might not ever get the chance to do so either. He didn’t let that discourage himself from smiling a little more freely anyway, growing less conscious at the neverending compliments Namjoon gave. And in response to their increased eye contact, their abashed smiles, and soft words, the physical distance between them decreased, Namjoon placing his cushion more and more closer to Yoongi with each passing day. By the middle of the month, he was sitting almost right across the gayageum, even the slightest shift in motion making the fabric of his hanbok brush against the wooden instrument.

The closer proximity did dangerous things to Yoongi’s heart. His body constantly felt just the slightest bit too warm that he never felt the chill outside settle into his generally fragile bones. And he knew it showed in his cheeks, traitorously reddened, but blissfully never acknowledged beyond the quickest of glances – Namjoon would look back to the gayageum immediately after that, his tongue stilled most likely due to the awareness of his own reddened cheeks.

His life seemed to turn around so much in these moments. The utter positivity he was being bombarded with under the autumn sun’s rays, even including the alternating days he spent with a wooden brush in hand rather than a wooden instrument, had effusively distracted Yoongi from the grimmer affairs under moonlight. It became a little easier to hold on to his sanity that had been fraying, to forget and keep surviving when he genuinely had something else to look forward to. And it was a lot of something else’s. From painting, to music, with Taehyung, and now even Namjoon. Yoongi felt content with his life during the daytime, despite the neverending sensation of a clock ticking eerily in the back of his mind. It was muted and ignorable, until it became all the more pronounced when he was pressed to a bed, and the consequent mornings when he had to undergo a regularized assessment of his injuries.

Yoongi would hush the clock in his mind in favor of listening to Namjoon’s deep voice instead. The words he uttered made Yoongi feel actually appreciated – by someone other than Taehyung. He loved his childhood friend and always will. Yet, sometimes it was hard to have only one person with you against the world. Admittedly and for blatantly obvious reasons, Yoongi wouldn’t consider placing Namjoon as someone else he could rely on to be beside him against the rest of Goryeo.

But the next time Namjoon saw Yoongi’s blemished skin, a byproduct of their nearness and Yoongi growing recklessly lax, his eyes stayed on it without flinching. 

It was with that still soft voice, different only by a tone marked with concern, that he spoke. “Have you tried the ointment?” He asked, widened eyes impassioned as he peered at Yoongi instead. “Or-would you like more of it?”

Yoongi sighed. He glanced down at the bruises in the shape of handprints around his wrists. The colors were the darkest they’ve been, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t actually hurt. A blessing, that his playing hadn’t been too affected, but secretly was only so because he had purposefully chosen something easier for him to maneuver through. “It doesn’t matter how much ointment I use, does it?” He stated, voice dry. “Not when I’ll only need to keep using it for a different reason every day.”

Impossibly, yet also devastatingly so, Namjoon seemed to deflate with sadness, his gaze returning to the bruise. He looked more depressed and weighed down than Yoongi would have thought such a comment would garner for a reaction. And his incomprehension only continued to morph into unsettlement, when, despite Yoongi continuing to play, still ignoring the faint throbbing in his joints, the air of dejection that had seemed to settle over Namjoon didn’t leave. 

Was it dejection? Pity? Guilt? That one made Yoongi angry to even consider – he’d rather Namjoon pity him than feel guilty. Or neither, really. Even if it was guilt, then Yoongi tried to convince himself that it was probably only due to Namjoon being well aware of what Yoongi was going through, and not that he necessarily had anything to do with it himself.

Yoongi’s mind was going in circles by that point, even as he kept playing. He tried to put a cease to all his thoughts, but it didn’t change that he was ultimately left feeling overall uncertain by the entire situation when Namjoon took his leave.

Namjoon was roaming the halls aimlessly, mind firm in the clouds. His thoughts were a whirlwind, chest practically aching with conflicting emotions barely restrained. He was only dimly aware of his surroundings, absently striding towards the palace’s gardens, knowing that at least the trees would give him some sort of peace of mind even if not a definite answer. 

It wasn’t too surprising that he ended up bumping into someone before he could arrive at his destination.

Arms outstretched, he hastily caught the person and righted them, ensuring they were on their own two feet even if he knew that the man before him was far too graceful to fall after Namjoon had already bulldozed him, before stepping back. 

“Jimin-bin,” he greeted, bowing his head slightly. 

Jimin’s face lit up with a large smile, eyes practically closing with the action. “Namjoon hyung!” Stepping forward again, he latched onto Namjoon’s arms. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

While the close physical contact with the king’s concubine would’ve been fatally disastrous for anyone else, Namjoon and Jimin had been friends for many years now. The king was no fool to try and separate anyone Jimin was affectionate with – and too taken with Jimin to risk such stupidity either. 

And yet, the king could still lack wisdom in the name of Jimin.

Just thinking of the king while his mind was still unsettled was enough to cause Namjoon’s face to flinch. All too aware of the spasm of his face, but also who he was standing in front of, he hurriedly fought to regain control of his expression. He attempted to return the smile, but he knew his eyes still gave away the turmoil within him. Usually, Namjoon was a better actor than this – he had to be, as the king’s first advisor. But being in front of a close friend was already demolishing his barriers before he was ready to address the situation aloud.

“Oh, you know,” he said faintly. “I’ve just been around. I could say the same about you,” he attempted to turn the focus back on Jimin. He’d noticed the slight narrowing of Jimin’s eyes, known that his friend had honed into his mental unrest, and he knew he was going to be interrogated about it at any second now. Still, he weakly attempted to buy himself some time before the inevitable.

“I’ve also been around,” Jimin said. His tone was dismissive, however, and Namjoon knew he was in for it. “But nevermind me, what’s going on in your head? What are you thinking so hard about?”

Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, all too aware of the servants behind Jimin. Whether or not Jimin trusted them, he wasn’t sure, but Namjoon hadn’t gotten this far in life by trusting easily. “What prompts you to say that?”

Jimin huffed, eyes alight with momentary amusement. “You’ve got your chin all jutted out like you always do when you’re focusing on something really hard.”

Ah. He forgot about that little tell of his. The fact that Jimin recognized one of his habits was a reassuring reminder though. Jimin really was a good friend, and even if Seokjin was the head of the militia and could remind Namjoon of all the logical outcomes of any problematic situation, it was Jimin who was still the best at providing comfort when needed – alongside a logical solution too. He wasn’t just a pretty face, as far too many people were incorrect to assume.

Namjoon sighed. “You know what? Why don’t you accompany me to the gardens and we can talk?” Gently pulling free from Jimin’s hands, he offered an arm instead, a silent invitation to walk together. Jimin cast one last scrutinizing look over Namjoon’s face before he accepted, turning around to step into place alongside Namjoon. His servants hastily moved to reposition themselves behind the two, following behind more quietly than the silence between Namjoon and Jimin. Once they reached the entrance of the gardens, Namjoon was grateful when, without a word, Jimin turned his head to address them. “You may wait here for us.”

Forever appreciative of his friend, Namjoon led Jimin well within the gardens, not stopping until they reached a large willow tree overlooking a creek. Helping Jimin down first, ensuring his chima were all in order, Namjoon planted himself on the ground with far less ceremony, facing the creek. Already feeling at more ease with the sight of the moving water before him, Namjoon spoke first.

“Why haven’t you been visiting the king, Jimin-ah?” With no one around them, neither within hearing or seeing range, they were able to take advantage of the relative privacy. Not just with honorifics, but also with the one question Namjoon hadn’t been able to ask directly until now. 

He was aware of Jimin’s eyes boring holes into the sides of his face, but he didn’t look at him yet. Namjoon knew his friend was more curious about him, but knowing each other as long as they did, Jimin would trust that Namjoon led the conversation for a reason – and if not, it wasn’t like Jimin wouldn’t have his ways to pry answers out of Namjoon if he wasn’t forthcoming himself. And if that’s what Jimin knew Namjoon needed.

It was years of trial and error, but they had ultimately found their rhythm.

With a sigh, Jimin gave in. “I am… angry,” he began slowly. “At the entire situation. With this treaty. With the Yuan heir. With the–with the king.” Jimin inhaled deeply, and Namjoon finally felt Jimin’s eyes move away from his face, the both of them now looking at the creek together. “There’s a part of me that’s particularly vengeful at the thought that the king is just busy with his new plaything,” it was said with a snarl, underlining the harshness of his words, but just as quickly, the rage was gone. “The larger part of me, however,” he paused, Namjoon silently waiting. “It's just sad.” He finished.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

“I,” Jimin sighed again. “You know why I joined the palace,” he said in a rush, his voice hushed as if sharing a secret. For all intents and purposes, it very well was, only few including Namjoon privy to Jimin’s roots. “I had no other choice. But the Jeonha – he made me believe that… that all didn’t have to be for naught, you know?” This time, when Namjoon felt Jimin’s gaze upon him again, he turned to look back at him, meeting Jimin’s eyes evenly. “We all know he is a kind and benevolent ruler, but even as a person, as a man, he was nice and caring.” Jimin blinked, eyes lowering, but he still sat facing Namjoon. Namjoon didn’t turn away either, showing Jimin he had his full attention.

“Since the treaty had been announced, however,” Jimin paused. Noticing movement at the edge of his vision, Namjoon looked down to see Jimin’s fingers fidgeting, hands clasped and fingers wringing before clasping onto the delicate fabric of his chima, twisting the material in agitated motions. “It’s like I had gotten a glimpse of someone different?” He cocked his head, face twisting in a seemingly mocking gesture at his own question. Jimin shook his head at himself. “Then again, enough time has passed that maybe I’m just imagining it now. But I can’t change the fact, I can’t deny that the words he told me in privacy – what I thought were heartfelt promises, the fealties he swore despite knowing who I used to be, was so in contrast to the day he said he would wed another.”

Jimin exhaled forcefully, nostrils flaring. At any other time, it would have been a comical sight. Right now, it was anything but, Namjoon’s heart twisting in empathy for his friend. “Was the marriage even necessary, hyung? The treaty, I understand. But the wedding, to a man he supposedly cares not for?” Fingers releasing the death grip on his chima, Jimin laid his hands flat on his lap, a feigned attempt to relay calm. “To be utterly honest, Namjoon hyung, it felt like I was an object rendered useless and hence, being discarded. As if–as if I was a problem another man could fix when we all know the truth.”

Namjoon blinked, parsing through Jimin’s words. “The Jeonha doesn’t see you like that,” he found himself saying before even thinking through his words. At least it was the truth – not that he would address the last part. There lay too many thorns upon that road of conversation. “No matter what happened – despite everything that is still going on,” and there was a lot going on, not that Namjoon could even begin to say them aloud, “he still thinks of you.” He laid a hand atop Jimin’s, clasping his friend’s hand in a sign of reassurance. “Every time he talks to me, he still despairs that you haven’t come to see him.”

Jimin looked up at that, eyes sharp and flashing dangerously. “And he couldn’t come see me himself?”

“You know he has tried, Jimin. And you’ve refused to see him.”

Jimin’s jaw clenched. “Has that ever stopped him before?” 

Namjoon found himself silenced at that. He may not have known the nuances of the king and Jimin’s relationship, and frankly, neither did he want to. But Jimin had a point. If the king truly claimed to care as much as he did, and with the authority he held, there wasn’t anything actually stopping him from seeing Jimin if he so wished. “It is possible he just wants to respect your wishes,” he tried, but the words felt like poison on his tongue.

How was he able to defend the king, make him sound so attentive and considerate of Jimin, when he was anything but to Yoongi? For every attribute he attested to, every characteristic Jimin described, all Namjoon could think about was the stark contrast that Yoongi was a victim of. As if the man Jimin spoke of and the man Yoongi faced were not one and the same.

Namjoon wasn’t even sure who the king truly was at this point. The one Jimin still reminisced of? Or the one of Yoongi’s nightmares?

Jimin scoffed, bringing Namjoon back to reality. “If he truly wanted to respect my wishes, he would’ve actually discussed the details of this treaty with me, rather than informing me of his decision afterwards like I was no more than the rest of the palace staff.” Dragging a hand through his carefully styled hair, Jimin shrugged, as if the conversation was no longer of importance. “But enough about me. Tell me what weighs on your mind.”

Namjoon side-eyed his friend, debating on how much to share. “It’s,” he began carefully, “somewhat along the same lines.” As Jimin gave him his unwavering focus, Namjoon turned back to the creek, feeling a little wary. “I’ve had my own concerns on how the treaty has been affecting the king. But I’ve also had some,” he carefully weighed the words on his tongue before allowing them to slip free, “thoughts regarding our new queen as well, I suppose.” 

Even if he didn’t see Jimin’s look of absolute bewilderment from the corner of his eye, he certainly heard the squawk of shocked outrage that Jimin emitted. “‘Our new queen’?” Jimin repeated, scandalized. “Hyung, I know you must have had many thoughts I have yet to catch up on, but pray tell, how did you ever come to the conclusion that a Yuan heir,” he spit the words out like a swear, “could be acceptable to acknowledge as one of our own?”

Namjoon slumped over. Of course, no matter how much he contemplated and filtered his words, of course something would slip out. “The treaty and the subsequent wedding dictates him as such,” Namjoon said, trying to sound a lot more confident in his words than he felt. Even if he himself could understand and still relate with the skepticism of what he said. “And beginning to accept him as — at least, not other, would go a long way to mending what the treaty was meant to fix in the first place.”

Jimin stared at him as if he’d sprouted another head on his shoulders. 

“It is a fool’s dream to expect any of our people to be fine with anyone from Yuan just because of a piece of paper,” Jimin said, not unkindly. But his deadpan expression morphed to clear distaste when he narrowed his eyes with his next words, “and it would be an insane man’s hallucination to even fathom tolerating the representative of whom we’ve been at war with for generations now.”

Namjoon sighed. “Does he really deserve our hatred though, Jimin-ah?” He said. He was trying to remain calm, but flashes of vicious blues and purple, mottled greens and yellows, nauseating reds and blacks flashed through his mind, wiping away the vision of the creek in front of him. “He is a man who’s left his land to try and find a home where everyone hates him, because we keep seeing him as a reminder of all we’ve lost. But we refuse to see him as the potential for everything we can now gain.”

A serene smile as long fingers strummed at strings expertly, long eyelashes fluttering over pale cheeks, fair complexion that had no right being marred by violent colors.

What was a treaty of peace for two different lands, when a man stuck between both worlds was kept to suffer so severely?

Jimin pursed his lips, clearly mulling over those words. “Are you saying that a hope for a brighter future means we should no longer look at the past grievances of that man?”

The images haunting his mind were pushed to the side as Namjoon met Jimin dead in the eye. “I’m saying that by being so hung up on our past, we’re failing to pay attention to the current happenings. And what that means for our future,” Namjoon paused. “I don’t know,” he finished.

Taehyung was definitely born to hold a paintbrush within his hands. Yoongi doubted the ability was meant for himself. Looking between the two scrolls, he was torn between laughing at the stark contrast of the two pictures, and wincing in preparation for their instructor’s inevitable disappointment. At least the instructor’s tongue wasn’t the sharpest weapon Yoongi had had to face.

“Your painting looks amazing, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi commented, still unable to help the large smile at the sight of his own. Taehyung glanced over, and it was a testament to his character that he looked far too genuine when he cast it a look of appraisal. 

“I love the colors you chose, hyung!”

Yoongi scoffed. “Don’t lie. You can tell me it looks like a horse trampled over it.”

“No!” Taehyung seemed far too offended at Yoongi’s dismissal of his own work, but Yoongi didn’t really take it to heart. This was more for Taehyung than himself, and while it was fun to paint, he didn’t delude himself into thinking he’d be invested enough to try and master the art, unlike Taehyung. He was just here to provide company, and having fun was merely an unforeseen bonus.

Setting down his paintbrush, Yoongi leaned back on the flat of his palms, stretching out his neck. “It’s alright, Taehyung-ah,” he said, rather absently. “I didn’t really have much hope for myself from the beginning itself.”

Rocking back on his heels, Taehyung focused on him with such intensity, Yoongi was startled to notice it even from his peripherals, attention caught. “You can’t say that, hyung,” he said. “Hope is the one persistent trait to all humans. We can’t be without it, really.” Taehyung’s eyes flickered down to the scroll before Yoongi, but Yoongi got the feeling that Taehyung was suddenly not talking about painting now. “Sometimes, hope is all we have. We just need to use it to take things step by step without thinking too hard, and not let our failures get to us.”

“Come out and say what you want plainly, Taehyung-ah.” Yoongi said passively. “What is it you’re actually talking about?”

Taehyung rocked back on his heels, wet paintbrush held away from his hanbok. “You’ve been hung up about the first advisor since the last time you met him.”

At his point blank words, Yoongi had to break their gaze, uncomfortable. “That was only yesterday,” he muttered.

“I’m not faulting you for it, hyung,” Taehyung said, leaning forward to place a hand on his knee. “But I think you should allow yourself to be less stressed about it. Take things more at face value.”

Yoongi scoffed, but didn’t dislodge Taehyung’s hand. “I thought you agreed that I had all the reasons to be wary of him?”

Taehyung shrugged, moving back. “Maybe so. But he hasn’t done anything wrong to you yet – the exact opposite if anything. And like I said, it might be okay to let yourself hope that he’ll only continue to be good because that’s who he is, just like he’s been so far.”

Yoongi eyed his friend. “And if I ‘fail’? If my hope is misplaced and he–” he threw his hands up helplessly, “I don’t know. If he proves my reasons to be suspicious, correct? Then what?”

Taehyung shifted around to sit more comfortably, pulling his legs out from under him until he was seated cross-legged. “Even if we fail, that doesn’t reflect on ourselves,” he said. “If anything, that’s more a testament of who you are, that you’re willing to trust and take chances no matter what others have done. Besides,” Taehyung leaned forward to dip his brush in the pot of water, swirling it around. “Worst case scenario, he hurts you like everyone else here, like we expected. But if he doesn’t, if you persevere in pursuing whatever it is you have going on… maybe this man can continue bringing more goodness in your life than just a bottle of quality ointment?”

As Taehyung went back to his painting, an almost realistic rendition of the palace’s stables, Yoongi let his thoughts drift as he’d often been prone to do.

“Maybe.” He hummed. Despite the heavy nature of their talk, he felt no more burdened than he had at the beginning – which was to say, he felt as lighthearted as they had begun with. 

It was a nice feeling, Yoongi surmised.

Taehyung hummed to himself in a low tone as he walked through the palace corridors. It was dimly lit, only a sparse few candles lit as most of the palace’s residents had retired to bed. He wasn’t too afraid of getting lost or bumping into anything, comfortable enough with the palace’s layout by now despite the lack of illumination. 

His objective was to head to the laundry rooms, yet Taehyung came to a halt as he passed the armory, a familiar figure exiting the chamber. An easy grin enveloped his features, and he bound forward.

“Jungkook-ssi!”

The knight smiled easily in return when he noticed Taehyung, eyes crinkling and a familiar bunny-like smile appearing on his own face. “Taehyung-ssi,” they bowed to each other, but it was a quick gesture, as if a hasty formality neither really cared for. “What brings you down here so late at night?”

“Just some laundry, really, but – ah, It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it?” Taehyung hummed happily, bouncing on his feet, unhindered by the robes in his hand – his own combined with Yoongi’s, as neither were free of paint splatters. He was hoping to get rid of them quickly before it set in too deeply, even if he was still trying to figure out how to best deal with paint stains on fabric. But as long as Yoongi’s clothes were dealt with first and properly, it didn’t really matter to him how his own fared.

He always made sure to wear the same set of clothes when painting anyway, so that the majority of his wardrobe wouldn’t suddenly be deemed unsuitable for public appearances alongside Goryeo’s Mama.

Jungkook chuckled, but it wasn’t condescending. “It is,” he agreed. “You must be in a good mood,” he noted.

Taehyung quirked an eyebrow. In silent agreement, they started walking together, Jungkook wordlessly accompanying him to the laundry rooms with his hands tucked in his pockets. It wasn’t the first time Jungkook had joined him while he was carrying out chores, but they hadn’t done it often enough to have established any particular schedule. It just so happened that when their paths aligned and Jungkook was somewhat free, he’d linger around while they conversed for a bit before they eventually parted ways. They mostly talked about painting, rarely covering anything else. But Taehyung felt like they’d hung around each other often enough for them to be considered friends, at least on his part even if tentatively so.

“It’s a wonderful night,” Taehyung stubbornly reiterated, before relenting, “the skies are clear, the stars are visible, the moon is full and bright.” He sighed, feeling light on his steps as he maundered forwards. “It’s one of those nights that give you hope, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook side eyed him. “Hope?”

Taehyung hummed. They’d reached the laundry room and he entered first, Jungkook following behind. As he set up his pile of clothes at one station, Jungkook leaned against one of the tables beside him, legs stretched out and leaning back with his palms atop the table. “Yeah. Like,” he looked up, trying to find the words to explain the feeling. He could’ve been blunt, only the truth wasn’t his secret to tell no matter how much he yearned to share his happiness. So he settled with his next best option – keeping things as vague as possible, but still in a way that maybe Jungkook would be able to relate with.

“It’s like… the air is just flowing through you in a way that makes you feel like your worries and concerns are of no matter. Like the wind just carries it away from you, leaving you feeling more hopeful and trusting that things might actually turn out better. It’s one of those nights where it feels like the skies above are blessing you with its vast presence. Because even if you’re one small person in the grand scheme of things… you’re still a person that wants to be happy, and the night skies need a person like that around to keep looking up at it. It makes me feel like my faith is deserving of being restored.”

When he turned towards Jungkook again, the knight was gaping at him with wide eyes. Taehyung would’ve been concerned that the man thought him crazy – he certainly wouldn’t have been the first to proclaim so – but then Jungkook blinked, expression turning inquisitive.

“I suppose… it makes sense, what you feel.” Jungkook tilted his head. “I’m not sure I can say I felt the same. However, it does make me want to go out and look at the sky again.”

They shared a grin before Taehyung turned back to the clothes, quickly getting them wet. “You should let me know how that goes.” His words could’ve been dismissive, but Jungkook didn’t leave right away. Instead, for a while they stayed in silence, Taehyung getting through a few of the clothes before Jungkook began talking again. And for a while, they conversed, the usual light and easy chatter filled the air between them. Taehyung still had a ways to go before he was done scrubbing out the last of the finicky stains from the delicate fabrics, but he cheerily waved Jungkook away when he inevitably had to depart for bed, tired grumbles of early morning patrols following him out the door.

A smile still on his face, Taehyung began the final step of wringing out the clothes before he could leave as well. It was a wonderful night indeed, and just like he’d said, Taehyung mostly had positive feelings for the near future, which was all he chose to concentrate on for the time being.

Chapter Text

“Would you care to accompany me at the gardens one day?”

Yoongi stared in silent shock at the abrupt words. Judging by the look on the man’s face, Yoongi got the feeling Namjoon hadn’t entirely planned for the words to come out of his mouth either. But they were out in the air now, suspended between them with ever growing tension – on Namjoon’s part, as evident from his face slowly twisting into a grimace. 

Yoongi, for his part, still felt completely thrown off guard by the request. Along with the request, the last notes from the gayageum was slow to fade out, and his hands were still frozen atop the instrument. The grimace that began to morph into resignation on Namjoon’s face, however, prompted Yoongi to quickly respond, even though he himself hadn’t even prepared for any words to slip off his tongue. 

The acceptance was just as disarming to Yoongi to hear coming from his mouth. But the way Namjoon lightened up at it, shoulders dropping and eyes shining with something Yoongi didn’t want to name just yet, it made Yoongi relax despite himself. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest of ideas, extending their peculiar companionship beyond the restricted walls of the southern corridor of the palace. Even so, Taehyung’s words and Yoongi’s own budding aspiration had him ready to take the risk regardless.

With Namjoon’s invitation, the prospect of venturing outside the palace walls with a clear objective increased Yoongi’s interest. He may not have been confined within the palace per se, but rarely had he wanted to actually go outside – not when the gayageum inside was enough for him. Still, as they made plans to reconvene at a more secluded area of the garden next time instead of the music room as informally scheduled, Yoongi realized he wasn’t too saddened about missing out on a day of playing his favored instrument.

“I don’t know what brought this on,” Taehyung quietly huffed beside him. “And not that I’m complaining about leaving the palace walls. But I was not expecting us to have to travel to a neighboring land today. Why are the gardens so big?” There was a sort of bewildered weariness to his tone, which Yoongi could relate to. Not used to much exercise these days himself, Yoongi was also struggling to keep onwards, the multiple layers of sokchima he’d long since become accustomed to under his chima now feeling like an additional burden to carry along with his frail body. At least the scenery was pleasant, trees all around giving the feeling of being immediately secluded into nature upon entry into the second part of the gardens. And the path was relatively flattened ground, so it wasn’t like they had to embark on an unexpected hike – that they would’ve been vastly unprepared for as well. 

Namjoon had promised to bring everything required, only asking Yoongi to bring himself and that Taehyung was, of course, more than welcome to come along. It meant that their hands were unburdened of extra weight, but Yoongi wondered if it still would’ve been wise to bring a waterskin anyway. 

“I like it,” Yoongi said aloud. “It’s a nice change.” Sure, he was sweating heavily under his hanbok, he knew his skin was most likely flushed with exertion, his breathing was heavy, and his muscles were straining beyond the injuries they already had to bear. Nonetheless, there was a feeling of liberation when being out here among the trees painted in vivid colors of the season. The cool air was a little sticky against his clammy skin, but each inhale that filled his lungs rejuvenated him more than the stale air within the palace. It made it just the slightest bit easier to ignore the twinges of discomfort his body was undergoing. Not completely, but combined with his stubbornness and need to see this through, Yoongi forced himself to push onwards.

“I’m not saying I dislike it either,” Taehyung muttered. They were admittedly walking at a sedate pace, the mannerisms and behavior Yoongi learned to present in court still carried out in almost every other aspect of his life. Plus, Yoongi wasn’t sure how well the train of his chima would fare against the ground if he went just the slightest bit faster. The terrain may have been flat, but it certainly wasn’t smooth. “But if advisor Kim doesn’t have any refreshments after making us walk for this long, I will be disappointed.”

Yoongi smiled. He was happy that Taehyung was assured enough to assume that Namjoon would bring him food as well. Certainly, Yoongi would have felt far more reserved with his acceptance had Namjoon failed to show Taehyung the easy acceptance as he had thus far. They may not have been classifying themselves as friends, but Yoongi had always noted how Namjoon treated Taehyung with respect. A sad and bare minimum, but their lives in Goryeo made the adjustments of standards necessary.

They walked for a considerable amount of time before the sounds of flowing water reached their ears first. A few steps later and the trees grew sparser, revealing a grassy area with rocks in random spots, large and flat enough to sit on, all leading to a creek, the source of the sound that had greeted them. And right before them stood Namjoon, a blanket laid out at his feet with a handwoven basket atop it. His hands neatly folded behind him, his eyes lit up at that appearance, immediately dropping down to a bow as they drew closer. 

“Mama,” he greeted, “and Taehyung-ssi. I’m glad you were able to come.”

Dropping into his own bow, although not as deep as Namjoon or Taehyung beside him doing the same, Yoongi smiled a little, the slightest upcurve of the corner of his lips. “I wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint you by not showing after you went to the lengths of arranging all this,” he said, straightening. He rove his eyes over Namjoon, taking in the man’s appearance. The first advisor wore a red jeogori over black baji, the deep and dark colors suiting his complexion quite well, and his long black hair was left loose to cascade down his back, the sides pinned together in a half ponytail. It was an appearance fit for the court, and yet, out here with the intentions of a presumably relaxed afternoon, Namjoon seemed perfectly at ease regardless.

Aware that he had been appraising Namjoon in utter silence for far too long, Yoongi shifted his gaze away. Still, as he tried to meet Namjoon’s eyes head on… he realized that Namjoon was doing the same, taking in Yoongi’s form as well. And despite wearing a light purple hanbok in the traditional style for his status as Goryeo’s Mama, Yoongi suddenly felt far too out of place in his clothes under the scrutiny of Namjoon’s view. It was as if Namjoon was looking at Yoongi for the first time, taking in his light colored robes, the white of his secondary layers as pale as his skin, the way his own hair was styled almost similar to Namjoon’s, before settling on his face with unnerving focus…

Yoongi tilted his head towards the blanket, choosing to look at it instead. “Shall we sit?”

With Taehyung right behind him, Yoongi carefully gathered the abundance of fabrics that made his chima to seat himself, ensuring it was properly in place before they settled on their knees. The blanket was large enough for there to be a plentiful gap between them all, even with Taehyung sitting closer to him than Namjoon. The distance between them felt almost abnormal, Yoongi noted with a startle, after so many days decreasing the space between them in the music room. Yoongi shook his head, trying to will away the jarring realization.

As soon as they sat, Namjoon grabbed the basket beside him and brought it in front of him. When he opened it, putting its lid to the side, Yoongi’s eyes widened at the ample amounts of food visible from within. 

“I didn’t realize we were going to have a meal,” he said carefully, watching as Namjoon began to take them all out. From beside him, Taehyung leaned forward, offering to help, but Namjoon waved him away with an easy smile on his face.

“Ah, it’s about close enough to your midday meal,” Namjoon explained. “And after having you come out this far as well, it didn’t feel fair to not provide you with enrichments. Besides, I was hoping the food would make up for the subpar company at the very least.”

Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head in dismissal. “Please, there is no need to think so lowly of yourself. I came without knowing of the food that would be provided, because I wanted to sit out here with you.” Abruptly aware of the words he let slip without conscious thought, Yoongi felt himself flush. He tried to amend his statement, ignoring Taehyung’s silent amusement at his side which he could feel even without needing to see it. “The promise of the fresh air and the sight of the royal gardens had been more than enough already, and it hasn’t disappointed thus far.” 

Namjoon paused from where he’d been putting down a bottle, trying to get it to balance on the grassy ground under the soft blanket. Looking at Yoongi, he gave him a soft smile. “I’m happy to hear that.”

The words did nothing to appease the flush Yoongi was sure that colored his cheeks. Hasty for a distraction, he gestured to the food that Namjoon had now laid out on the blanket, the basket now free of its contents. “You didn’t have to bring this much.”

Namjoon shook his head. “Like I said,” he handed Yoongi a plate, already stacked with fruits and thin slices of meat, “I wouldn’t dare to let the Mama starve, and I was hoping we could go for a walk afterwards as well. So please, eat to your heart’s contents and replenish your energy.” He handed Taehyung a plate as well, which Taehyung graciously accepted with a bow of his head. Finally taking a plate for himself, they began to eat, all of them in complete silence apart from the subtle sounds of chewing. Yoongi quietly hummed in delight when the meat’s seasoning met his tongue, pleased with how well it was cooked. Taehyung made a noise of appreciation as well, and Namjoon regarded them with a look of contentment.

“You prepared things quite well,” Yoongi noted, to which Namjoon ducked his head down, looking a bit shy.

“It is the work of the palace’s cooks, really. I may have arranged these, but it wouldn’t have turned out as well if I had been doubly responsible for preparing the food as well.” 

Yoongi smiled kindly. “Even so, your meticulous planning has paid off,” he said. “The gardens are also absolutely beautiful. I look forward to our walk when we’re done here.”

Namjoon beamed. “Yes, the palace’s gardens are a favorite of mine. I think it is my most preferred location out of the entire palace, to be honest.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Really?” But then he looked around himself again, and then nodded. “I can see that, actually. It is quite peaceful.”

As they shared another smile, silence fell upon them again as they resumed eating. But every now and then they exchanged words, the occasional comment from Yoongi complimenting the meal to which Namjoon responded accordingly. It was definitely pleasant, and Yoongi was so far satisfied that he had chosen to come out here after all.

All too soon, they finished eating. This time, Taehyung was adamant on cleaning up after them, and curiously even waved Yoongi away at the same time. “You should go on your walk. I’m fine sitting here and rehydrating my body,” he said, pointing at the still mostly full bottle of the rice win Namjoon had brought. As he went on, Taehyung lowered his voice enough that Namjoon couldn’t have possibly heard his next words. “Also, I don’t want to intrude on you two.” The words could have been innocent from anyone else, but coming from Taehyung with a mischievous smile and twinkling eyes to go with it, Yoongi refrained from swatting at his friend, if only because he was much more aware of Namjoon’s presence behind him.

Still, he huffed as he rose to his feet. “Just don’t get drunk. I’m not carting your heavy body all the way back to our chambers,” he muttered lowly, before finally turning towards Namjoon. “Taehyung will wait for us here while we walk around the gardens, if that is alright,” he said. Namjoon nodded with a glance between the two, and then stood as well. “If you’re ready, shall we go?” 

“Of course.”

Allowing Namjoon to take the lead, Yoongi still found themselves side by side as they returned to the shade of trees, Namjoon directing them to a path Yoongi hadn’t taken note of before. Now, he made sure to take in the sights surrounding him properly, following Namjoon rather absently. It was truly a breathtaking sight, the trees high above their head telling of decades of care. With the fall season well upon them, most branches were bare, leaves mostly crunching under their feet, but everywhere Yoongi looked was an explosion of vibrant colors. Shades of red, orange, and yellow enveloped the ground, and the few resolute leaves that hung onto their branches were the same.

The gardens must have been even more beautiful during the spring and summer seasons, Yoongi imagined. A stray, fleeting thought passed through Yoongi’s mind, wondering if he’d even be around long enough to be able to see it. Blinking, Yoongi brought himself back to the present. It wouldn’t do to bring his mood down, not when he was enjoying himself, and not with Namjoon beside him.

Swallowing down the remnants of his despondent thought, Yoongi turned his head to Namjoon, mouth opening to make a comment – what, he wasn’t sure, but anything to distract himself – when he paused. 

Namjoon, it seemed, had already been looking at him. The look in his eyes became undecipherable when, upon realizing Yoongi was looking at him now, he hastily turned his head back to the path before them. Yoongi doubted it was the color of the leaves around them reflecting upon Namjoon’s skin with the way he began to redden.

Yoongi blinked again. This time, for different reasons. For some inexplicable reason, he felt a familiar heat begin to wrap around his neck, and he averted his eyes as well, unable to keep looking at Namjoon. He cleared his throat. “Tell me more about these gardens?” His voice was quiet, hardly above a whisper, and Yoongi hated that it was because he knew he couldn’t trust his voice should he try to speak any louder.

Mercifully, Namjoon heard his request, and obliged. A little too stuck in his head, it took everything in Yoongi to process the words he uttered. And so, while he could tell Namjoon’s voice seemed to sound a pitch higher than it usually was, he hadn’t had the wherewithal to ponder why it was so.

Namjoon was having trouble processing things. From inviting Yoongi out to the gardens without conscious thought of doing so, and then Yoongi’s servant leaving them to walk alone, and just now, when Yoongi almost caught him staring…

He was trying hard, he really was, to reflect upon his meeting with Jimin and the words they exchanged. But how was he to live in the present when things just kept happening without his say-so? Even when he’d been looking at Yoongi, it was without his own permission, his gaze caught upon the other man and unable to look away.

He was Goryeo’s queen, and at that moment, Namjoon truly believed that despite his heritage, Yoongi certainly appeared more than befitting of his status. His porcelain skin was wrapped in a hanbok as white as snow, purple like lilacs, caressing skin in a way that had Namjoon’s fingers feeling restless. His eyes were wide open to take in their surroundings, dark brown irises glinting in the sunlight, framed by long eyelashes kissing at the top of his eyelids. And the black silky hair that cascaded down his back had the restlessness in Namjoon’s fingers renewed for a different aim then.

He looked ethereal, and Namjoon was captivated, feeling like he was seeing Yoongi in an entirely new light. And it wasn’t just the direct sunlight atop them, peeking through the autumn branches, and enveloping Yoongi in its light.

Looking as close as he was, he didn’t miss when Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes becoming distant with whatever thought plagued his mind. It took everything within Namjoon to keep his hand at his side, rather than reaching up and massaging the frown away with a gentle thumb like he yearned to do. So when a scant few seconds later had Yoongi turning to look at him, it effectively caught Namjoon off guard, their direct eye contact bringing Namjoon quite harshly back to reality.

He broke their eye contact and trained his eyes to the ground before he could trip and, knowing his luck, fall.

Thankfully, Yoongi asked about the gardens, and Namjoon was more than happy to regale him with everything he knew about it. He spoke of the history of the trees surrounding them, interjecting with comments on how the staff still took care of them to this day, and maybe he got a little too immersed with the minutiae of the dendrology. But when he remembered himself and finally dared to risk a peek at Yoongi again, his breath was stolen. For Yoongi was looking at him with such intent attention, clearly taking in every word he said, yet there was a softness of his eyes that belied a fondness Namjoon couldn’t quite fathom. And even as Yoongi quietly prodded Namjoon to continue speaking with intelligently posed questions of his own, Namjoon was distracted by the warmth blooming in his chest that only seemed to grow no matter how much Namjoon tried to re-engage himself with telling Yoongi more about the gardens.

Somewhere, somehow, a new routine was added to Yoongi’s schedule. The occasional unpleasant nights aside, his days that had initially been taken up with the gayageum and then later painting were now interspaced with visits to the garden. Namjoon’s knowledge of the area was vast and almost limitless, but even when he finally ran out of things to say, the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. But it wasn’t frequent either, as more and more, they began to speak of other things as well. Namjoon still carried the brunt of the conversations, extending his little lectures beyond the gardens and imparting information regarding the history of the palace and even Goryeo in general.

In return, Yoongi had been quite wary to offer up his own history, not wanting the reminder of his lineage to break whatever tentative spell had descended upon them. Out here, or even within the music room, Yoongi was just Yoongi, someone who played the gayageum and someone interested in learning about all that Namjoon had to offer. Even his position as Goryeo’s queen seemed to be dismissed from mentioning, and for that, Yoongi was grateful.

Even so, the first time Yoongi made an off-hand comment, it was to absently mention how the gardens back in his own palace were much smaller in comparison. Namjoon merely blinked, the slightest of frowns overtaking his face, before he actually began to question Yoongi further about it, much to his surprise. He was happy that he was able to participate more actively in their conversations from then on, even if he was still wary of saying too much, of accidentally letting free something that would have Namjoon retreating, reminded too decisively of their differences. So he kept things vague, confined to details regarding only the history of their own garden, minimal as it was, occasionally venturing into the architecture of Yuan’s palace and what he knew of its history.

Thus far, they hadn’t seemed to cross any lines yet. In terms of their conversations, however, because on the other hand, Yoongi began to notice something else instead. As they kept convening outside to converse, and after a certain point even when at the music room, with Yoongi playing the gayageum, Yoongi realized that far too often, Namjoon would stare at him with a deep gaze, brown eyes swirling with intensity. Yet every time Yoongi looked back, meeting his gaze dead on, Namjoon would startle, if only with the slightest shift of his shoulder, and look away. As if he’d forgotten himself when looking at Yoongi, but then came back to his senses and broke his gaze as if he was afraid of being caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

Yoongi never addressed it, not knowing how he would even go about it. But secretly, he had no grievances with Namjoon’s attention. Every time he realized he was subjected to Namjoon’s focus, rather than feeling unnerved and unsettled, Yoongi felt rather warm and almost… safe. Like he had no reason to fear being under Namjoon’s gaze.

And Yoongi also noticed that somewhere, at some point, it wasn’t just Namjoon sneaking glances. Somehow, he too began to watch Namjoon, stealing furtive looks the few times Namjoon wasn’t watching him. Why he felt like he had to do it secretly as well, Yoongi wasn’t sure. But the way Namjoon looked when he became so engrossed in sharing the history of the various types of trees around them, long fingers gesturing to each tree in question, eyes wide and sparkling with fervor and passion for what he spoke of. 

Even when he wasn’t speaking, too. When Namjoon was silently listening to Yoongi play the gayageum, eyes closed, a pleased, blissful smile overtaking his features, face relaxed as he seemed to let the music flow through him and ease his mind. 

Maybe Yoongi did know the reasonings behind his need to watch him without making it obvious. Because there was no way the emotions Yoongi felt pooling in his gut wasn’t reflected in his own eyes, the strange way Namjoon made Yoongi feel softer, at ease, fond, and adoring.

It was problematic. There were so many reasons why the way Namjoon was making him feel wasn’t acceptable. Yet the stupidly hopeful part of Yoongi decided to turn a blind eye to the potential repercussions of it all, and just embrace these positive feelings that trickled into his chest with delight.

Taehyung was happy for Yoongi, he genuinely was. And it had nothing to do with the fact that his hyung’s increasingly busy schedule allowed Taehyung the time to partake in his own pastime. Because while Taehyung had intended to always accompany Yoongi in this unwelcoming land, now that Yoongi and the first advisor seemed to grow closer, Taehyung felt no guilt in allowing them their privacy and subsequently being enabled in pursuing his own friendships and leisurely activities.

There was also the fact that Taehyung privately swore he wasn’t going to make the trek to the gardens again, only to be left alone for hours later with nothing to do while he waited for them to return. 

In fact, he was able to spend more time painting — on his own, as he wouldn’t have been able to summon the instructor without Yoongi there. He didn’t see a problem with it, truly, as he had learned enough to make passable works even though he knew he had much more to learn. Still, it was with one of those works that he had eagerly gone to the training fields, where Jungkook was practicing his sword work. Upon noticing his presence, Jungkook managed to slip away got a few minutes, and they both gushed over the scroll and spoke eagerly of techniques and colors before Jungkook had to return to his duties. Even with their time cut short, it didn’t dissuade Taehyung from feeling giddy, happy at finding someone so appreciative of his work and enjoying discussing it. It was with those positive feelings clutched as tight to his chest as his rolled up scroll that he made his way back to Yoongi’s chambers, only to stop short on his heels when he recognized the person walking towards him from the opposite end of the corridor. 

Biting back an annoyed groan, Taehyung briefly debated on turning back around or even ducking into one of the many nooks of the palace until Jimin passed. He had no wish to engage with the man again, if ever, as he had no doubt that even an exchange of glances would be enough to put a dent in his mood. Unfortunately, even a few meters away Jimin recognized him, and the stare Taehyung was pinned with meant he was glued to his spot, formally unable to do anything other than bow in place and hope that at least Jimin would pass by without saying anything…

No such luck seemed to be on Taheyung’s side, for as soon as Jimin was close enough, he came to a halt, standing before him and waiting for Taehyung to straighten from his bow. 

It was with great reluctance that Taehyung did so, and even then, he refused to look at Jimin directly, waiting to be addressed first. 

“Taehyung-ssi,” Jimin greeted. His voice was odd, and a quick glance showed that even his face was so, neither positive nor upset with Taehyung’s presence. Certainly a change from their prior encounters, but Taehyung didn’t care enough to look too closely into it.

“Jimin-bin,” he acknowledged, keeping his voice civil. And then said nothing further, not even bothering to ask how Jimin knew his name, merely waiting for Jimin to make the next move instead. 

At least that seemed to throw Jimin off, for he seemed to hesitate before opening his mouth again.

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, for whatever reason,” Jimin said, his voice soft. “And I would really like to rectify things between us. And,” he faltered, “I would really like to apologize if there is anything I have done to upset you.”

Taehyung had to give it to Jimin. For whatever reason, the king’s concubine of all people was adamant on talking to Taehyung. No matter the times before they’d met and Taehyung had clearly expressed his lack of desire to have anything to do with the man, statuses aside.

“You have no reason to apologize,” Taehyung said stiffly. “You’ve already made your stance clear. It would be better, therefore, for us to keep to our own ways, especially as we have no need nor reason to interact otherwise.”

Jimin tilted his head. “My stance on what?” He asked, looking genuinely befuddled.

Taehyung sighed, praying for patience. “Your stance on Yuan,” he said shortly, “and its people. Especially the ones here.”

Jimin widened his eyes, soft yet cautious. It did wonders in immediately having Taehyung’s guard back up, wary in return. “I-I don’t have anything against you…”

“Maybe not against me.” Taehyung inhaled sharply. “But you do against the Mama.” Sure enough, Jimin’s eyes flashed at his words, and it only reinforced Taehyung’s vigor to maintain his hostility. “The Mama, who is above all my closest friend. And any offense to him is an offense to me as well.”

Jimin leaned back, as if pulling away from Taehyung as well at the reminder of his association with Yoongi. As Jimin crossed his arms, Taehyung mentally scoffed. Maybe this confrontation was necessary, even with Taehyung holding himself back, if it meant Jimin would finally leave him alone after this. 

“You cannot, in all honesty, fault me for finding it difficult to accept a Yuan descendant alongside Goryeo’s throne.” He sniffed. “Tell me, Taehyung-ssi. If you were in my place, what would you do? If the face of the land responsible for deaths came into your home and took a position you must now defer to?”

“You make it sound more simple than it is,” Taehyung stated, eyebrows raised in borderline disbelief. “As if a skewed treaty wasn’t involved, altering the lives of both your Jeonha and my friend, but ultimately forcing my friend’s hands into his current position. Who, for your information, has nothing to do with the losses we both underwent, but is facing iniquity just because of his bloodline,” Taehyung hissed. “Pose your question like that, and I will give you an answer; I wouldn’t dare to presume a man guilty of crimes lasting generations. If he really was, then I would still try to respect a treaty aiming for liberty from violence and uphold civility at best to begin the process of starting anew.

“But when the situation involves an innocent man suffering unjust behavior from all around him and all but ignoring a treaty that started this all in the first place, then I would have been diplomatic at least, welcoming and sympathetic at best. Neither of which you had bothered to show us upon our first introductions.”

Taehyung took a step back, feeling like he had nothing more to say. But before he could leave the man to ruminate his words, if he truly cared to do so, a final thought struck Taehyung, and he turned back to impart them. “I am not dismissing your own position, Jimin-bin,” he said, far more calmer than his previous words. “I can understand your emotions and why you chose to act as you did. However, I certainly do not agree with them, nor with the thought of associating with someone who still thought it perfectly fine to behave as such with no remorse or reflection upon the greater scheme of things. That being, the world doesn’t solely revolve around you and the Jeonha alone, but involves far more people and their own emotions as well.”

Nodding, more to himself than Jimin, Taehyung finally stepped aside, and walked past the king’s concubine, never giving Jimin the time to respond.

As time went on and Goryeo was firmly ensconced in autumn’s arms, the last signs of summer having faded away by now, Yoongi began to find their outings to the gardens as enjoyable as the times he got to spend playing the gayageum. Sure, the walk to their little spot was difficult for his body, and a few times he’d had to ask Namjoon to postpone their picnics when he knew he wouldn’t have been able to make the journey. To his surprise, Namjoon never complained, only nodded understandingly, and then would show up at the music room anyway.

It was unexplainable, especially the way Yoongi’s stomach fluttered whenever Namjoon made his appearance, even if a part of him grew to expect it anyhow.

However, on one such day that was warmer than the others, they were able to make it to the gardens, and Yoongi relished in the fresh air. It had been a mere week since he’d last come, but he had already started to miss it, finding joy in the soft grass under him, the peaceful sounds of the water in the creek before him… and even Namjoon’s steady presence beside him. 

They’d finished eating already, but rather than putting things away and commencing their routine walk post meal, they were still sitting, neither of them making any move to get up. For his part, Yoongi was still sore, his last meeting with the king unsurprisingly taxing. While he was well enough to walk to the gardens, he was in no particular hurry to get up again anytime soon. And maybe Namjoon knew, because he also kept silent…

Actually, Yoongi realized with a start, Namjoon had been uncharacteristically quiet for far too long. While the initial hush allowed Yoongi to retreat to a tranquil state and had his eyes slipping closed while he merely enjoyed his surroundings, now his eyes opened as he turned to see what it could be to have allowed Namjoon to not utter a word thus far.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, when Yoongi looked to Namjoon, to find Namjoon’s eyes already upon him. But rather than watching his face like Yoongi was so accustomed to catching Namjoon doing, his eyes were trained on a particular spot on Yoongi’s neck instead.

Realization felt like a lightning bolt to Yoongi, and he straightened up from where he’d been leaning back on his palms, hands coming to his lap instead as he looked down. There was no point in hiding the bruise now, not when Namjoon had already so clearly seen it. Still, he felt uncomfortable keeping it bared, and wondered if a pointless attempt at concealing something too far above his jeogori would break their bubble…

A gentle touch, so soft that Yoongi barely felt it, had him gasping. He looked at Namjoon, shocked, and found his own expression mirrored on Namjoon’s face as he ripped his hand back from Yoongi’s neck. As if he’d finally regained his senses, Namjoon held his hand in midair before clenching it into a fist, clutching it to his chest. 

“I apologize, Mama.” Namjoon said hastily, and even as Yoongi wanted to hastily assure him it was fine, he knew it was anything but. Sure, no one was around, but for Namjoon to have touched him at his neck, somewhere intimate and inappropriate for anyone other than the king…

Not like Namjoon would have truly wanted to touch him anyway. Their meetings were one thing, but physical contact…

“Did I hurt you?”

The question caught Yoongi off guard. Of all the things he’d have expected Namjoon to say, that certainly wasn’t it. But maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising, really, considering all the times Namjoon had behaved prior whenever he’d seen Yoongi sporting a bruise in various stages of healing.

Yoongi shook his head. “No, I,” he paused, fiddling with a lock of hair that framed the side of his face opposite of Namjoon. “You just surprised me.” He hesitated, slowly letting his hand fall back to his lap as he regarded Namjoon. Was he truly only concerned about hurting him, and had not at all considered that he had touched Yoongi somewhere other than his hand in greeting? Had it not occurred to Namjoon that, for all intents and purposes, the touch should have been forbidden? Or had Namjoon been aware and just not cared?

He was desperate for answers, Yoongi realized. And that must have been the reason for why Yoongi did what he did next. Staring at Namjoon until their eyes met, and, without breaking eye contact, he tilted his head to the side, a silent invitation if not for the challenge Yoongi knew he held in his eyes.

A challenge Namjoon accepted, for he leaned forward, and pressed his fingers back to the bruise again. 

Yoongi bit his lip, holding back the gasp that threatened to escape again.

Namjoon had no idea what possessed him to lay a hand on the Mama’s neck. All he knew was that one moment he was looking at a sight that was becoming far too familiar, much to his distaste. A sort of morbid fascination born from confusion at how skin that looked so soft to touch could be colored so savagely. And then the next second, he reached out to touch Yoongi without conscious thought, fingers trailing over the bruise. The gasp that escaped from Yoongi’s lips was loud enough to jar Namjoon back to his senses, and he’d snatched his hand away with mounting horror. A part of his brain was astounded at himself, for daring to touch the Mama in such an unbecoming manner, but a bigger part of himself was suddenly concerned that he’d actually managed to hurt Yoongi.

Except.

Yoongi said he wasn’t hurt. And then was looking at him with those eyes, an even gaze, a test he handed with no context. It had nothing to do with Yoongi being the queen of Goryeo that had Namjoon submitting – it never had, and even if Namjoon had become absolutely uncertain of the future, at the present he let himself fall back into his daze and throw caution to the wind.

He leaned back forward, and pressed his fingers to Yoongi’s neck again.

For a fraction of a second, Namjoon’s mind blanked. The sensation of Yoongi’s soft skin under his fingertips was all he knew. He’d been curious about the bruise, but now it meant nothing in his head. 

Yoongi bit his lip, visibly stifling himself from outwardly reacting, but Namjoon didn’t pull away. Shakily, he looked to Yoongi, waiting for any signs of rejection. Even the slightest hints of discomfort would have been enough for Namjoon to put a stop to this insanity, to try and reclaim the previous peace that was now shattered at their feet, something else tentatively forming between them.

But Yoongi’s eyes were half lidded, not a single indication of dismissal, and Namjoon’s stomach swooped. His arm was emboldened even as his brain was buzzing with numbness, and he let the entirety of his palm envelope Yoongi’s neck. He swallowed as Yoongi inhaled sharply, still staring at him with those darkened eyes, the heat of Yoongi’s neck against his palm a searing brand. He could feel every breath Yoongi took, his pulse rushing under a thin layer of skin. His mouth dry, Namjoon watched his hand as if it didn’t belong to him when it trailed upwards, fingers creeping up alongside Yoongi’s jawline until his chin was cupped in his hand instead.

Namjoon stopped breathing as his eyes lifted to Yoongi’s. The air felt frozen around them, Namjoon unable to tear his eyes away from those dark brown eyes, darker than he’d ever seen before with pupils larger than ever, framed by long and darker yet lashes fluttering against skin so pale in contrast. 

He would never be able to tell who moved first, but in a blink, they were kissing. Namjoon felt like he’d been punched in the gut with those soft lips against his, like he was definitely committing an absolute sin in so many various ways, but he could not bring it in himself to give a single damn , because Yoongi–

Yoongi was responding.

Warmth. Yoongi should’ve been more cognizant of everything else, anything else. But all he could feel was the soft touch of Namjoon’s lips against his own. It was so gentle and caring, unlike everything he’d been having to undergo for all these past several months. Yoongi just wanted more of it, wanted to feel more of this soft, buttery warmth in his chest. They had only just pressed their lips together, a gentle, chaste kiss, but Yoongi’s mouth dropped open, coaxing Namjoon to kiss him further, drag their lips against each other’s, and Yoongi was floating. They were only kissing, impulsively and even recklessly with no thoughts of consequences. Yet Yoongi, oddly enough, felt cared for, adored, and respected – nevermind that their spur-of-the-moment action left no room for consent or permission uttered beforehand.

Despite it all, Yoongi lost himself in it. His mind was hazy, all he could think of was the tender touches, the gentle kisses, how Namjoon seemed unable to tear his hands away from where he was cradling Yoongi’s jaw as if he was holding the most precious thing ever. And Yoongi was no better, a dim part of his brain registered, his own hands a death grip on Namjoon’s jeogori. He should have pushed him away, put an end to this insanity. But really, Yoongi only had the urge to pull him closer. Even if his mind could have been coherent enough to struggle with the mental dilemma, he ultimately did neither. Merely holding on yet digging his nails in Namjoon’s jeogori to the point that they would later be creased at best, or actual tears in the fabric at worst, Yoongi let his mind stop working completely as Namjoon pushed forward a little more, causing Yoongi’s head to tilt back.

A soft, tremulous sigh escaped his lips, his eyes clenched shut tight when Namjoon pulled away. He didn’t want to open his eyes yet, didn’t want to be brought back to reality. And maybe Namjoon felt the same, the urge to keep them suspended in this fragile bubble, because even as they pulled apart to pull in much needed oxygen, Namjoon’s lips weren’t gone far from his skin for long, returning to the corner of his lips, a gentle peck trailing down his jaw and neck, before settling over the spot of skin that started this all.

Yoongi’s jaw felt loose, hung open and unable to close again. The shaky moan that left his mouth echoed strangely throughout the garden. It should have been enough to snap them free of their daze. Instead, Namjoon only cradled the other side of his neck with one hand, the other going down to hold onto Yoongi’s waist, and sucked harder at Yoongi’s skin.

It was dreadful. Dangerous, forbidden, and a fatal crime even. But Namjoon’s mouth against his skin, so hot and wet, his big hands engulfing Yoongi…

Yoongi was in euphoria.

It only spiraled from there. 

When they had finally managed to pull apart that day in the gardens, Yoongi expected Namjoon to express some form of regret, maybe even hatred at worst. Yet, he never did, only staring at Yoongi with dark eyes as they fought to regain their breaths, as they struggled to keep their hands to themselves again while straightening their hanboks and errant hair strands. They’d packed up the blanket before walking back, and Yoongi ignored the foreboding stone sitting heavily in his gut, the ominous cloud right behind his head. He let himself feel strangely giddy instead, their sneaky glances at each other not going ignored this time, not bothering to pretend like they hadn’t been caught just staring at each other. Shy smiles had their lips curling upwards, and Yoongi was fighting off a full grin when they had to part ways after exiting the garden.

That night, he didn’t so much as allow himself as much as he surrendered to sinking into despair. Guilt and fear invited anxiety upon him to keep him up most of the night, only to relinquish him to fitful sleep only in the wee hours of the morning.

When they met again in the music room next, it was as if his very valid fears were merely fantasies of a madman. The very air around them seemed to be taken with a rose gold shimmer. With the gayageum between them and Taehyung’s presence beside them, they were restricted to mere glances instead, Yoongi’s cheeks flushing when Namjoon’s gaze seemed far too sly, far too knowing for the lighter melody Yoongi played. Yoongi was grateful that as immersed as Taehyung was with his painting set upon the floor beside them, he was blissfully oblivious to the heated looks Namjoon cast on Yoongi.   

By unspoken agreement, they kept mum about their prior meeting’s incidents. Whatever transpired between them last, Yoongi was left unsure about where they were to go from there, taking heart that at least Namjoon wasn’t avoiding him. But there were too many questions, too many doubts that Yoongi couldn’t even bring himself to confide in Taehyung. He needed more answers and reassurances. Even then, he doubted if he would speak of whatever would occur between the two to Taehyung. While Yoongi knew without a doubt that he could always trust his lifelong friend with anything, he feared that to utter aloud the strange relationship between him and Namjoon might make it real beyond just the two of them and would break their little bubble, allowing reality to come crashing hard upon them with its definite repercussions.

Even so, the next time they found themselves alone in the gardens again, Yoongi didn't immediately get any answers. At first, they had sat to eat the food Namjoon planned and brought with care, but as soon as the last bite had passed his lips, Namjoon pushed their empty plates away, and was on him.

And Yoongi reciprocated, for how could he not? After every intense stare at the music room, even while silently eating, it had all felt like tension had built between them until it surmounted to this point, where they could no longer keep their hands to themselves, and didn’t need to. Whatever pretense had been built that Yoongi was there for the food and company alone was stripped away as he himself hungrily latched onto Namjoon’s shoulders, swallowing each kiss pressed to his mouth with quiet groans and whimpers. As Namjoon pushed him back onto the blanket, Yoongi himself hugged Namjoon close, not wanting to let go as he sucked at Namjoon’s jaw, his neck, his collarbones. The faint traces of soap under a layer of sweat made his hunger return anew, for something far different this time. 

It was a mercy that Namjoon at least had the wherewithal to not suck any fresh bruises on Yoongi’s skin, but nothing held Yoongi back from doing so in return. Fresh love bites littered Namjoon’s neck and collarbones, in places that would only just be hidden by his jeogori, but for where their skin would be definitely covered, Yoongi knew bruises and scratches courtesy of his fingertips would litter Namjoon’s skin. The thought brought him large amounts of pleasure, only slightly dampened that he wouldn’t be able to match, that no matter how hard Namjoon desperately grasped at his sides, his waist, his wrists, there wouldn’t be marks — borne of true pleasure and from want, rather than pain and violence. 

Fortunately, their awareness of reality extended enough to ensure Yoongi’s flesh remained unmarried. But their wits eluded them beyond that, for every time they ventured to the gardens, it was with increasing urgency for what they knew would inevitably happen, even if they had yet to speak of it. More and more, the food was consumed faster and faster until it was abandoned all together, Namjoon barely bringing anything beyond fruits and drinks that they only chose to acknowledge near the end now, before they had to leave. Because their needs had changed, from thirst for water and hunger for food, to hunger for each other instead. Well within the moon cycle that marked the halfway point of the season, they had just wanted to be close, unable to be kept away from loving touches that made their guts pool with molten lava at the affection and sensuality, feeling more and more taken by each other.

Maybe Namjoon was only taken by Yoongi for his beauty, perhaps even the thrill of the relationship that had become taboo. Yoongi had admittedly wondered upon that on one of the many nights that now wracked him with anxiety, rendering him sleepless, even without a summoning to the king’s chambers.

A week later, Yoongi's concerns had been put to rest when, for the first time, Namjoon spoke after they had spent far too long kissing. Admittedly, Yoongi was a little distracted at first. Leaning on their sides and facing each other, Yoongi was torn between looking at where their hands were between them, intertwined and resting atop the blanket, and Namjoon’s kiss swollen lips. It took him several seconds to realize those lips had been moving to phrase a question posed so quietly as to not break the still tender air between them. He blinked, concentrating on Namjoon properly, and hummed questioningly so as to make Namjoon repeat himself.

“Tell me about yourself?” Namjoon asked. Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in surprise when he registered the words, subsequently prompting Namjoon to elaborate. “It’s just, I know nothing of you, really. Beyond your beauty, your friendship with a servant revealing your lack of care for statuses, and the fact that you play the gayageum so well, I don’t know anything else about you. Even how you came to play the gayageum so well was not something we’ve ever discussed.”

Yoongi blinked again, several times in rapid succession. “You want to know about… me,” he reiterated, voice flat. 

Namjoon nodded earnestly. 

Yoongi shuffled around a bit. It wasn’t the worst question, really, especially when Namjoon genuinely wanted to know about him. But to be asked point blank like this, suddenly Yoongi had no idea where to begin. 

“What,” he started softly, trying not to cringe at himself, “what do you want to know?”

Namjoon hummed, thoughtful. Absently, his thumb began to stroke over the back of Yoongi’s hand, a repetitive back and forth motion that was more soothing than it had the right to feel. “What about your childhood?” Namjoon said. “I-I only know vague details, but what was your childhood like?”

Yoongi inhaled deeply. It was an innocent enough question, but carried more weight than Namjoon realized. Well. Now was as good a time to let him know, Yoongi supposed, especially because he was asking.

“My parents were killed when I was young,” Yoongi began. He wasn’t able to keep looking Namjoon in the eye, uncomfortable with the added layer of vulnerability. “At first, it was just my brother and I.” Without looking, he knew Namjoon was frowning, and he knew why. “He was older than me, set to take the throne. After we were entrusted to my uncle, he was the one more so under my uncle’s scrutiny as he was swept away in lessons training him to be king sooner than he was supposed to start. But we were both,” Yoongi paused, mulling over his words, “sheltered, I guess you can say. Because of my parents’ death, my uncle said he didn’t want anything happening to us either.”

He paused to glance at Namjoon before looking back at their hands again, Namjoon having never stopped the soothing strokes of his thumb on Yoongi’s hand. “Privately, my brother was trained to be king. To the outside world, however, he was just another soldier, so no one knew who he was when he was killed in battle.”

The grip on Yoongi’s hand tightened imperceptibly, but he still did not speak, allowing Yoongi to go on without interruption. “After that.” Yoongi sighed, rolling onto his back even without letting go of Namjoon’s hand. He brought it atop his chest instead, Namjoon easily going with the motion. Yoongi hummed, staring at the overcast sky. It was still bright despite the clouds, whereas Yuan would have been overcome with many rainy days by now.

He wasn’t sure he missed it, even if it was his home. “My uncle never really considered me for the throne, even though I was the remaining heir,” he said, keeping his voice light. “He had to teach me things eventually, but I was never formally trained for a proper ascension to the throne.” He pursed his lips, memories of an influx in lessons after his brother’s passing, giving him no time to mourn. If it weren’t the lack of space and time, then the lessons surely would have driven him insane by some point. 

“Eventually, to him this marriage was the best solution in regards to me.” Yoongi shrugged. “He’d always had his plans for my brother and I. After hyung passed, my uncle had to be strict with me in other ways, I suppose,” he finished. He didn’t mention that to call his uncle strict was putting things lightly. That his uncle taught him with loud voices, to fear a raised hand at worst, long before Goryeo’s king came in with worse still atrocities.

He didn’t voice out how his uncle was responsible for teaching Yoongi to submit soon onwards for survival, perhaps his only saving grace upon coming to Goryeo.

When it became clear that Yoongi had nothing more to say, Namjoon shifted closer until his forehead touched the side of Yoongi’s. “Thank you for telling me this,” he said simply.

Still looking at the sky, Yoongi clenched his hand around Namjoon’s, a simple response for the words he didn’t know what to respond with.

Namjoon seemed to grow only more curious about Yoongi’s life from there. The next time they were in the gardens, Yoongi had grown to accept that there was nothing more he looked forward to than being locked in Namjoon’s embrace, sharing sweet kisses that brought heat to his core unlike any other experience. 

Namjoon, however, had other plans. They could have spent countless minutes exchanging kisses on any other day, but now, after only a bare handful that left Yoongi feeling embarrassingly needy for more, he slowed the heated movements of their mouths, gradually bringing them to a stop before pulling back.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, trying to wipe away the shameful cravings he didn’t want plastered all over his face, it was to careful fingers pushing stray hair strands behind Yoongi’s ears. Taking a deep breath, he was met with Namjoon’s eyes taking in his face with mixed parts of remaining heat and a fresh burn of curiosity.

“May I ask you another question?”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, the words slipping out of his mouth, loosened by swollen lips and adventurous tongues. “Do I have the option to decline?”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, the implications of Yoongi’s own question clear. “No, no, no,” he shook his head hastily with the words. “I told you, I just wish to learn more about you.” Slowly, he pressed their foreheads together, reaching out to connect their hands again. “I’m just…” his voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes closing as a look of pain overcame his features, making Yoongi want to take back his own words at the expression. “I’ve become so taken with you, Mama,” he said in a hushed voice, as if confessing to a deep, dark, and terrible secret.

In a way, Yoongi supposed it was, as he stopped breathing at the confession.

“And it makes no sense for me to feel this way. I know I shouldn’t but I just. I want to know more about you even though I know it will only make me fall for you more, regardless of what you say.”

He pulled back abruptly, looking at Yoongi with fiery eyes. “And even if this was not said, then I will promise you now. I swear, nothing you say to me will leave my lips beyond this place, this moment, if you wish for it to be so.”

Yoongi stared, the lump in his throat preventing his lungs from taking full breaths. A little alarmed with himself, he blinked several times to clear his vision, absently wondering when it had become so blurry.

Biting his lip, he nodded, hoping – praying – he wasn’t about to make a mistake, the largest one yet. “I believe you.” He said, dread filling him when he discovered he absolutely meant the words too. “What do you wish to ask?” 

Namjoon smiled, a small thing only, perhaps sensing the sobriety of Yoongi’s mood. Their hands were still intertwined, Yoongi realized, as the familiar sensation of Namjoon’s thumb stroking the back of his hand returned. “Tell me about your brother?”

A breath released, and then Yoongi finally smiled as well. This, he could do. His brother was someone he could easily talk about to anyone who cared to listen.

Before Namjoon, it was Taehyung. And apart from the two now, it had never been anyone else.

“My brother was my closest friend,” Yoongi said, easily losing himself in the memory. “He was only a few years older than me. My earliest memory of him was our parents forcing him to play with me.” He chuckled. “Hyung wasn’t pleased because of how I couldn’t keep up with his bigger body, how I was too small for sword fighting and the like.” Shifting a bit, he leaned against Namjoon, only feeling warmer still as Namjoon adjusted and readily accepted his weight. Side by side, they were facing the creek but looking down at their hands – or at least, Yoongi was. 

“But as we grew older,” he pressed his lips into a flat line. He didn’t really want to bring the mood down, even if thoughts of his brother’s passing still made him melancholic. “And we were with our uncle, even though he had all the reasons not to spend as much time with me, I guess because both our parents were gone he felt more of a duty to me?” He scrunched his eyes up at his phrasing. “He spent whatever time he could with me, trying to cheer me up. He even taught me some basic skills with the sword, and by then I’d been a bit more of a ready and willing participant.”

Still adamant to keep the mood light, he held back from spilling the grittier details – how his parents’ death and uncle’s treatment had Yoongi falling into a state of grief and despair deep enough that he’d withdrawn into himself. Many days and nights sequestered into his chambers along with a loss of appetite turning Yoongi frail, a sickly looking child on death’s doorstep.

How, despite his own mourning, his brother fought to bring life back into Yoongi, teaching him to survive no matter what life could throw at him – in more ways than one.

Maybe Yoongi would share this with Namjoon one day. But not today.

“Of course, it wasn’t like we didn’t have our arguments or fight like any siblings were wont to do,” Yoongi said after a while. After sitting so long in his position, his legs had started to feel numb, so he stretched them out. If, in the process, his head happened to fall on Namjoon’s shoulder, then he wasn’t particularly inclined on moving it away, especially not when Namjoon’s own head came to rest against the top of his. “But it was really us against the world, so none of that mattered in the end.” 

Namjoon hummed. “He sounds like he was a wonderful brother to you.”

Yoongi’s lips quirked up at the corners, barely there. The sight of the creek before him turned glassy with unshed tears. “He really was.” He swallowed. “There were times where, after he passed, I would wish he would still appear and whisk me away to one of our hiding spots. Behind the laundry rooms, a corridor near the armory, even a cupboard in the kitchens.”

He huffed out a laugh when Namjoon raised his head, tilting it to regard Yoongi with bewilderment written all over his face.

“We were rather small children. Or, I was, anyway. And the cupboards were quite large,” he explained, still laughing as the look on Namjoon’s face didn’t go away. Eventually, he was able to suppress the worst of it, yet the warmth in his chest didn’t fade as much as the bewilderment on Namjoon’s did into fondness. They resumed their prior pose, Yoongi sighing. “He’d come up with quite bizarre methods, from telling the most outrageous jokes to coming up with the stupidest games to entertain us,” he shook his head as much as he could in his current position, feeling wistful. “My favorite was when he’d sneak pastries for me, though. Even as the years passed and my instructors had me under stricter discipline.” He rolled his eyes as he recalled the restricted dietary regime he was subjected to when they realized he was susceptible to gaining weight too quickly. It was unbecoming, they’d declared, for the Yuan heir to appear so unsightly so as to have extra, unnecessary weight.

Yoongi always thought that his definition of unnecessary greatly differed from his instructors.

“I’d always get a scolding afterwards,” Yoongi mused. “Because one of my favorite snacks to eat would always stain the hems of my sleeves orange and would give me away.” He snickered. “Hyung would step in when he could, asking them if they dared rebuke a brother’s gift. He’d get reprimanded for it as well, but it took the attention off of me, so it didn’t take me long to realize what he was doing.” Yoongi closed his eyes. In his mind, the impression of his brother from that time had turned into a vast, imposing figure facing against Yoongi’s instructors, haloed in light as if he was a savior sent solely for Yoongi. Logically, he knew his brain must have morphed the memory into something more idealistic as the years had passed. He didn’t really mind it, though, finding comfort in imagining his brother as a hero.

Yoongi closed his eyes. “I miss him a lot sometimes,” he confessed, voice low.

Namjoon disentangled one of his hands, only to wrap his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. Wordlessly, he pulled him in closer, snug against himself until there was nary an inch between them.

They sat like that, in complete silence, until the sun was close to disappearing beyond the horizon. Despite the setting sun and subsequently cooling temperatures, Yoongi still felt warm with Namjoon wrapped around him as he was. Warm enough that he was reluctant to leave, even though he knew he had to.

The warmth still stayed with him at least, all the way until he was back in his chambers. It was only snuffed out and replaced with a deadly chill far colder than the air outside when a servant appeared with summons from the king.

Chapter Text

Namjoon was an insane man. Maybe not certifiably so, but he didn’t need to visit Hoseok to know he was one. First, he’d allowed himself to act like a simpleton enthralled by Yoongi’s beauty. Maybe that would have been excusable in and of itself. Only, he continued to behave as a fool, led by a basic desire to get closer to Yoongi. And of course, in the process of doing so, he only came to discover that Yoongi was so much more than just his beauty.

Namjoon was already willing to accept that Yoongi being from Yuan should no longer be a reason for undeserved and unbiased enmity. He was willing to adjust his perspective and start seeing Yoongi as someone merely from a different culture, shared violence aside. Someone with their own rich history and traditions that Namjoon would intellectually benefit from conversing with.

He had no reason to be surprised when he got in over his head. Namjoon was a first advisor, his position only a confirmation of his declared intellect and wits. Yet the way he was acting with Yoongi was worthy of stripping him of his title. He behaved like a puppet on strings, caught confounded by the consequences time and time again, as though he hadn’t set himself up for how events had been unfolding as of late.

He’d set himself up for the way they’d only grown closer. Physical intimacy aside, which was its own whirlpool of nightmares, Yoongi decided he trusted Namjoon enough to impart more than just factual details of Yuan. He indulged Namjoon’s personal questions that had been dumbly asked, and revealed more than Namjoon expected.

Namjoon was a fool. A miserable, pathetic fool, a deranged man urgently requiring the functions of his previously esteemed brain to return.

Perhaps especially because a mere two days after their last meeting, instead of sitting with Yoongi in the music room, Namjoon was seated across from the king instead, and every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to leave.

The king was also drunk. It was only midday, and the king was drunk. Never before had Namjoon felt so uncomfortable in the presence of his king, but he forced himself to remain seated even as words he’d heard many times before spilled from the king’s loosened tongue. Words that now sent a new wave of fury through Namjoon, his hands flexing and unflexing continuously upon his lap. He had to steel his face to prevent the distaste taking over it, silently ruminating how long the king would take before he would be able to dismiss himself. The uncharacteristic drinking while the sun was out meant Namjoon had no prior experience in the area to garner an estimate either, which just added to his testy discomfort.

Mostly ignoring the king’s mutterings for his own sanity for the better part of an hour, it took Namjoon a few minutes before he realized the king had changed topics.

Namjoon absently straightened his back, staring straight at the king now. “Come again?”

The king huffed, swaying in place as he refilled his goblet. Even a month ago, Namjoon would’ve felt more inclined to remind the king to pace himself. Now, he blatantly ignored the parts of his mind cautioning the dangers of the king overdrinking.

“The plan,” the king repeated. The dichotomy of his grumpy tone combined with how he angrily set the jug of wine back down would have been amusing, easy reminders of decades past when the king was at the young age prone to multiple stages of tantrums before he both matured and was taught better.

Amusing, if Namjoon hadn’t been concerned instead.

“It isn’t working.”

Obviously it wasn’t, but even if the king was drunk out of his mind, Namjoon wasn’t going to voice that out.

“I knew precautionary measures would be necessary were they to be taken, and I wasn’t wrong.” Namjoon waited, anxiety thrumming within him, while the king chugged the entirety of the goblet’s contents down, taking his sweet time. “It’s time I shift my strategies.” He paused, staring into a distance as his fingers traced circles on the rim of his goblet. “A strategy that I perhaps should have initiated sooner,” the king blinked, “but perhaps the time that had passed so far was also for the best. Less suspicion should arise, now.”

Namjoon took a measured inhale, releasing it quietly before he spoke. “Forgive me, Jeonha, but what plans do you speak of?”

The king turned to look at Namjoon with an alarming level of sobriety that Namjoon had not expected. Silent seconds passed, a chill descending upon Namjoon’s shoulders by the time the king blinked, once again appearing as drunk as he should be. The king shook his head, a slow smile spreading over his lips, before he turned around and walked over to his bed. Collapsing unceremoniously upon it, the king pressed his face to his pillows and took a heavy inhale. Somehow, the goblet in his hand still managed to stay upright the entire time, not a single drop spilled. 

“I’ve kept you for too long, advisor Kim.” 

It was a silent dismissal, one Namjoon wasn’t stupid enough to miss. It was the king’s unsaid words that left him with more tension, his back a block of rigid ice as he left the king’s chambers.

The uneasy curdling in his gut only intensified when he passed by Seokjin, who merely nodded at him before knocking on the door to the king’s chambers, slipping in upon the king’s admittance.

Something definitely wasn’t right. But if anyone found him loitering around the king’s chambers eavesdropping, it would cast him in lights he had no want to be under, no matter that he was the first advisor. 

At least he could hold onto the hopes that he might be able to get something out of Seokjin later.

Namjoon never got to meet with Seokjin, because when he tried looking for him a mere few hours later, he was informed by a servant that Seokjin was sent out on a patrol under the king’s orders. It was frustratingly vague, even though it was understandable for the servant to not know any more details. But it did mean that he would have to wait for an indefinite amount of time for Seokjin to return, and all the while, Namjoon felt anxious, as if there was a clock ticking away in the back of his mind. What it was counting down to, Namjoon wasn’t sure he wanted to find out – not the hard way.

Perhaps because he was driven by desperation, but Namjoon sent for Taehyung. He quietly asked the Mama’s servant to let Yoongi know to join him at the gardens the very next day if he so wished, even though they would have met there only the day after anyway.

With the unexpected invite, and the need for secrecy already, Taehyung had no way to confirm to Namjoon as to whether or not Yoongi had accepted his invitation. So he was left to wait in the gardens the next day, the anxiety from the day before having never left his body but only increasing with fervor now for different reasons as he waited. It definitely didn’t help that he was barely able to sleep the night prior, and Namjoon wondered if he should leave before Yoongi arrived. If he was even going to come.

Namjoon felt a step closer to lunacy than usual, like he was standing on a cliff’s edge. It was only due to his servants that he was assured that at least it didn’t reflect on his outward appearances. But the derangement still felt too close to his skin, as if the slightest mishap would have it bursting out.

It really wasn’t the best of mindsets for him to have been in, especially when he was to meet Yoongi. Before he could try to talk himself out of it, to leave the gardens as if he’d never come, as if he’d never invited Yoongi… Yoongi showed up after all. At the sight of Namjoon, his face ducked down in an attempt to hide the pleased grin, but Namjoon didn’t miss it. He almost wished he did, when his heart fluttered at the sight, enchanted.

Yoongi walked over without needing Namjoon to beckon him, seating himself on the blanket covering the grass while adjusting his chima around him with a practiced ease that spoke of familiarity with the actions. His pale cheeks seemed to be growing steadily red, and it wasn’t until Yoongi peeked at him before his eyes darted away again, a tongue poking out to lick at his lips that Namjoon realized that not only was he staring, but Yoongi was aware of it, and he wasn’t unfazed by it either.

Namjoon wanted to laugh. He had a feeling it would sound a touch hysteric if he did, so he swallowed it down, letting his eyes stray from Yoongi’s face instead. Drinking in the sight before him like a man deprived of water for days, Namjoon didn’t care how many times he’d observed Yoongi before. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of watching him. From how Yoongi’s long hair framed his face, to his pale complexion, the petite nose and the lips Namjoon was well acquainted with, it all culminated in a balm to Namjoon’s soul.

And as his eyes strayed further down, the spell threatened to break. Because just as the sight of Yoongi’s face was well known, so too were the bruises that seemed to be a permanent feature. Now the bruises around his neck were in the shape of a handprint, eliciting a sense of deja vu within Namjoon.

He tried to look at Yoongi in a silent attempt for permission as he was somewhat more cognizant this time, which he would’ve felt proud about if Yoongi was actually looking at him. But Yoongi’s head was still ducked down, and another glance at his neck made Namjoon decide to abandon courtesy.

He wrapped his hand around the bruise, the colors completely vanishing under his larger palm. But his touch was gentle, far more careful, that even when Yoongi gasped, he didn’t yank his hand away as if he’d been burned like the last time. 

Namjoon stilled all motions, lungs refusing to expand as well. Silence reigned as Yoongi regarded Namjoon, large eyes glimmering in the faint sunlight as he searched for something in Namjoon’s eyes – what it was, Namjoon didn’t know, but he kept his face open all the same, his expression even despite the whirlpool within him.

Ever so slightly, Yoongi tilted his head back, further exposing the vulnerable skin to Namjoon.

His grip grew more solid, albeit never tight enough to even hint at a threat. Keeping his eyes pinned on Yoongi’s until the last possible second, he leaned forward. Their breaths mingled before Yoongi took that last step, pressing their lips together.

Namjoon’s mind felt like it had exploded. He had hated the sight of the bruise, but his eyes were closed and he could no longer see it, couldn’t see anything, only able to give himself over to his other senses. And what he was taking in was more intoxicating than the most exquisite ihwa-ju he’d been served by the king himself. 

Not that he was thinking about the king or wine. Because Yoongi was making the sweetest of noises against him, small huffs and pleasured gasps that were swallowed away by Namjoon’s mouth, and his skin was soft and pliant under Namjoon’s touch. Still, Namjoon craved for more, driven to madness subsequently speeding his movements as he bit at Yoongi’s lips, the corner of them, his jawline, moving further down that tantalizing neck until he was lapping at where the bruise was.

Yoongi’s head fell back with a moan, his hands clutched against Namjoon’s jeogori. This, above any and all moments they’d shared before, was probably the most crucial moment for Yoongi to have pushed Namjoon away. They were toeing the lines of something treacherous at this point, a boundary Namjoon knew he would never be able to return from once crossed.

The tips of Yoongi’s fingers dug into Namjoon’s shoulders, and tugged him closer.

Like a frayed knot unraveling, Namjoon sucked at Yoongi’s skin. If it hadn’t been discolored before, then it surely would have now, the already there bruise only darkening in color instead, renewed to stay longer as Namjoon kept working at it. Yoongi groaned, his muscles growing lax in Namjoon’s hold. He was pliantly submitting, and it was the worst decision he could’ve made, like Namjoon was an unruly beast starved for decades and now presented with a feast.

He certainly felt like one, with how he let go of Yoongi’s neck, only to latch back on again, an inch lower.

And he didn’t stop. Namjoon kept trailing downwards, only Yoongi’s nails raking against his scalp prompting something in his brain to work while everything else was aflame. For where there wasn’t bruised skin already, he could only press a kiss to, unable to bestow fresh marks of his own.

Namjoon blissfully ignored the heat in his gut at that, borne not from desire but more so anger and jealousy, something he would never admit aloud to even in the confines of his room, alone and under the cover of night. No, Namjoon was letting his mind be free of all thoughts, knowing and uncaring of the lack of wisdom of it, especially as he reached the collar of Yoongi’s jeogori.

A steady hand against the back of Namjoon’s head, cupping his scalp, unfaltering in its grip, and Namjoon pressed onwards and down. Bringing his hand away from Yoongi’s neck, the other still wrapped around his waist, Namjoon tugged away the sokjeoksam to give space to his searching mouth without conscious thought. The sharp jut of Yoongi’s collarbone was too delectable to pause and consider what he was doing. Namjoon was too preoccupied with the abrupt urge to cry when, as he gently dragged his teeth over the bone, Yoongi whimpered, his fingers flexing and tangling in Namjoon’s hair.

Namjoon hummed, the heat in his gut now the magnitude of a forest fire with desire properly fueling it. It was an unjustifiable excuse for what happened next, when he moved a little too far down, his hands yanking at Yoongi’s sokjeoksam a little too far to the sides, and it all resulted in Yoongi’s chest becoming bare under Namjoon’s workings.

There was a shift in the way Yoongi’s hand was gripping onto Namjoon’s head, and it was that, really, more than the expanse of skin – too much, far too much, what had he done? – that had Namjoon halting. He warily leaned back, swallowing down both in an attempt to wet his dry throat and the urge to let his eyes wander. He kept his gaze trained on Yoongi’s eyes instead, heavy breaths faltering at the way Yoongi’s face was twisted.

Worry warred with hunger far too clearly on Yoongi’s face, from the way he was biting at his swollen lip to how he was regarding Namjoon with eyes narrowed with hesitance.

Speaking felt like breaking the spell, yet Namjoon was ready to risk doing so, finding it more important to check in with Yoongi, reassure him and cease everything completely if need be. 

It never came to it, however, because Yoongi moved first. His hand was slow, giving away his hesitance, yet he didn’t give up in guiding Namjoon back to him again with the hand cupping at the back of Namjoon’s head.

Namjoon didn’t break eye contact even as he was lowered, even if he could see from his peripherals the bumps that erupted onto Yoongi’s flesh at the hot air that landed upon it with every one of his exhales.

And as much as he wanted to close his eyes, he still kept them open, eyes taking in every minute shift in Yoongi’s expression as he closed his mouth around a nipple.

Yoongi was the one to close his eyes, head falling back like strings were cut. A moan left his slackened jaw, echoing throughout the gardens. And Namjoon, emboldened, sucked.

Both of Yoongi’s hands were now tangling themselves in Namjoon’s hair, his updo long since ruined and tangling further with each second. Fingers scrambling against Namjoon’s scalp, Yoongi arched his back, practically driving himself closer into Namjoon’s touches. And Namjoon obliged, swirling his tongue against the dusky brown areola before closing his lips around Yoongi’s nipple again, allowing the slightest graze of his teeth before suckling at it like a child pressed to their mother’s teat.

Another moan left Yoongi’s lips, sounding like a broken iteration of Namjoon’s name. He was clearly getting worked up so exquisitely, that one part of Namjoon’s brain returned in a newfound attempt to regain rationality.

Firmly and resolutely, he disregarded it. Unless and until Yoongi himself put a stop to this, Namjoon wasn’t going to leave Yoongi hanging now. Not after this, and not when he was the one responsible for bringing Yoongi to such a state in the first place.

Yoongi had never felt pleasure like this before. The kisses he’d thus far shared with Namjoon was a delight of its own. He’d thought it was enough to satiate him, the comparatively innocent exchanges eliciting desire within him, desire that he could feel from Namjoon because of him, Yoongi would have been content to hold onto memories of their kisses until his dying breath, no matter what kind of future awaited him.

Namjoon had introduced him to the joys of kissing, but it appeared he wasn’t done there, because now he was pressing kisses not to his mouth but to Yoongi’s chest, something more intimate but satisfying in ways the king could never amount to.

The king was the farthest person from Yoongi’s mind, however, as his brain was chanting a litany of NamjoonNamjoonNamjoon. Maybe he should’ve stopped for a breath, actually remembered the king and remembered why this couldn’t happen. He should’ve taken a moment to think of why he should put a stop to things now before things could unravel further, progress more than it already had. Yet Yoongi had no traces of sanity remaining within him, not when Namjoon’s mouth was a warm heat so luscious against his chest, leaving behind slick spots of saliva that had no moment to be bared to the cool air before Namjoon was tracing circles again.

As Namjoon suckled at the buds on his chest, barely giving a break to one before he was back to laving at the other with his tongue, Yoongi’s muscles gave out. His nerves felt overly sensitive, each tongue only serving to send Yoongi into a higher state of bliss, reflected in the arch of his back as he bucked up in Namjoon’s hold, strong arms wrapped around his waist and cradling him like revered treasure. Yoongi slumped backwards, still keeping his hold on Namjoon and thus, dragging him with him as Yoongi slumped against the blanket. Namjoon dutifully followed, never parting from his chest, never failing in pulling a now unending stream of whimpers, groans, and moans alike from Yoongi. He was being coaxed into letting out such pleasured sounds without refrain, and it fed back into goading Namjoon to mouth at his chest with fervor.

As he’d fallen, his legs parted, making way for Namjoon to lay between them. They subtly shifted until they were comfortable without consciously doing so, and in doing so, one of Namjoon’s legs planted more forward than the other. Through the multitude of layers that made up the combination of both their hanboks, Namjoon’s thigh made contact with Yoongi’s groin, and Yoongi hissed, folding forwards at the unexpected contact.

Namjoon ran hot, Yoongi had long since learned. That heat, combined with the current solidity of Namjoon’s leg, became Yoongi’s undoing. They had no time to pause and reassess their newfound situation, Yoongi’s hindbrain taking over as he drove his hips down by instinct, rubbing against that delightful firmness.

Namjoon tore himself away from Yoongi’s chest, staring down at him with wild eyes, mouth agape. Perhaps he wished to stop Yoongi, but there were no signs of disgust. Rather, those dark eyes were regarding Yoongi with burning intensity. Brazen, Yoongi stared back, continuing to rub himself off against Namjoon’s thigh. His jaw felt like it had been dislocated ages ago, heavy pants filling the air between the two. His chest was covered in Namjoon’s spit, finally cooling in the air that freely touched his bare chest.

His jeogori were discarded at the sides of his torso, and even if his lower half was still covered, Yoongi had never felt so exposed, even when he’d been completely nude before the king. And by far, Yoongi was enjoying this far greater, completely at ease with his hanbok in disarray, his lewd and wanton behavior. Due to the fact that Namjoon was only looking at him just as hungrily, his hands holding onto Yoongi’s waist for dear life. A furrow of his eyebrows gave Yoongi the split second realization that Namjoon was about to move – and he did, leaning down to capture Yoongi’s lips in a borderline furious kiss, just as he pushed his leg up against Yoongi’s heat, a clear signal accepting and welcoming Yoongi’s movements.

Yoongi felt like he was soaring. Even without sight, he was unbothered, because he was absolutely surrounded by Namjoon. Pressed deeper into the ground, warmed up under them and their actions, Yoongi was hot, the fire in his gut roaring for release. He couldn’t bring himself to break their kiss even as he felt himself hurtling closer to the edge, lungs heaving and rendering his mouth useless as he could only lay there and gasp for breaths. Still, Namjoon pressed kisses to his unmoving mouth, the hands at his waist practically encouraging him to keep moving his hips in fervent circles. The rough drag of fabric backed by rigid muscle rubbing at his core was so fulfilling, yet somehow, it was nothing compared to when Yoongi came.

Muscles locking, eyes squeezed shut and still seeing a flash of white, and nails for sure digging indents into Namjoon’s scalp, a slight whimper managed to break free from his throat before he came. And then Yoongi was moaning lowly, tears not waiting and slipping past his closed eyelids regardless. All the while, Yoongi kept moving his hips, holding Namjoon close as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.

And Namjoon held him close in return, kisses turning soothing, soft pecks as he locked his leg in place, letting Yoongi come to a slow halt all on his own.

Like an ocean’s tide retreating from the shore, Yoongi sank back onto the blanket. His breathing was still heavy, and he wanted nothing more to bask in the feeling of an enjoyable climax for once in his life, one shared with another.

But the thought prompted him to open his eyes and look down. So far, he had been too taken up by his own impulse that he hadn’t taken into consideration what was now glaringly obvious. Namjoon’s hardness was pressed against his hip, notably large even through the layers of fabric. With a swallow, Yoongi lifted his gaze to Namjoon, who’d noticed where he’d been looking.

“Don’t worry about me.” The sound of Namjoon’s voice after so long spent in silence apart from Yoongi’s own in wordless noises was dizzying. It was rough and husky, as if he’d been the one grating his vocal cords to rawness and not Yoongi. It was also sending shivers down Yoongi’s spine again, and his core throbbed with the last vestiges of his orgasm still slow to ebb away. “Watching you was an honor of itself,” Namjoon continued, making Yoongi force himself to pay attention to his words and not just the sound of his voice. 

He was quickly distracted again when Namjoon kissed him once more, but they were both reluctant to part. While no longer heated, it was slow and chaste, gentle pecks providing comfort and tranquility. Yoongi didn’t want it to end, but they ultimately graduated to leaning side by side on the blanket, still holding each other close, but no longer drowning with the need to kiss or engage in anything more.

A few minutes passed with Yoongi finding himself relishing in the silent companionship anyway, before a new sensation was brought to his awareness, swiftly accompanied by embarrassment. He really didn’t want to move, but his thighs were shifting with discomfort anyway, as the slickness between them began to cool along with the autumn air around them. Now that he felt more level headed and calmer, he realized how sticky he was, from his chest to his legs and even certain spots of his hanbok plastered to his skin.

Of course, Namjoon noticed. With how closely they were pressed against each other, there was really no way to miss Yoongi’s subtle attempts at repositioning his legs so as to make the sensation less prominent.

With an easy smile promising a complete lack of judgment, Namjoon helped Yoongi up. Under his care, Yoongi allowed Namjoon to help straighten his hanbok, tugging it back into place before brushing a hand through Yoongi’s hair. It took a while, and they had to give up trying to straighten out some of the tangles, but eventually, his hair looked less like he’d been ravished, and his hanbok covering him up again, and Yoongi was somewhat presentable once more – at least, until he could get back to his chambers and take a much needed bath.

Their time today had come to an end, Yoongi realized with disappointment. He definitely didn’t want to leave, but dutifully helped bundle up the blanket while Namjoon adjusted himself. Rolling it up, he handed it over, trying to smile but knowing he must have looked more melancholic than anything. 

Namjoon took the blanket, but yanked at it before Yoongi could let go, causing Yoongi to stumble forward. Eyes widened in surprise, he collided against Namjoon’s chest, blinking as he tried to reorient himself. This close, their height difference was clearly evident, the top of Yoongi’s head only reaching Namjoon’s chin, so he had to lean back to be able to look at Namjoon, ready to question him. His words were silenced before he could utter them, as Namjoon bent down and captured his lips in yet another kiss.

Yoongi melted, his fists uncurling until his palms were flat against Namjoon’s chest. He had enough sense now to not latch onto Namjoon’s clothes, not after they’d made the attempt to neaten themselves, but he still let himself be lost in the kiss nonetheless, Namjoon guiding Yoongi with a gentle hand at the nape of Yoongi’s neck.

When they parted, lips glistening anew, Namjoon smiled, and let his hand drop down Yoongi’s side until they could hold hands. A much more natural smile bloomed upon Yoongi’s face, and it didn’t leave his lips once as Namjoon escorted him back out of the gardens, keeping close for as far as they could go before they had to part, which they didn’t do so until Namjoon kissed him one last time before disappearing down his own path.

Yoongi felt a lot more light-hearted, but as he entered the palace through the entrance closest to his chambers, he was taken away by an awareness of the guards he’d always had to sneak past before. This time, Yoongi felt more conscious of them than before. Even if Namjoon had done his best to straighten them up, Yoongi still felt like the evidence of what they’d done was written all over his face anyway.

But eventually, he’d managed to make it to his chambers without notice and with practiced ease. 

Inside, Taehyung was painting away, but upon Yoongi’s entry, he looked up, eyebrows cocked. Yoongi averted his eyes, unable to look at his friend when he could still feel evidence of his earlier arousal against his thighs.

“Can you prepare a bath for me?” Yoongi asked, awkwardly waddling past where Taehyung had made his spot on the ground. Taehyung hummed questioningly, but obligingly rose to his feet anyway, paintbrushes carefully discarded in a pot of water as he left to carry out Yoongi’s request.

With Taehyung’s departure, Yoongi set about removing his own hanbok. He’d rather not have Taehyung help him out of his spoiled clothes. No matter that some of the goreum were difficult to reach on his own, Yoongi persevered. Brute force was probably unwise on the knots, but they miraculously came free, and he was quick to kick his discarded clothes into a pile, grabbing a towel and wrapping himself up in it just as Taehyung returned.

He was given a strange look by his friend, but was fortunately saved from any questions as a couple of other servants lugging buckets of water followed. With the additional help, the tub was soon filled, and Taehyung was left alone to pour in some scented oils upon Yoongi’s request, while he himself stayed rooted at his spot beside his bed while he waited for the bath to be ready.

And when it was, Yoongi strode over to it without taking his eyes off the water, only letting the towel drop before he stepped into it in a hurry. He knew he was being uncharacteristic with his sudden modesty when before he’d never cared about his nudity in front of Taehyung. His friend had definitely seen him in worse conditions and smeared with worse bodily fluids.

 But his own produced from want had Yoongi shy in a way he hadn’t experienced with Taehyung, and he wasn’t willing to prolong it. Even though it felt like pulling teeth to make his request.

“I can bathe myself today. Could you launder my hanbok instead, Taehyung-ah?” Yoongi said. He busied himself with scrubbing at his chest with a soft cloth, pressing his lips into a thin line at the thought of what it was he was washing away.

“Uh. Sure?” Taehyung walked over to grab his abandoned hanbok, clearly confused. Yoongi had never had to ask Taehyung to carry out particular chores, especially his laundry. They’d long since learned a rhythm that worked fine with them, and that was that Taehyung knew when best to carry out certain tasks involving cleaning. It had never been a bother before, so for Yoongi to ask now was undoubtedly atypical.

At least Taehyung didn’t say anything further while he left again with Yoongi’s hanbok bundled up in his arms. But Yoongi knew he was only storing the questions away for a later date.

“Tell me,” Yoongi inhaled sharply, “about yourself?”

Namjoon leaned back from where he’d been mouthing at Yoongi’s neck, eyebrows raised. But he didn’t protest the abrupt change in topic – and atmosphere – as he pulled his hands away to lean back on them instead, watching Yoongi.

“What do you want to know?” He repeated Yoongi’s words from all those days ago with a soft smile.

Yoongi hummed, hands fiddling in his lap. His own limbs felt alien to him after clutching onto Namjoon for so long with purpose, now he didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing with them.

“Something from your childhood?” Yoongi tried.

Namjoon tilted his head. “Do you want me to tell you about my sibling, or how I was practically raised in the palace?” 

Yoongi blinked. “You have a sibling?” He blinked again, processing the rest of Namjoon’s sentence. “You were raised here?” And then he frowned, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know, don’t make me pick. I want to know everything.”

Namjoon laughed. His head was thrown backwards with the action, and for a second, Yoongi was lost in the magnificent vision before him.

“I can do that,” Namjoon said, when he regained himself. He shifted into a more comfortable position, crossing his legs under him before he spoke. “I have a sister younger than me by three summers,” he said. “My father before me was first advisor as well, so while we didn’t exactly live in the palace, I had gotten accustomed to accompanying him on many occasions.

“Most of my childhood, I technically did live outside the palace with my family. My sister and I,” Namjoon paused. Yoongi could see him searching for the right words as his eyes gained a distant quality to them. “I wouldn’t say we’re distant, but we’re not exactly close either. We played around a lot as kids. But as I grew older, my father wanted me more involved in the palace, learning the customs, practices, and the like.”

Namjoon suddenly looked down. There was a slight furrow to his eyebrows now, yet his expression was still unreadable. “The, uh. The Jeonha is only a few summers older than me.” He peeked at Yoongi, as if trying to assess his reaction.

It was understandable. And while Yoongi’s heart did quicken at the reminder of the king, someone they’d been so careful to forget about in all their time in the garden, Yoongi kept his face placid. He was sufficiently absorbed in Namjoon’s story that he didn’t want anything to interrupt them. Not even the king or mere mentions of him either.

Hesitantly, Namjoon went on when Yoongi provided no disruption.

“Because we’re close in age, it was easy to become friends, especially when our friendship was encouraged by our parents due to the roles we were to inherit.”

Prickles of unease crept upon Yoongi. He was still curious to see where Namjoon was going with this, but the constant mentions of the king were definitely starting to get to him. Still, he managed to keep silent.

“I guess the path that was predestined for me only strengthened with the Jeonha’s easy acceptance of my presence as well,” Namjoon said. “By the time I was nine summers, I had all but moved into the palace, really. My father brought me here every day, I only returned home at night to sleep, but even that was for a scant few hours.” Namjoon shrugged. “Since then, I haven’t seen my mother or sister much, but we do keep in touch during festivities and the like. As for my life in the palace, I was buried under lessons and being trained for various subjects and ceremonies until I officially moved in upon my father’s passing. Although, I didn’t become the first advisor until the Jeonha took the crown and appointed me himself.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” Yoongi murmured, choosing to sidestep everything else regarding the king. Namjoon just smiled back at him, not really appearing to be upset. 

“It’s alright,” he said. “He lived a long life. It wasn’t really a surprise when he passed. And he did so peacefully, in his sleep.”

Yoongi nodded. Despite his stature, he wasn’t really sure what to say to that, mostly because no one he knew had ever had the good fortune to have an easy death.

Autumn had lived its cycle and Goryeo was now welcoming in winter with open arms. It meant that the air outside nipped at Yoongi’s skin when the sun wasn’t out. Spending time in Namjoon’s arms meant that Yoongi was eventually warmed up, sometimes even to the point of becoming overheated with their endeavors reaching increasing peaks. After that first time, their hands were suddenly held back no longer, going either higher or lower, growing more daring and covering more expanses of skin previously left undiscovered. And Yoongi honestly didn’t care, because he’d only ever known touches that hurt, touches that brought him pain and misery which the king was happy to inflame with each passing day.

Namjoon, on the other hand, only ever kept being gentle with Yoongi. His touches may have been searing as well, but it was far better, in the best possible way, that Yoongi was left only wanting more of each and every single time.

However, they weren’t always spending their time swept away by their desires. Like a damn broken, after Yoongi had turned the situation around and asked Namjoon about himself, they went back and forth in learning more about each other. And those moments were equally precious to Yoongi, equally endearing as he grew to learn about Namjoon more, finding more reasons to be enamored with the man.

Unfortunately, those moments were becoming harder to come by. Though winter took its time creeping in, the air still grew frosty to the point that sitting around doing nothing became a challenge while out in the gardens.

Yoongi tried to persist, refusing to be the first one to address it. He didn’t want their trysts to come to an end, and if it meant telling Taehyung to help him bring extra blankets to the gardens only to dismiss his servant after an arduous walk, well. Yoongi was ready to consider it as an option. 

But the new moon cycle had barely begun when Namjoon said something first. This time, Namjoon had guided Yoongi to his lap, a position Yoongi was unfamiliar with but finding to his liking anyway. His jeogori was pooled down at his waist, and with Namjoon attached to his chest, his torso was sufficiently warm. His legs weren’t faring any better, however, with his sokchima pulled up to give access to Namjoon’s hand. Only the thin fabric of Yoongi’s dari sokgot prevented Namjoon’s hands from making direct contact with Yoongi’s skin. Under Namjoon’s ministrations, however, it was soaking wet. The rough glide of his palm against Yoongi’s cock stimulated Yoongi’s arousal, evident in how he leaked slick unendingly.

Later, Yoongi would be disgusted with the soiled fabric, and embarrassedly try to hide it from Taehyung. Even though by now he knew Taehyung must have cottoned on, having to deal with an influx of laundry requiring immediate tending to, even if he hadn’t brought it up yet.

For now, Yoongi was too busy slumped over and rocking back and forth on Namjoon’s lap, feeling Namjoon’s own thick arousal between his cheeks. He was breathing heavily into Namjoon’s ear, his moans unable to be hidden. As his orgasm drew near, his fingers dug into Namjoon's chest, gratified to feel bare skin. For a first advisor, Namjoon’s torso was impeccably built, muscles flexing under Yoongi’s hands. With his mouth open, he could practically taste Namjoon against his tongue despite not making contact, the feel and scent of Namjoon against him vivid enough to fuel his imagination.

Namjoon twisted his hand, bringing his fingers close to Yoongi’s heat and dipping in, threatening to push in further even with the fabric. Thus far, it had been a rough drag that still caused such delicious friction. The combination of it all, Namjoon’s touch, scent, and sight – for he looked just as undone as Yoongi felt, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pursed against Yoongi’s nipple absolutely taken with his task of making Yoongi feel good and clearly feeling his own enjoyment in the process – it was enough to push Yoongi over the edge. He stiffened, then came with a low cry, throat hoarse enough to make the sound guttural, as his legs wrapped tighter around Namjoon’s waist while his body convulsed.

Sucking hard at Yoongi’s nipple, Namjoon kept up the circular motions of his palm against Yoongi’s cock, his fingers still kneading at the labia right below, dragging out Yoongi’s orgasm. And as Yoongi, desperate for something to ground him even as he soared high, bit at the outer shell of Namjoon’s ear, enough wherewithal about him to not clench down hard enough to draw blood, he felt Namjoon release under him with a low groan, adding to the slickened mess that entirely dirtied the bottom half of Yoongi’s slip.

Their breathing entirely too loud in the otherwise stillness of the gardens, Namjoon pulled his hand away to join the other around Yoongi’s waist. They held each other close, their bare chests pressed against each other, hearts beating in tandem as they came down from their shared high.

Far too soon, Yoongi was reminded of his conundrum when his body was abruptly wracked with a shiver, breaking their tranquil state.

Namjoon hastened to draw Yoongi’s jeogori around him, but it was like the chill had set into Yoongi’s bones. He tried to huddle against Namjoon, the man running hot enough to warm his front, but his hanbok Namjoon that pulled back around him was no longer sufficient against winter’s air, especially after their exertion had caused at least one thin layer of sweat to cover Yoongi’s body.

“We shouldn’t do this anymore.”

And there was Yoongi’s heart, crashing down to the very depths of his gut. He almost felt nauseous, in fact, that he could only still every part of his body from the very fear of actually vomiting over Namjoon. He had expected Namjoon to say something, was preparing for the inevitable, but for the outright conclusion… devastation was not enough to describe how Yoongi felt.

Perhaps, it was a good thing after all, that Yoongi was rendered frozen, because unbeknownst to the reaction his prior words had elicited, Namjoon went on.

“The gardens are getting too cold, and if we keep this up out here, I'm worried you'll only get sick,” Namjoon said, his voice low. His hands were moving up and down over Yoongi’s back, an attempt to warm him up further, Yoongi realized. But it was nothing compared to what he was hearing.

Yoongi pushed back from where his forehead had fallen against Namjoon’s shoulder while he’d been trying to regain his bearings. He frowned at Namjoon, uncertain yet unable to make himself speak despite the need to know.

Namjoon brought a hand around to carefully tuck Yoongi’s hair behind his ear. “Winter isn’t enough to keep me from you, I fear,” Namjoon said, and it was then that Yoongi realized that Namjoon was aware. That he knew what exactly went through Yoongi’s mind, even if he had said nothing.

Then again. He supposed the sudden rigidity of his body was enough of a tell anyway.

“The palace is too risky for us to continue such endeavors within it. And yet, there are some places that not even the Jeonha will be informed of with specificity.”

Oh, Yoongi felt quite caught up now, and understood everything with startling clarity.

Yoongi smiled, and kissed Namjoon hard, wrapping his arms back around Namjoon’s neck to keep this man close.

By the time they were barely halfway through the moon cycle, Yoongi and Namjoon had found their new routine within the palace. As if the progression from the gardens to inside the palace had stripped away their logical reasoning, however, their encounters were now dancing on the knife’s edge. Because within the palace, Yoongi realized how much closer Namjoon was to him, no longer needing to walk far to reach a secluded area. Instead, they met in random corridors, unused and ignored long enough for them to share kisses.

As for the times when they’d desired more than hungry kisses that still worked well to remind Yoongi of Namjoon’s desire, Namjoon’s yearning, and Namjoon’s desire… Namjoon had then introduced Yoongi to the library, the first advisor’s personal domain. And behind the farthest shelves, forgotten by all except Namjoon to the point that everything there was coated with a thin layer of dust, they kept coming together. In half a moon cycle, they’d sequestered themselves away in the library many times, times consisting of Namjoon holding Yoongi up against the wooden shelves with steady arms, or with his own back to the wall as they sat on the ground with Yoongi on his lap, either rubbing off against each other or stroking the other to completion.

For some reason, they hadn’t brought the other to their own chambers yet, perhaps aware of one last line that would be too easily crossed if done so. Even still, Namjoon didn’t have to step foot in Yoongi’s chambers before Taehyung finally cornered him.

It was the anniversary of the king’s birth. With the grandiose celebration planned, Taehyung was utilizing his painting skills apparently. Only, his canvas was Yoongi’s body, and rather than marking him with vibrant colors, he was working on hiding the ones already there.

Honestly, it wasn’t the worst. As terrible as it sounded, Yoongi was used to it — the blood and the bruises.

What was worse this time was that the king had gotten too carried away, a hand around Yoongi’s neck. For the first time since the marriage, Yoongi had instinctively resisted. With wide eyes and frantic hands, he’d tried in vain to throw off the king’s hold around him while his lungs screamed for air while his own voice couldn’t.

Black spots had threatened to take over Yoongi’s vision, and it was only when Yoongi’s hands fell lifelessly upon the bed, his strength drained, that the king returned to his senses and let go.

By that point, Yoongi was barely aware of what happened afterwards, only recognizing the king finishing off before swiftly leaving with a yell for Taehyung to attend to him. He knew Taehyung had always waited nearby to tend to him as soon as the king was gone, but this time, he was pretty sure someone else had to help Taehyung bring Yoongi back to his chambers because it had taken longer than usual for Yoongi to feel himself leave the bed. His memory failed him from there as Yoongi had passed out, only coming to hours later with a numbness upon realizing he was still alive 

The usual wounds upon his body were barely of note to Yoongi when compared to the fact that he couldn’t speak. Or rather, Hoseok had advised him to avoid doing so, his vocal cords strained from the pressure the king had exerted. Yoongi wasn’t too keen on going against it, as the one time he’d tried, the most he’d managed was a painful rasp.

So Yoongi was effectively rendered mute already when Taehyung spoke.

“You and advisor Kim have been getting a lot closer lately,” Taehyung said. 

Yoongi shot him a sharp look, but it was all he could do. Taehyung easily ignored it, focusing on patting down the powder he was applying to ensure Yoongi’s skin tone looked even, after all the products he’d used. Yoongi could admit he’d done a good job, Yoongi’s skin appeared as pristine as it should have, not one product mismatching his naturally pale complexion. It was too bad that Yoongi found it too much of a hassle to wear the products more frequently, even if he had no use for it beyond the rare public appearance. Then again, in a twisted way, if he had bothered to cover himself up regularly, maybe Namjoon never would have had reason to reach out to Yoongi as he did that day. 

The thought had no right to be as depressing as it was.

“I don’t have anything against it,” Taehyung went on, breaking Yoongi from his rumination. He leaned back, scrutinizing Yoongi’s skin one last time before nodding to himself and putting away the bottle in his hand. Helping Yoongi up, they strode over to the mannequin that held Yoongi’s jeokui for the ceremony, Taehyung unfastening it from the dummy with nimble fingers.

“I’m a little sad that you felt like you had to keep the progression of your relationship from me,” Taehyung said. His voice was low, barely heard as he still faced the mannequin while Yoongi stood behind him. Dressed only in a single layer of his sokgot, Yoongi crossed his arms. He blamed the action on his chambers being cool, nevermind the ondol warming his body up through his feet, rather than a need to defend himself from his own friend when he wasn’t able to speak aloud for himself.

Turning, Taehyung walked over to begin dressing him. “I do wish you didn’t have the need to hide, but I think I understand,” he kept his eyes downcast as he helped Yoongi slip on the sleeves of the first layer of his sokjeoksam.

Yoongi averted his eyes as well, shame suddenly pooling in his gut.

“I’m not saying this to-to admonish you or anything,” Taehyung said suddenly, pausing as he looked at Yoongi directly. “I guess I wanted to let you know that – that I know you two are getting close, and I have nothing against it,” he said, tone resolute. “No matter everything else, which I’m sure you’ve fretted over already, I support you,” Taehyung said. “If advisor Kim is making you happy – nevermind how, I don’t want to know,” Taehyung cringed, “Actually, I think I know enough already.”

Yoongi blushed as well, closing his eyes in pained resignation that he would have to listen to this without being able to put a stop to the words pouring out of Taehyung’s mouth.

“But if he’s making you happy, then as long as you’re careful, just. Go for it, hyung.”

Yoongi stared, disbelief slackening his jaw.

“Honestly, after all you’ve been through,” Taehyung muttered under his breath. It sounded far too much like a swear against the king. Even if Yoongi could reprimand Taehyung for the blasphemous words uttered no matter at what volume, he wasn’t sure he could have when he agreed with the sentiment. 

He would, actually, if only to remind Taehyung how much they both preferred Taehyung’s head to remain on his shoulders.

Taehyung inhaled deeply. He tightened the bindings at Yoongi’s back before circling Yoongi so they were facing each other. “If  has been able to bring you an ounce of brightness in this terrible palace, then I will even help you however you need to keep meeting him.”

Yoongi blinked, before a smile tugged at his lips, albeit a little doleful. Taehyung made to grab the final layer of his jeokui, but before he could do so, Yoongi stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. Taehyung sent him a questioning look, but then Yoongi was tugging him forward until he gave in to the hug.

They stood there embracing for several long seconds, Yoongi doing his best to impart his feelings of gratitude and affection. From the way Taehyung’s arms briefly tightened around him, he felt like Taehyung understood perfectly. It did wonders in cheering Yoongi up even beyond Taehyung’s easy acceptance of whatever he and Namjoon were doing. Not that he let it show on his face when Taehyung pulled back, because Taehyung was quickly rushing to get him dressed with a reminder of the time.

Yoongi sighed as the last goreum was tied around his waist. He just had his hair and jewelry left, all part of the facade he would then present himself as; a beautiful queen to Goryeo’s people – beautiful, but nothing more.

The ceremony was a dreadful bore to Yoongi, which was better than he’d expected. The king had mostly ignored his presence beside him. There were speeches, a grand feast that Yoongi merely picked at, throat still too raw to down anything more substantial than soup, and performances.

Yoongi’s interest was piqued when the bards had come in with musical instruments, but when they’d left to make way for the next show, he’d let his mind wander again. A selection of Goryeo’s finest soldiers had performed a fanciful dance with their swords, similar to Yuan’s only in concept. The dance itself was different in the sharper movements, the shaking of the very floor whenever they landed on their feet, heavy yet firm, powerful yet steady. The soldiers at Yuan preferred a more graceful style, more lighter on their feet, but Yoongi couldn’t deny the talent Goryeo held either.

At some point, he felt Taehyung perk up behind him, and a subtle tilt of his head revealed from his peripherals a beaming Taehyung. Trying to follow his line of sight, Yoongi spotted a soldier quickly grinning back at Taehyung before he was engulfed in the crowd as they dispersed. He wondered if that was the soldier Taehyung had mentioned briefly and in passing a few times before, and resolved to ask him about it later.

Finally, after what felt like many eternities later to Yoongi, the hall emptied as the celebration dwindled. Yoongi had, at times, searched around the hall. But while all members of the royal court were present, the person Yoongi was seeking eluded his sight. He’d even spotted Hoseok, who’d bowed his head when he noticed Yoongi watching him, but other than that, the now diminishing crowd held no further interest to Yoongi.

Beside him, the king was still preoccupied, talking to someone Yoongi recognized from the royal courts. He held a goblet that Yoongi didn’t think he’d ever see him put down, as a dutiful servant ensured it was constantly filled to the brim. Taking a steady breath, Yoongi leaned over as close as he dared, waiting for a pause in the conversation before he interjected.

“If the Jeonha permits, I’ll take my leave.” His voice was raspy and barely recognizable as his own, but fortunately the king must have heard – or he didn’t care either way, as he waved his free hand dismissively at Yoongi without looking over.

Not wanting to remain any longer, and especially not wanting to risk the king thinking of him for too long on the off chance he’d summon Yoongi to his chambers again tonight, Yoongi stood. Instantly, Taehyung was at his side, and they swiftly left the hall through the doors behind them rather than the main entrance.

As they walked down the empty corridors cast in dim light with only alternating lanterns lit to guide their way, Yoongi let out a sigh.

A sigh that was quickly cut off into a gasp as an arm latched onto his from nowhere. Yoongi whirled around, heart in his throat, but instantly relaxed when he saw who it was.

Namjoon immediately let go of his arm as fast as he’d grabbed it, folding his hands behind his back as he glanced at Taehyung. Yoongi looked over as well, finding his servant looking between them both before he smiled, bowing down.

“I’ll wait for you in your chambers, hyung,” Taehyung said, and then, much to Yoongi’s horror, winked. “And I’ll make sure the guards aren’t suspicious,” he nodded at Namjoon. “I trust the Mama will be safe with you.” He said, far more seriously. 

His words held a deeper meaning that wasn’t lost on Yoongi, but he wondered if Namjoon understood the depths of it. There was a furrow between Namjoon’s eyebrows even as he bowed back, and they watched him go before Yoongi turned back around.

He quirked an eyebrow at Namjoon, who stood there for a few seconds before he was grabbing onto Yoongi’s arm. Despite the fast movement, Yoongi didn’t miss how his hold was still careful, his hand only wrapped around Yoongi’s arm but not pressing down. It made him bite his lip to hide a grin, allowing himself to be easily led down a nook in the corridor until they were in an alcove well hidden from the main pathway.

With Namjoon guiding Yoongi, Yoongi allowed himself to be pressed up against the wall behind him, finally releasing his lip to unleash the smile that had been desperate to burst all this time. He tilted his head back, leaning against the wall as he peered up at Namjoon, whatever tension and irritation he’d had at the celebration slipping away as Namjoon gazed down at him.

“I’d been watching you the entire time,” Namjoon said. His hand found the spot on Yoongi’s waist he seemed to favor, while the other came up to cup Yoongi’s face. “And the entire time, all I could think about was how much I just wanted to hold you in my arms instead of seeing you so far away.”

Yoongi sighed, eyes closing as he nuzzled against the palm held to his cheek. His own hands lifted until he was placing them over Namjoon’s chest. The warmth Namjoon always exuded was already beginning to satiate Yoongi’s craving for the man.

Namjoon spread his fingers, his thumb pressing into Yoongi’s lip. Like a newfound habit, Yoongi parted his mouth, tongue peeking out to lap at the digit. Through slitted eyes, he watched how Namjoon’s eyes darkened, both their breathing growing heavier.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi whispered. While he barely had to use his voice, he still sounded wrecked, and if it had been a little while later, they could have dismissed it from their activities. Namjoon, however, apparently knew Yoongi more than he realized, because he stilled with a frown.

“Are you okay?”

Yoongi let his eyes close to hide the way he rolled them. He didn’t want to talk about it right now, so he just shook his head, meaning for it to be dismissive but only realizing a second later that it could also be interpreted as an answer to Namjoon’s question.

Before Namjoon could press further, however, Yoongi pressed forward instead – literally.

Arching his back away from the wall, he molded himself against Namjoon’s body, reaching up on his tiptoes so that he could whisper against Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon would definitely be able to hear the variation of his voice this way, but at least it also meant that Yoongi didn’t need to speak too loudly to be heard – not that either one of them could make much noise anyway, still too close to the main corridor to risk it.

“Later,” Yoongi whispered. “It’s just the usual,” he tried to reassure, ignoring how his current condition was definitely not typical. “Tell me more about what you were thinking?” He said, aiming to redirect Namjoon’s attention.

It worked well enough, because Namjoon inhaled deeply. An arm encircled around Yoongi’s waist to hold him close even as his other hand pulled Yoongi’s head back. Namjoon regarded him for a few seconds, long enough for Yoongi to begin wondering if his distraction was truly effective, when Namjoon kissed him.

Instantly falling into it with ease, Yoongi wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s neck. There was a strange sort of desperation to Namjoon’s kisses today. He kissed with a passion that barely allowed Yoongi time to breathe, biting and tugging at Yoongi’s bottom lip, forcing his mouth open and swiping at Yoongi’s tongue with his own.

His lungs were heaving, and Yoongi eventually had to let his head fall back again, eyes dazed and unseeing as he fought for breath. The lack of oxygen was nothing like the night before with the king, however. This, he wanted. This was more under Yoongi’s control, because even as Namjoon persisted with his kisses, he allowed Yoongi to breathe. 

This was more pleasurable, because Namjoon moved to his neck instead, and kept kissing him there, wet and hot and a touch shy of leaving their own marks.

Yoongi let himself melt in Namjoon’s secure arms, a low keen escaping his ragged throat.

“Mama,” Namjoon whispered suddenly, coming up to drag his teeth against the shell of Yoongi’s ear. His tone was reverential, his voice husky, and breath so hot against Yoongi’s ear, his toes curled under him. His grip on Namjoon’s shoulder tightened even as he pulled back enough for Namjoon to look at him, startled. 

“Call me Yoongi,” he begged, feeling shattered enough to disregard how his voice cracked even for the few words. “Please.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened. His arms tightened around Yoongi’s waist, pulling him back in with an urgency that had Yoongi colliding against his chest, their lips a hair’s breadth away from each other.

“Yoongi,” he murmured, and the sound of his name on Namjoon’s lips made it sound like a divine prayer that Yoongi moaned, crashing their lips together with a hand fisted in Namjoon’s hair. 

Namjoon groaned into his mouth. Their tongues clashed, fighting for dominance before Namjoon pulled back. Yoongi whimpered, wanting nothing more than to press their lips together again, but Namjoon was staring at him with a heated gaze, pinning Yoongi in place, that Yoongi could only still, desperate for more.

“Can I try something?” Namjoon said, his voice low, not really asking so much as stating an intent. Even so, the words were barely out of his mouth and Yoongi was already nodded, fingers flexing on Namjoon’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Anything.”

His throat was truly on fire at this point, but he pushed it aside for now. He’d try to take it easy, but there was no certainty he’d be able to keep completely silent when under Namjoon’s mercy.

None the matter. He’d deal with the repercussions later. As for right now, Namjoon was still stood in front of him, unmoving as he regarded Yoongi rather suspiciously, as if he was ready to put a stop on things to question Yoongi’s health further. Yoongi wasn’t going to have that.

“Please.” Widening his legs, he bucked his hips up – and that did it.

With a hiss, Namjoon suddenly dropped to his knees, Yoongi blinking in astonishment as he tried to regain his bearings. But Namjoon was moving too fast now that Yoongi could barely keep up, having to press himself back against the wall to support himself as he stared down at Namjoon with befuddlement. Namjoon, who was rucking Yoongi’s sokchima up, pushing it to his waist as he bared Yoongi’s legs to the cold night air.

Yoongi flushed, biting his lip. He may not have known what exactly Namjoon was up to, but that didn’t prevent him from helping anyway, holding onto his skirts that Namjoon had gathered and bunched up at his waist. 

Nimble fingers did away with his dari sokgot, and for the first time, he realized he was completely bare to Namjoon’s view. They’d always touched and felt each other, sure. But as Namjoon knelt before his spread legs, skirts pushed up, Yoongi felt a blush take over his entire body as Namjoon eyed his most intimate of areas without blinking.

Namjoon muttered a curse, swaying forward. “You’re so pink,” he muttered. Yoongi swallowed. Namjoon’s mouth was so close to him, he could feel the heavy exhale of his breath landing hot against his erect little cock, his wet cunt. It only aroused him further, feeling slick wetten his core in anticipation, precum dribbling from the head of his small length.

Yoongi’s legs trembled, knowing any second Namjoon would have to touch him. No matter how many times he’d felt Namjoon’s hand on him before, each time never failed to bring him so much ecstasy. And with Namjoon being able to see him now, Yoongi was already thrilled.

Subconsciously, he spread his legs apart further. He heard Namjoon sharply inhale, and then his head lunged forward, disappearing under the bundle of fabric–

Yoongi gasped, eyes widening. Wetness engulfed his hardness, tight and hot as Namjoon sucked – Namjoon had his mouth on him.

Yoongi stopped working.

As Namjoon sucked, Yoongi let out a small cry, all previous thoughts of keeping his sounds to himself out of the window as he crumpled forwards. His hands let go of his chima as he tried to reach for Namjoon’s head. At another time, under other impossible circumstances, Namjoon disappearing under his sokchima would have been comical. As it was, Yoongi was frustrated, needing to hold onto Namjoon, convince himself this was really happening, that Namjoon was really–

Namjoon tilted his head back, only a few mere inches enough to part from Yoongi’s cocklet. He hummed, and then Yoongi felt large hands slide up his thighs, the brush of it eliciting a shiver up Yoongi’s spine. Easily, Namjoon pushed Yoongi’s sokchima back up, holding it in place as he ducked back down, and this time Yoongi had an unobstructed view of Namjoon pressing his mouth to Yoongi’s mound like he was placing a kiss there.

Yoongi gasped out a sob, his hands finding their way to Namjoon’s head. As Namjoon licked at the outer lips of his cunt, Yoongi’s fingers dug into Namjoon’s scalp, holding him close. He’d never experienced something like this before, and it was almost too much to handle, but Yoongi wanted – needed more.

And Namjoon provided, lapping up the slick that had collected and pooled out of his cunt before pressing the tip of his tongue between the labia, pushing into Yoongi’s heat.

Yoongi’s eyes closed, his spine bending further even as he kept his hips bucking up into Namjoon’s mouth. The muscle of Namjoon’s tongue was soft yet unyielding as it pushed its way in, licking at Yoongi’s walls. 

A moan reverberated from Namjoon’s mouth, and the vibration pressed to his mound had Yoongi leaking more slick. Tears pooled in his eyes as Namjoon dutifully lapped it up, sucking and swallowing his arousal eagerly before pushing his tongue further in, forcing Yoongi’s muscles to open up around him. 

His nails dug into Namjoon’s scalp, Yoongi felt himself close to cumming, faster than ever before.

And Namjoon kept it up, thrusting his tongue to some unheard rhythm, only pausing to close his mouth around Yoongi’s cunt to suck up the slick that kept dripping, a never ending pool under Namjoon’s dexterous tongue. A cry escaped Yoongi’s throat, deep and guttural, and he slammed himself back against the wall, his aching neck grateful for the reprieve from slouching over for so long.

The new position had him practically straddling Namjoon’s face, his legs feeling weak and ready to give out at any second, but Namjoon was still between them, his hands gripping tighter onto Yoongi’s waist as he pushed and twisted his tongue inside Yoongi’s cunt. Untiring, unrelenting, Namjoon’s tongue kept working until Yoongi could feel the walls of his cunt relaxing, loosening up like his entire body was a puddle at Namjoon’s mercy. He was so hot by this point, sweat dripping down his forehead and neck, clearing away the powders from his skin. But it was nothing compared to the raging inferno within him as Yoongi was brought closer and closer still to the peak.

Namjoon groaned, face smushed to Yoongi’s cunt, his nose flat against the underside of Yoongi’s length, and Yoongi’s stomach clenched with vigor.

With a guttural shout, Yoongi came. His back arched, potentially suffocating Namjoon as he shoved himself further still against Namjoon’s face. But Namjoon was humming a pleased note, tongue undulating inside Yoongi’s cunt without rest, prolonging Yoongi’s orgasm.

Hands tangled in Namjoon’s hair, Yoongi was lost to the lights overtaking his vision, practically unbreathing as he spilled out cum and heavier globs of slick. The abundance meant that not all made it in Namjoon’s hungered mouth, some escaping down the sides of his face and chin.

Yoongi hadn’t noticed yet though, still fighting hard to remember how to breathe as he slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Slowly, he regained senses in his limbs, finally registering how faint his legs were under him, a juxtaposition to the death grip he had on Namjoon’s hair. With a shaky inhale, he forced himself to let go, finger by finger, wincing as his stiff muscles resisted initially. Legs still shaking, he pulled his lower body back, trying to balance himself against the wall, but one glance at Namjoon’s messy face and Yoongi let his knees collapse under him.

He landed right on Namjoon’s lap, Namjoon beaming at him as he shifted just in time so that he was on his knees as Yoongi sat on him. Yoongi sighed, Namjoon’s silk baji too chafing against his sensitive cunt, but didn’t move – couldn’t, really.

“Was that good?” Namjoon said. His voice was sinful, deep and sounding stuffed. Knowing Yoongi was the cause of it had him flaming red yet again, but he merely raised an eyebrow, incredulous. 

Raising his hands to cup Namjoon’s face, uncaring of his own slick smearing onto his palms, Yoongi kissed Namjoon, hard and long. He could taste himself against Namjoon’s lips and his tongue as Namjoon contentedly let Yoongi suck his mouth.

Yoongi broke the kiss but didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together. “You ruin me, Namjoon-ah,” he whispered, the endearment slipping out like it was only natural, “in only the best of ways I will ever know.”

Wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s waist, Namjoon held him tight against his chest as he ducked back down to capture Yoongi’s lips once more.

They kissed for a while, heated at first as teeth nipped at the others lips, tongues darting out to ease the sting only to bite again. Gradually, the kiss changed tempo as their kisses slowed, teeth disappearing as they merely brushed each others lips over the other repeatedly. Eventually, they parted, but still stayed close, sharing the same breath, when a thought popped in Yoongi’s head. 

“I want to return the favor,” he said, breathing out the words really. “I want to taste you as well.”

Namjoon leaned back, and Yoongi was taken by awe when the so far self assured man abruptly turned abashed. 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, eyes averted. “I, ah. Already came when you did.”

Yoongi gaped. Now that Namjoon had said it, he did realize the lack of hardness under him. But he didn’t realize… “Just from your mouth on me?” He said, disbelieving.

Namjoon was turning red under Yoongi’s scrutiny, but he managed to return Yoongi’s gaze at that, unfaltering despite the steady blush on his cheeks. “You seem to have underestimated the effect you have on me, Yoongi.”

Which. Oh. Now that he was more clear headed, to hear Namjoon say his name like so… maybe Yoongi did understand how he made Namjoon feel, if a simple utterance of his name from Namjoon elicited such a response within Yoongi equally so.

Chapter Text

Namjoon dutifully led Yoongi back to his chambers like he’d promised to Taehyung, even if not in as many words. As Yoongi stood at the threshold to his chambers, Namjoon bowed deeply. They were both aware of the guards situated at the end of the corridor, keeping them both from kissing one last time, but neither of them let it disappoint them too much, if Yoongi’s warm smile was anything to go by.

As soon as the doors slid shut behind Yoongi, however, Namjoon let the smile fall off his own face. Letting out a steady exhale, he slowly left the corridor, nodding at the guards before taking a turn. 

It was the opposite way to his chambers, but Namjoon had somewhere else to drop by first, before he could think about retreating to bed. 

Treading purposefully through the palace’s long corridors, he didn’t slow his pace until he reached a familiar chamber, taking one last breath before knocking on it. As soon as it opened, Namjoon stood ramrod straight, regarding his friend with a stern expression.

“Jin hyung,” he greeted. “We need to talk.”

Jin raised an eyebrow, but after a glance over Namjoon’s shoulder, he nodded, stepping aside to let Namjoon in. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Seokjin said, closing the door behind Namjoon. Namjoon stood to the side, waiting for Seokjin to join him before they sat down across from each other at the table off to the side. As the head of the military, Seokjin’s chambers were almost as large as the royals. Similar in size to Namjoon’s due to their prestigious statuses, it meant he had plenty of space before the main area containing his bed, organized with shelves of books, a larger table filled with maps and other military regalia, and a seating area where they were right now, a teapot with little cups beside it on a tray at the center of the low table. “Tea?” he offered.

Namjoon shook his head. “Why did the Jeonha summon you to his chambers that day?” Namjoon asked, cutting straight to the point. “He was telling drunken tales of changing his plans, or so I assumed. But then you were gone since then, and then I heard of a change in the soldiers' patrol. What’s going on, Jin hyung?”

Jin stared at him, long and hard with an inscrutable expression, before sighing. He reached over to set two cups down anyway, pouring a healthy amount of tea in both. Namjoon didn’t take his eyes off his friend, even as Seokjin watched the stream of tea filling the cups with unnecessary attentiveness. It was only when he set the teapot down, shifting so that he was seated cross-legged rather than on his knees, that he spoke.

“The Jeonha has decided to go on the offense,” Seokjin said, nudging one of the cups towards Namjoon. He took it between both his hands, but didn’t drink from it yet, absorbed in what Seokjin was revealing. “He’s started to send small groups of our soldiers to the borders in the name of patrolling, yes. But they are a distraction from the first step of his new plan.”

Namjoon frowned. “His new plan,” he repeated. “What exactly is ‘his new plan’?” He pressed.

Jin closed his eyes. Pained resignation overtook his features, and Namjoon knew that whatever his friend was about to say wouldn’t be easy to hear, not if it was affecting Seokjin himself so much.

“He has acquired the support of fighters… a group swearing fealty to no ruler but the coin. Under his command, they’ve been sent to attack, pillage, and destroy the villages at the borders, belonging to Yuan and Goryeo indiscriminately. But of course, with more damage sustained to the Yuan villages than our own.” Seokjin sipped at his tea, keeping his eyes pinned to his cup.

Namjoon felt dawning horror rise within him. “He’s hired bandits?” He asked, convinced he couldn’t have heard right. There was no way the Jeonha would stoop so low… right?

Jin set down his cup, nodding. He seemed as disturbed as Namjoon felt by the news, at least. “It has been going on for almost a full moon cycle now,” he said, sounding distant. “The day you saw me was the day he’d carried out his command. While the bandits begin attacking Yuan first, I was to oversee our patrols on the other end of our lands, as if making sure our borders were safe.” Seokjin scoffed. “But then we would ‘get the news of Yuan being attacked,’ and with the treaty, felt obliged to lend our help. Once we got there, the bandits then began attacking our own unassuming villages we’d previously left, all to make it seem like–”

“Like the Jeonha wasn’t attacking Yuan directly,” Namjoon breathed out.

Jin slowly nodded, head down.

“But – what is he aiming to do with this? What purpose would attacking our villages serve him?”

Jin hesitated, mouth opening and closing before opening again. “I think, with the lack of pregnancy announcements… he is pushing for another way for the Yuan ruler and him to meet. A public event that would still follow along the original lines.”

Namjoon froze, mind racing as he put together the connotations. And the conclusion he’d arrived at had him staring at Seokjin with utmost horror, who only looked back at him with understanding empathy.

It only took a few days – and countless of tasteless teas at best, horrid potions at worst – before Yoongi was able to use his voice again. It was still faint, and he couldn’t speak for long durations, but Yoongi was just happy that he could say a few words without his throat twinging in protest immediately.

So he considered himself healed enough – as healed as the king would ever let him get – when Namjoon appeared out of nowhere, as he was often prone to doing, and dragged an unresisting Yoongi to the library.

As soon as they were hidden away behind the far shelves, Yoongi was on him first, kissing Namjoon before he could get a word out. He only pulled back when they were sufficiently breathless, and even then, he disregarded how Namjoon tried to speak.

“I want to taste you now,” he said in a rush. “Please, Namjoon-ah, let me taste you? It’s all you had me thinking about since we last met.”

Namjoon blinked, jaw falling slack. Whatever he must have wanted to say was put to the side as he processed Yoongi’s words, and then he nodded, eyes going soft.

“Anything for you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi closed his eyes momentarily. He’d already been riled up at being able to feel Namjoon again, at the thought of what he longed for, but he’d never tire of hearing his name from Namjoon’s mouth, never wanting to stop the way his body responded to the sound of it.

And then he opened his eyes again, fiery intent behind them as he sank to his knees, never breaking eye contact with Namjoon.

Namjoon’s nostrils flared, but apart from that, he was as still as a statue. Undeterred, Yoongi reached out, tugging at the goreum holding his jeogori together until it came free. As it loosened, Yoongi pushed the jeogori to the sides along with the sokjeogori, revealing the baji underneath,  Breaking their gaze, Yoongi began to inch it down by the daenim, his breath caught as he he had to lower it well below Namjoon’s thighs before his hardness was free.

Fully erect, it stood high and proud against Namjoon’s stomach. Maybe the length and girth of it should have had Yoongi reconsidering, but his eyes were pinned to Namjoon’s cock with an almost stupidly lack of apprehension. All Yoongi knew was that his mouth was watering, and that was motivation enough for him to lean forward.

Remembering he had limbs, he finally lifted a hand from his lap, carefully grasping at the base of Namjoon’s cock, swallowing when his fingers barely met, wrapped around Namjoon’s hardness. From this close, he could see Namjoon’s abdomen stiffening at the touch, but apart from that, there was no reaction above him. Namjoon was apparently content with watching Yoongi and letting him work at his own pace, and it made Yoongi feel more than comfortable and assured. It brought back the sense of safety he’d always felt with Namjoon, the man always behaving in a way that no matter what they got up to, Yoongi was confident that he had nothing to fear from Namjoon.

Still, he had enough wits about him to be wary of his inexperience, at least, so at the last second, he slowed himself. Tongue out, he lapped at the head of Namjoon’s cock, and now, he could hear a sharp inhale. Grinning to himself, he kitten-licked at the tip, bending to press kisses down the shaft before coming back up and mouthing at the head once more. Dropping his mouth open, he carefully took the head into his mouth, the sides of his mouth slightly straining at the girth of it.

Namjoon cursed. He carded a hand through Yoongi’s hair, not pushing but just holding on. Yoongi hummed, pleased at the contact. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Uncaring, he let it drip out of his mouth and onto Namjoon’s cock, gliding down the length of it until it met the sides of his hand still fisting the base.

Namjoon tasted and smelled pleasant, clean and musky. Just the head was a heavy weight against Yoongi’s tongue, precum dribbling onto his tongue, but he wanted more, more of Namjoon’s cock, more of the salty taste to flood his mouth. Inhaling deeply, he opened his mouth wider, making himself relax as he began to sink down.

“Yoongi.” Namjoon hissed out a heavy exhale as Yoongi went down, centimeter by centimeter. It was a wet mess, spit getting everywhere with Yoongi unable to control it, but neither cared. Yoongi stayed conscious of his limits, not really wanting to damage his throat again – but not caring if he did, if it was because of Namjoon. He didn’t even make it halfway down Namjoon’s cock before the head of it tickled at the back of his throat, almost eliciting a gag. Pausing in place, Yoongi held himself stiffly, taking measured breaths.

“Don’t force yourself,” Namjoon gritted out, strained. If he could have, Yoongi would have smiled. As it was, he just hummed, making Namjoon exclaim another curse. The hand on his head flexed before just as quickly loosening, and a droplet of sweat trailed down his torso. 

Pleased that he was able to affect Namjoon like so, even if he wasn’t able to take him fully, Yoongi decided to work with what he could.

Lifting his head back up, Namjoon’s breath shuddered when Yoongi twisted the hand as well, stroking up and letting his saliva slick the way. With only the head in his mouth, Yoongi kept his hand moving, up and down Namjoon’s cock at a steady pace. Maddeningly slow, if the way Namjoon’s hand flexed again was any indication, although the man never protested aloud.

Yoongi let more spit drip out of his mouth while suckling at the head, licking away the precum pooling out from it. With his hand still wrapped around Namjoon’s cock, he brought it up, letting it smear against his palm, making the slide back downwards smoother. Swirling his tongue, he kept stroking the rest of the shaft, letting his thumb drag against the vein at the side.

Namjoon’s other hand came up to rest against Yoongi’s shoulder now. His breathing was growing heavier as he panted above Yoongi, harsh exhales that Yoongi could feel against his hair as Namjoon let his head drop.

“Yoongi, you’re doing so well.” Namjoon gasped. “How–” he cursed again. “I’m close,” he said, practically groaning out the words.

Emboldened, if a little surprised, Yoongi sucked harder, dipping his tongue into the slit, encouraging more of the salty precum out. He ever so slightly increased the pace of his hand, jerking Namjoon off a little more furiously now. On a whim, he lowered his hand to the base, and took Namjoon’s mouth as far as he dared, swallowing with it in his mouth anyway, and then hummed, tightening his grip just a little more while he flicked his wrist–

Namjoon spilled into his mouth with a grunt, folding over him as he held onto Yoongi tight, but not painfully so. Streaks of cum filled Yoongi’s mouth as his cock pulsed in Yoongi’s mouth. It was a bit much, Yoongi almost choking, but he did his best to swallow it down, not at all minding the taste. As Namjoon’s cock softened, Yoongi was slow to pull off, holding on to it gently while he lapped at the head one last time, a pained sounding moan above him reluctantly forcing Yoongi to pull back from the sensitive organ.

The moment Yoongi’s mouth was empty, his mouth already aching at the loss, Namjoon was pulling Yoongi up. Hands at Yoongi’s waist holding him close, Namjoon kissed him passionately, uncaring of his own taste on Yoongi’s tongue as he swiped at it with his own, licking it away if anything. Yoongi sighed into Namjoon’s mouth, head tilting back while Namjoon bent down to meet him. His arms around Namjoon’s neck, Yoongi let Namjoon plunder his mouth, leaving his mouth open and useless to kiss back under Namjoon’s ravishing.

His breath was as worked up as Namjoon’s by the time Namjoon parted their lips. A hand snaked down Yoongi’s side, pushing away at Yoongi’s sokchima before grabbing onto Yoongi’s bare thigh from behind. Yoongi blinked when Namjoon guided his leg up and around his waist.

“Namjoon–” Teetering, he stumbled for balance on one foot before Namjoon stepped forward, guiding Yoongi until his back was flush to the shelf behind him. And still, Namjoon pressed closer until Yoongi got the memo, hips bucking up against Namjoon. Yoongi took in a shaky inhale as Namjoon danced his fingers up Yoongi’s leg, the delicate touch a stark contrast from the lewdness of their previous actions.

“Let me,” Namjoon whispered against his mouth, before ducking his hand between Yoongi’s legs.

Yoongi moaned, head falling back as Namjoon’s hand slipped past his dari sokgot and touched his cock. Unlike Namjoon’s lengthy girth, his own cock was barely a couple of inches at its largest. Sometimes, Yoongi thought it more akin to an enlarged clitoris than an actual cock, if he weren’t capable of spilling seed of his own from it, however impotent. Ultimately, it was small enough to be completely enclosed by just a few fingers, Namjoon fervently rubbing at it, bringing Yoongi close to his peak with alarming speed.

“Wait, no, inside me,” Yoongi gasped. He had gotten aroused merely by having Namjoon in his mouth, but it was only the bare minimum, even the stimulation to his cock not enough to have him dripping on the floor – yet. But as Namjoon obliged, pulling his fingers away to caress his folds, he could feel his arousal increasing even as the need to cum ebbed. Tickles of sparks cascaded up and down Yoongi’s spine, his cunt beginning to produce more slick the more Namjoon teased at him.

“More,” Yoongi groaned. He brought his hands to Namjoon’s hair, tugging at the loosened strands when Namjoon didn’t immediately oblige. “I need more – inside me, please.” 

He could feel rather than see, as his eyes had fallen closed at some point, Namjoon smirking against his lips, pressing them together and silencing Yoongi’s protestful whines. Whines that changed to a pleased hum when Namjoon pushed a finger all the way in, eased by the slick his body provided.

“Yes,” Yoongi breathed out, hips rocking as he tried to get Namjoon to move faster. His walls were wrapped tight around the single digit. His muscles were a little slow to relax but they still welcomed the intrusion nonetheless. Soon Yoongi was left whining again for more, Namjoon twisting his wrist before slowly withdrawing his finger. Yoongi exhaled as the tips of two fingers touched his opening, circling it and gathering slick before pressing back in, forcing his walls open further.

Namjoon was moving slowly, clearly trying not to hurt Yoongi, and while he appreciated it, he’d been on the edge for too long, craved so much more before he tumbled over. Whatever sounds he could have made, however, were muffled as Namjoon kissed him, and Yoongi was torn between his senses.

On one end, Namjoon’s lips were plush and soft against his swollen ones, every nip and bite at his bottom lip eliciting a hiss from Yoongi. On the other end, his fingers were moving steadily within Yoongi’s cunt, thrusting in and out in a pace that matched Yoongi’s hand on Namjoon’s cock earlier. Yoongi was both frustrated at it and amazed that the man had kept his patience with him, because now that he was getting a taste of his own medicine, Yoongi was ready to dig his nails into Namjoon’s scalp to get him to do something – either move faster and harder, or add another finger. Preferably the latter, but Yoongi knew the need for the former would soon reignite anyway.

Namjoon bit at his lip again, sharper than usual, and Yoongi gasped. The prick of teeth was almost painful, he was sure he was close to bleeding if he hadn’t already. It provided the perfect distraction as Namjoon inserted a third finger, stretching Yoongi further. His walls were now protesting it, yet Yoongi tried to adjust his leg on the floor, wanting to spread himself wider.

Namjoon huffed against his lips, likely sensing Yoongi’s impatience. The arm around Yoongi’s waist tightened, as if scolding him to stay in place, and Yoongi would have retaliated somehow if Namjoon hadn’t chosen that moment to start scissoring his fingers, pushing Yoongi’s walls further apart himself.

Yoongi groaned, breaking the kiss to let his head thunk back against the shelf again. It was definitely starting to be too much, Namjoon’s fingers thick and long within him. As Namjoon pushed his splayed fingers deeper into his cunt, Yoongi subconsciously pushed himself onto the tips of his toes still on the floor, as if trying to get away. He didn’t want to though, and as soon as he realized what he was doing, he pushed back down. Rocking against Namjoon’s fingers, he rutted down, Namjoon’s hand twisting so that his palm rubbed at his cock.

It was all so much, Yoongi was left panting with his face directed heavenwards. Namjoon kept moving his fingers, in and out of Yoongi. His cunt was so wet now, the sound Namjoon’s hand elicited was crude in the otherwise silence of the library, obscene schlicks as he pushed in and out. His muscles were gradually loosening, walls open around Namjoon’s unrelenting fingers. A deranged thought flew through Yoongi’s mind, remembering Namjoon’s hot cock in his mouth, imagining the length of it taking Yoongi apart.

He cried out, at the visual and Namjoon’s fingers deep within him. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough, his former need forgotten as Yoongi began to yearn for it.

They couldn’t, he knew. But he didn’t want to come on Namjoon’s fingers anymore.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi cried. Frustrated tears had sprung up to his eyes, at what he wanted, what he couldn’t have but was willing to risk for, and it made Yoongi’s vision blurry as he tried to open them to look beseechingly at Namjoon. “It’s not enough,” he said, even as his hips rolled with Namjoon’s hand. “I need more.”

Namjoon stared at him, starting to frown. Still, he ceased his hand, ignoring Yoongi’s annoyed cry, and pressed a fourth finger to the lips of Yoongi’s cunt, his other three still in him. But Yoongi shook his head. “More,” he repeated. “I–I need you inside me. Please.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows lifted straight off his forehead as realization dawned. “Yoongi,” he started, and then paused, searching Yoongi’s face. “I-we can’t,” he tried.

Yoongi let himself give in a little to his anger. Even he could tell how unjustified it was, yet longed to excuse it on the throes of his hunger. Digging his nails into Namjoon’s scalp, he begged, “Namjoon-ah.” Yanking his face closer to his own, Yoongi slid his mouth up Namjoon’s jaw until he was close to his ear. “Take me, please. Take me as your own.”

He heard a sharp inhale, and then Namjoon was pulling out, wrenching his hand free. Disturbed, Yoongi’s leg dropped from his waist to the ground, swaying from the sudden momentum, off-balanced.

But then Namjoon was whirling him around, pushing and shoving until Yoongi’s hands were braced against the shelf he now faced. His chima was rucked up above his ass, dari sokgot practically torn away, leaving him completely nude from the bottom down. Nudging Yoongi’s legs apart, Namjoon inserted himself between them, bending over so his chest was pressed to Yoongi’s back, his mouth close to Yoongi’s ear.

“We can’t be doing this, Yoongi,” he whispered. Yoongi closed his eyes, body alit with the sensation of being smothered even as his stomach sank. “I can’t – we can’t risk it.” And he understood, Yoongi really did, but then Namjoon was sinking his fingers back into his cunt, that Yoongi forgot whatever it was they were discussing, only the need to be filled consuming his mind once more. “However,” Namjoon trailed off, his fingers slowly pulling out, and Yoongi whined.

Peering over his shoulder, he saw Namjoon looking down at him with a pensive look on his face. Out of the blue, Yoongi almost felt ashamed to be standing under Namjoon’s sight like this, with his legs apart, hole fluttering as if calling back for Namjoon, naked and begging like a desperate whore.

He almost let his head fall back down between his shoulders, no longer wanting to see Namjoon looking at him, and was even ready to close his legs and straighten, when Namjoon’s hand caressed the swell of his ass. It was the hand that had been inside him, Yoongi could tell, based on the wet streaks it left behind on his cheek, leaving him cold and sensitive to the open air. Still, that hand moved, until it was dragging a finger between those cheeks, only to come to a stop at–

“Oh.” With wide eyes, Yoongi let out a small gasp, staring disbelievingly at Namjoon. Namjoon glanced back at him, a question in his eyes even as he circled his wet finger around Yoongi’s rim.

Yoongi had never had anything up there before. The king blessedly had ignored his back entrance, but more so because the thought had never occurred, not when the reason was for them to procreate. A blessing, because surely, he would’ve left Yoongi damaged a lot more than he did already.

Yoongi had never bothered touching himself there either, except to clean himself. He seldom got a chance to touch himself in general anyway, the instances reducing down to zero since his arrival at Goryeo. But before, he’d only really rubbed at his cock, maybe inserted a finger up his cunt before he would cum. The thought of touching himself there for the purpose of pleasure, was neither something he would have thought of, nor would he have dared to do so anyway.

But with Namjoon…

Steeling himself, Yoongi blinked his vision clear, staring at Namjoon with determination. “Do it.”

Namjoon looked back at him, his eyes roving over Yoongi’s face as if to ascertain whether Yoongi was sure. But when Yoongi only looked back at him with steely resolve, and even pushed his hips back, Namjoon audibly swallowed, his throat bobbing. He glanced down, but then looked back up with his jaw jutted, face more resolute. Without breaking eye contact, Namjoon pressed his still wet finger in.

Yoongi’s mouth fell slack, a whimper escaping him despite himself.

Instantly, Namjoon stopped. Only the tip of his finger had pressed past the tight ring of Yoongi’s muscle, but it hadn’t hurt as much as the foreign sensation had caught Yoongi by surprise.

“No, don’t–” Yoongi shook his head. “Keep going,” he said instead. 

A second passed, before Namjoon nodded. “Just,” he paused, “tell me if it hurts, okay? Don’t force yourself.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the slight upcurve of his lips at that. “I will, Namjoon-ah,” he said, voice pitched low as he tried to push past the arousal clogging his throat. “Don’t worry.”

Namjoon nodded again, and then he was finally sinking his finger in, slow and measured until his finger was all the way in.

Inhaling deeply, Yoongi’s eyes fluttered. It was strange, but it didn’t feel bad. And it still didn’t hurt, so Yoongi opened his eyes again, nodding at Namjoon in a silent signal.

Still being careful to move slow, Namjoon pulled his finger out, only the tip remaining, before pushing back in again, his eyes falling to where they were connected. For a while, that was all he did, thrusting that single finger until Yoongi had gotten more used to it. Biting his lip, Yoongi pushed his hip back ever so slightly, and Namjoon jolted. As if he’d been broken from a trance, he looked at Yoongi, and then down. He withdrew his finger all the way, Yoongi frowning, but he soon understood what was happening as Namjoon’s hand ducked out of sight, feeling between his legs again.

Yoongi dropped his head down, losing the strength and will to keep his neck craned to watch Namjoon. Without sight at his aid, he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensation of Namjoon stroking his cunt, gathering the slickness pooled there, before returning to his ass. Two fingers pressed to his rim, and with a whisper for Yoongi to breathe, Namjoon pushed in.

Now, Yoongi could definitely feel the stretch. He bit his lip to prevent any sounds from spilling out, wincing when his teeth dug into the sore flesh. Coppery liquid filled his mouth, but still, Yoongi remained silent. Shifting, he widened his stance as Namjoon sank his fingers up to the first knuckle. Yoongi felt Namjoon’s thumb circle his rim, likely aiming to soothe the ache, yet it somehow sent a lick of arousal up Yoongi’s spine instead. Whatever nerve endings he had there doing its job at relaxing Yoongi as he initially felt himself clench, gritting his teeth at the intrusion, before his muscles loosened, letting Namjoon push in further.

His path was somewhat alleviated with Yoongi’s slick, but it wasn’t enough. Namjoon realized it too as halfway through, he withdrew his fingers to collect more slick, rubbing it at Yoongi’s hole before pushing it in with his fingers. It worked as planned, his fingers going in further, but Namjoon didn’t push Yoongi’s limits. Rocking his fingers back and forth, he eased Yoongi open, slower than when he was working at Yoongi’s cunt.

Yoongi sighed. It was taking longer than he thought. He was still aroused, if only at a low simmer compared to the earlier wildfire he felt consumed by. He couldn’t deny, though, that Namjoon’s fingers in his ass still felt good, even if it didn’t rile him up as much as when his fingers were in Yoongi’s cunt. But as Namjoon kept pumping his fingers into him with careful motions, Yoongi reminded himself what they were doing this for, what Namjoon was preparing him to take.

That definitely had his cock throbbing below him. Yoongi was just debating on letting one hand pull away from where he was supporting himself on the shelf to palm himself when Namjoon stretched his fingers – just like he’d done with his cunt. This time, there was more discomfort, however, and he groaned. The sound had Namjoon halting right away, and Yoongi groaned again, visions of Namjoon filling him up with his cock flickering.

“Yoongi–”

“It’s okay, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi whispered, turning his head to peer at Namjoon over his shoulder. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“If it hurts,” Namjoon began, but Yoongi shook his head.

“It doesn’t.” And it really didn’t. Because while they spoke, Namjoon’s fingers were still frozen, mid-splay inside him, and he could already feel the discomfort abating. And with the sight of Namjoon’s hand within him, Yoongi could feel his cock throb again.

Still staring at Namjoon, Yoongi did what he thought of, reaching down to fondle his cocklet. A groan escaped his lips, and Namjoon zeroed in on it.

His eyes widened. “You’re bleeding.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Yoongi hissed, suddenly aflame. He wiggled his ass, and then moaned again when it jostled Namjoon’s fingers. “Just, please. Don’t stop, I want you in me.”

Namjoon groaned, maybe at his words, maybe frustrated, but he acquiesced, continuing to spread his fingers. Yoongi stopped holding himself back, moans and whimpers let free from his lips as he continued to stroke his cock between his thumb and forefinger, careful not to cum just yet.

Soon, Namjoon’s fingers were as wide apart as they could go, and from there, he repeated the motion. Continuing to scissor Yoongi, Yoongi could feel his walls letting up, allowing Namjoon to move with more ease. Namjoon pulled back out again, Yoongi knowing what was to happen, and arched his back, almost presenting both his holes to Namjoon even as he kept rubbing his cock.

Namjoon practically pushed his fingers into Yoongi’s cunt, and then he crooked them downwards. With a shout, Yoongi stumbled, his hand slipping on the shelf as intense pleasure blinded him for a second. 

Namjoon huffed behind him, apparently unbothered by the reaction, for he merely scooped out more slick from Yoongi’s cunt, as if that had been his only objective. Heart pounding in his ears, Yoongi blinked, dazed. Both hands were back on the shelf, and it took him far too long to realize Namjoon had pushed into his ass with three fingers while he’d been distracted.

Yoongi moaned once he’d come back to himself. The pain was back with the additional stretch, but it was outweighed by pleasure, sparks of it still shooting up and down his spine. As Namjoon widened his fingers within him, Yoongi kept his hands on the shelf, panting as he struggled with the throb of his cunt, still a little taken aback by what had happened. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it again or if he wanted Namjoon to keep going, but thankfully, Namjoon held the reigns, for he continued to stretch Yoongi out before pulling out one last time. 

“If you want to stop,” Namjoon said, his hand now cupping Yoongi’s asscheek and smearing it with his wetness. Still, Namjoon stepped closer, and without turning, Yoongi straightened, his muscles sore from the position he’d been in. His chima would have fallen to his feet and covered him back up had Yoongi not held them up.

Looking over his shoulder at Namjoon, he grinned. “Take me, Namjoon-ah.”

With a sound that sounded almost like a growl, Namjoon closed the distance between them, plastering himself to Yoongi’s back as he pressed him against the wall. A hand fumbled between them as Namjoon fought to get their hanboks out of the way before Yoongi felt Namjoon’s cock smack against his ass, at full arousal once again. With a groan, he tilted his head back, letting it fall against Namjoon’s shoulder as he let his chima go, the lack of space between them ensuring it stayed in place. Placing his hands back on the shelf, he braced himself as one of Namjoon’s hands spread his ass apart, revealing his hole, and the other guided his cock.

He brushed his cock against Yoongi’s mound first. Yoongi’s breath halted before he felt Namjoon merely rubbing at his lips, gathering the slick there. When he pulled back, Yoongi exhaled, but at the press of his cock against Yoongi’s hole, Yoongi inhaled deeply. Namjoon nosed at the side of Yoongi’s forehead, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Relax,” he murmured, not yet pressing in. “Bear down,” he instructed. A little confused but compliant, Yoongi did so.

And as he did, Namjoon pushed in, the head of his cock popping through the first ring of muscle.

Instantly, Yoongi stiffened. He whined, his head turning so that his face was against Namjoon’s neck. 

“Should I stop?” Namjoon asked in a rush, having halted at the first sign of distress from Yoongi.

Yoongi shook his head, the movement restricted as he kept his face pressed to Namjoon. “It’s okay,” he whispered, albeit shakily. “Just, go slow.”

Namjoon breathed heavily yet shakily, his chest expanding behind Yoongi. His fingers flexed against Yoongi’s ass, but it wasn’t until Yoongi subconsciously relaxed against Namjoon that Namjoon pushed in further.

Yoongi’s eyes scrunched closed, thankful his face was at least hidden. He struggled to keep himself pliant. It was a struggle, no matter Namjoon’s slow pace, as inch by inch, Namjoon sank deeper within him. It went on long enough that Yoongi was wondering if it would ever end, not sure if Namjoon’s cock felt this big even when it had been in his mouth, when Namjoon stilled, his hand falling between them as his hip bones pressed against Yoongi’s back.

“Oh,” Namjoon breathed out, and had Yoongi had any air in his lungs, he would have sympathized. For Namjoon was all the way in him, seated to the very hilt, and Yoongi felt rather dazed by the realization.

After so long… Namjoon was inside Yoongi.

Like the thought lit a fire under his feet, Yoongi groaned, a hand falling back to clutch at Namjoon with desperation. He still felt too large within him, larger than three fingers for sure, and Yoongi wasn’t ready for Namjoon to move just yet. But he wanted to feel Namjoon closer, needed to be held. And as if he felt the same, Namjoon brought his freed hand around, placing it above Yoongi’s belly.

Namjoon cursed. “I can feel myself in you,” he said, his voice wrecked.

Already feeling overwhelmed, Yoongi blearily glanced down at where Namjoon’s palm was splayed out over his stomach. His chima may have obstructed his vision, but Yoongi knew exactly what Namjoon was talking about. Though he put his hand atop Namjoon’s, he could already feel it as well, Namjoon’s heavy palm on his belly, pressing over where Namjoon’s cock bulged his skin from within.

Yoongi groaned. “Namjoon-ah,” he cried. He turned his head until his mouth was pressed to the side of Namjoon’s face, Namjoon’s head aimed down, mesmerized, as if he could see through Yoongi’s clothes. “Namjoon-ah, move, please. I need-I need you, need you to take me, need you to make me feel good,” he was babbling, words slurred and unclear with Namjoon’s skin at his lips. Namjoon recognized the message all too clearly, however, as his hand tightened against his belly, and he reared his hip back.

He moved slowly at first, rutting into him at an unhurried pace, still wary of harming Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t mind, as even that had his senses going into overdrive. His nails dug into the back of Namjoon’s hand as Namjoon pushed back in, rearranging his organs to carve a space for himself. And Yoongi gladly welcomed it, even pushing back into the motion after a while. As he responded, so too did Namjoon’s speed gradually increase, until Namjoon was slamming his hips with the force of his thrusts.

Yoongi was a wreck, moans and whimpers escaping his mouth like a waterfall. For his part, Namjoon wasn’t silent either, grunts and groans echoing in Yoongi’s ears. The sound and feel of them was getting to be too much, and yet, Yoongi found himself hovering at the edge, unable to fall.

As Namjoon continued to move in and out him without abandon, Yoongi’s hand crept downwards, needing to touch himself just a little more. But then Namjoon was letting go of his ass, bringing that hand around as well, and lightly swatted Yoongi’s hand away.

To his embarrassment, Yoongi let out a high pitched sound he would never admit to making, complaining wordlessly. However, Namjoon’s hand was there instead, his fingers playing at Yoongi’s cunt, and then pushing two fingers in as he pulled his cock back out, only the head of it remaining within him.

Yoongi froze. He had no idea what was going on, and was therefore thoroughly unprepared for when, as Namjoon slammed his cock back in, his hand twisted, and his fingers curled – right against that same spot from earlier.

Stars exploded in Yoongi’s vision as he came, his body bucking forward with the force of it. He yelled out a low, guttural sound, which Namjoon was quick to muffle with his other hand, pressing his palm to Yoongi’s mouth to silence him. Too gone to realize or care, Yoongi yell morphed into a drawn out moan as he spilled, slick and cum splattering against the hard floors under them. He was practically slumped over, tears running down his face as Yoongi lost his breath, muscles spasming erratically.

All the while, Namjoon kept thrusting, but as Yoongi tightened around him, Namjoon followed Yoongi’s hunched form, bending over him as he too came with a groan barely muffled against Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi whimpered as Namjoon filled him up, his cum searing hot, branding him from within. Namjoon kept rocking his hips, small motions wringing himself out until he gradually stopped. He stayed inside him while they both panted, still holding each other tightly. A while passed before Namjoon slowly drew back, Yoongi wincing. With his cock no longer plugging him up, cum dripped from Yoongi’s still gaping hole, and Yoongi flushed bright red as it trickled past his cheeks and down his thighs. 

Namjoon lifted himself off of Yoongi, stepping away while helping Yoongi straighten as well. Yoongi groaned, his hips twinging. Every muscle of his body felt strained and pushed to the limit.

Directing Yoongi away from the shelf, Namjoon turned him around and guided him down until he was seated on his lap. It was a welcome reprieve for his legs, which he slung over Namjoon’s thighs, loosely cradled around his back.

“Was it good?” Namjoon asked, caressing Yoongi’s face with his fingers. Yoongi nodded, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch.

“Very.” He was so tired now, however. The thought of having to walk back to his chambers was a daunting task. For as long as Namjoon held him here, he was content with not having to move anytime soon.

“I’m glad,” Namjoon whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, licking away at the dried blood there. Despite the pressure against his still tender lip, Yoongi smiled into it anyway, eyes remaining closed. However, with his legs spread apart as they were, Yoongi grunted when Namjoon’s cum began to spill out of him and onto Namjoon’s lap, nothing holding it back.

“Ah.” Embarrassed, Yoongi ducked his head into the crook of Namjoon’s neck. There was no way Namjoon didn’t know what was occurring, his own legs still exposed under Yoongi. But Namjoon merely hummed, rubbing soothing circles against his back, his other hand coaxing his face back out to divert his mind with more kisses, something Yoongi was happy to accept.

When they finally had to leave, Yoongi chose to sacrifice his dari sokgot to wipe away most of it. Walking back to his chambers, however, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. He still had to put his dari sokgot back on, and it was unpleasant against his skin. Even more, he could also feel Namjoon’s cum in him, making Yongi clench his exhausted muscles from fear that he would leave behind a white trail, the dari sokgot a tattered remains of fabric that would had provided no real barrier.

His chambers couldn’t come too soon. Taehyung took one glance at him before preparing for a bath, pouring in scented oils while Yoongi watched half asleep, and then gathered his soiled hanbok while Yoongi gratefully sunk into the hot water with a contented sigh. 

Taehyung was trying not to think about what he was doing. Sure, doing the laundry was an easy enough task, mostly repetitive motions that made it easy for him to zone out more often than not.

Today’s load, however, was a little more… stained. Than usual. And Taehyung was doing his absolute best to avoid thinking about what it was he was washing off, what was staining the water a murky color as he studiously dunked the clothes in a bucket first before attempting to touch it more than with pinched fingers.

It was as he was refilling the bucket with fresh water before attempting to soap up Yoongi’s hanbok that someone peaked their head into the laundry rooms, visibly brightening as they noticed Taehyung. Taehyung, so intent on his desperation for his own distraction from his task, didn’t actually notice the person until they walked into his line of sight.

“Taehyung hyung,” Jungkook leaned his head forward until his face was practically up in Taehyung’s, startling him.

“Jungkook-ah!” Jumping, Taehyung took a step back, dropping Yoongi’s hanbok back in the half filled bucket. He hadn’t been expecting the close proximity, but he wasn’t upset, far too pleased to see his friend again. “It’s been so long! Where have you been?”

“Ah.” Jungkook looked abashed, leaning back and away from where he’d almost inserted himself between Taehyung and his bucket. Resting against the table beside him, Jungkook tucked his hands into his pockets. “We’d been sent on patrols to the southern borders for a while, which is why I haven’t been around lately.” Jungkook winced. “Actually, I’m not staying for long either. I have to leave again in the morning.”

Taehyung frowned. “So soon? I thought your schedule was more spaced out for patrols – especially when you have to travel farther out.”

Jungkook nodded. “Usually, yes. But there’s been reports of, uh. Some activity at our borders to the north, so we have to go check that out. We’re only back to restock on some supplies before we head out again.”

Taehyung’s frown grew deeper. “The north… the northern border?” He asked. “Near – near Yuan lines?” He immediately felt regret for asking. Jungkook had never begrudged him for his roots, if for anything really. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know about the Goryeo and Yuan line. He may have been the Mama’s servant, but Taehyung felt like he’d had enough of the political world already. At the same time, if something was going on at his homeland, the need to know outweighed any dreadful hesitance.

Only, Jungkook wasn’t meeting Taehyung’s eyes. “There’s been reports of some skirmishes,” he said slowly. “Not – not between Goryeo and Yuan. Just, bandits I suppose. It’s nothing, really,” he insisted.

If it really wasn’t anything, then Taehyung wondered why he was starting to get the ominous feeling that something more was afoot – something more than bandits.

It seemed like that was all Jungkook was going to say on the matter, however, as he pressed on a smile, only looking some parts genuine. “Anyway. I just wanted to see you before I left again,” his smile turned smaller, albeit more heartfelt. “I kind of missed you.”

Despite the sinking of his guts, Taehyung was unable to help but smile in return as well. “I missed you too,” he said honestly. “And I’ll miss you when you have to leave again, so take care of yourself, okay? I still want to show you my latest piece.”

Jungkook beamed at that, finally appearing more at ease. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he promised, in a way that Taehyung wasn’t left with room for doubt about it.

“Winter is upon us,” Seokjin muttered, his tone dark even as his countenance gave nothing away. Namjoon stood beside his friend, watching from the window of the commander’s chambers as a gaggle of knights passed by, bags slung over their shoulders as they prepared to leave. “Even if Goryeo hasn’t seen the worst of it yet, areas north of us have already begun seeing snowfall.”

Namjoon didn’t move, his hands folded primly to his back. With an inscrutable countenance, it must’ve looked like they were merely having a cordial conversation to an outsider. Truthfully, neither could afford to let their expressions show, especially not now, with what they faced. Maybe Seokjin more so than Namjoon, who had to give the order himself to the knights. But Namjoon was apparently supposed to be oblivious to the command. As first advisor, he struggled to figure out how to deal with a significant procession of knights he could no longer pretend to ignore.

“What did the reports have to say about the villages?”

Jin shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “We won’t know the true extent of it until we see for ourselves,” he said. It was too diplomatic, and as if he knew it, Seokjin gave in. “But if it’s true, then they’re being raided and left with nothing to tide them over for the winter.”

Namjoon grit his teeth. “They’ll starve,” he ground out.

The inhale Seokjin took in beside him was large and measured. “The Jeonha will assist them,” he said, “but the villages on the other side of the border, he won’t concern himself with. Not yet.”

Namjoon closed his eyes, wondering if he really dared to utter the words he was about to. “He’s gone mad,” he finally said, his voice fainter than a whisper.

Besides him, Seokjin didn’t respond.

As soon as Namjoon left Seokjin’s chambers, he headed straight for the king’s. There was no putting off a confrontation now; there was no doubt that Namjoon knew of the knights’ departure, and it wouldn’t be farfetched to assume the king was only waiting for Namjoon to question him. An assumption only proven right when the king was entirely unsurprised to see Namjoon enter with barely an announcement.

“Jeonha,” Namjoon said, barely just remembering to keep his tone deferential, if only to offset the shortness of his next words. “What are you doing?”

The king huffed, turning back to the goblet in his hand. It disturbed Namjoon to realize that he rarely saw the king without a drink in his hands nowadays. He’d wonder if the king’s actions could be attributed to all the alcohol he must be consuming lately, if Namjoon wasn’t aware that it wasn’t the drinks that had come first in the long sequence of events that had led them here so far.

“I am moving our plan forward, Namjoon-ah.”

The drop of honorifics had Namjoon blinking, fazed. Still, he responded. “‘Our?’” He repeated. “I do not remember bandits attacking our lands as part of our plan.”

The king smiled, but there was nothing happy about it. “An alternative plan, perhaps, would be better suited to say,” he said. “The plan we had drawn together was proving fruitless, as much as I had high hopes for it.”

The smile slipped from his face, and now, the king’s face looked haunted. As he turned to face Namjoon, Namjoon had to refrain from outwardly reacting, because since when had the king become so gaunt? How had he missed all these changes in the king?

Was he really so taken with Yoongi lately, that he’d become ignorant of all else that had occurred?

“But hope is a fool’s dream, Namjoon-ah,” the king said, almost sagely, if there wasn’t a despondency to the set of his shoulders. His gait was that of a world weary man as he walked over, settling down rather heavily upon the ground at his table, setting the goblet atop it. “To hope lets free other emotions that cloud our judgment.” He ran a finger over the goblet’s rim, tracing circles on it. “And a clouded judgment would only make me lose sight of the final goal.”

Namjoon stepped closer, carefully seating himself across the king, the table between them. “What are you talking about, Jeonha?”

The king shook his head, morose. “I almost killed him.” Namjoon didn’t have to ask who, had to hold every muscle in his body to avoid reacting at all. “I was this close to taking his life, but I stopped.” The finger on the goblet halted, hand upright above it. “I stopped, because to kill him now would only ruin things. Yet I still can’t help but wonder why I didn’t go through with it anyway.”

Red hot fury lashed through Namjoon’s veins, it was a surprise it wasn’t tainting his vision. His hands curled into fists over his hanbok, hidden under the table. He’d already known, seen the aftermath of Yoongi’s last visit to the king, how he could barely talk. Namjoon hadn’t seen any bruises, but he’d understood that it had been hidden away for the ceremony. When they had met a few days later, the bruises around Yoongi’s throat were no longer concealed, and were still a stark contrast to his pale skin, having barely faded with how impressionable they’d been. A sign of how much force had been behind the hands that had clearly choked Yoongi an inch to his life.

“You didn’t kill him, though.” Namjoon managed to say.

The king hummed. “Not yet.”

And as Namjoon stared at the king, Namjoon realized – Yoongi may still be alive, if battered and bruised. But it wouldn’t stay that way for long, not if the king had his way and things went according to his plan – whatever plan it was.

An epiphany finally dawned upon Namjoon. A simple thought, short yet staggering in its vivid clarity, erupted at the forefront of his mind; he didn’t want Yoongi to die.

The sun had barely risen, leaving a thin layer of frost on the grounds outside. It hadn’t started snowing yet, but it wouldn’t be long now. Even so, Namjoon found himself in the gardens, adequately bundled up enough so that he was able to pay the frigid temperatures no heed. If anything, the parts of his face left exposed to the harsh climate allowed his mind to go numb along with his skin. The silence in his head he’d eventually achieved was a bit gratifying, especially as he’d spent the night sleepless with too many thoughts filling his mind.

The crunch of footsteps on the frozen ground broke the still air, but Namjoon barely reacted as Jimin came into his line of sight, gracefully sitting on the cold ground beside him.

“You’re out here quite early this morning,” Jimin said. In deference to the tranquility sunrise brought to the world, he kept his voice low and quiet, the melodious pitch of his voice harmonious to the peaceful air rather than jarring.

Namjoon sighed. He wasn’t really in the mood to converse, didn’t want to engage his brain again, but he couldn’t resent Jimin’s company. “Just,” he paused, “a lot on my mind.” At least the air was crisp, filling his lungs with a freshness that had his muscles almost completely relaxed.

Jimin made a sound of understanding. “Sharing your burdens might help ease it,” he said lightly, something they’d always reminded the other even if not in as many words. It always helped, though, fortifying their bond, their many conversations over the years allowing them to understand each other unlike anyone else.

It was also for that reason that Namjoon found himself reluctant to speak freely, wary of Jimin’s own thoughts on the matter. “I’ve been conflicted lately,” he said after a while, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “All my life, I’ve been leading with my brain, using logic and reasoning for every decision I have made. But now, I’ve gotten to a point where I can no longer appease myself with what rational thinking would have me do. For the first time, my heart speaks louder than my brain, and,” Namjoon closed his eyes, dropping his head, “I don’t know what to do, Jimin-ah.”

For a while, Jimin didn’t speak as he mulled over Namjoon’s words. Not for the first time, Namjoon was appreciative of his friend, how Jimin took the time to consider his words carefully without just spouting random words of baseless assurances.

“I think,” Jimin began carefully, “if your heart is overpowering your brain, then there must be a reason for it,” he said. “If this is the first time this is happening, then I can definitely understand why you’d be cautious with your next steps.” Jimin took a deep breath, tipping his head back to look at the sigh. As he exhaled, a cloud of mist escaped his mouth, fogging up the air above his face. “Give yourself time to process and come to terms with your emotions. Either whatever you’re feeling will pass… or your brain will catch up with your heart instead.” He tilted his head to side-eye Namjoon. “Although, I suppose that’s what you were doing when I interrupted you,” he said, the slightest inflection at the end changing his words to a question.

Namjoon smiled, a faint thing on his chilled face. “It’s okay,” he said. “I always value your company, Jimin-ah,” he said honestly.

Jimin sighed. “I do too,” he returned, “Sometimes it feels like you’re all I got here.” With Jimin addressing the sky again, Namjoon shifted. His muscles had gone rigid with the cold and were stiff to comply, but he ignored it in favor of his friend.

“What do you mean?”

Jimin bit his lip, eyes searching the clouds. “Do you remember the last time we spoke?”

Namjoon frowned, but Jimin went on without waiting for an answer.

“You said something along the lines of how, because we’re so focused on our past, we forget to live in the present.”

The frown cleared from Namjoon’s face as he recalled the memory Jimin spoke of. “I remember.”

Jimin nodded, face pensive. “It made me consider myself, I guess, and how I’ve been living.” He glanced at Namjoon, mouth working before he got himself to speak again. “I know you were talking about the Yuan heir, and whatever is going on with you right now has something to do with him, still. And what you said,” Jimin pursed his lips, eyes drifting away, “I might not understand how you can sympathize with the Yuan heir. But if you’re able to do that, then it should make sense that I can sympathize with someone I’m sure is definitely innocent, right?”

The frown was back on Namjoon’s face as he tried to parse through Jimin’s words. He eventually gave up, too weary to keep up with convoluted words. “What are you trying to say?” He gently asked.

Jimin drew his knees up to his chest, hugging his legs and resting his chin atop it. The way he contorted himself into a small ball, Namjoon could tell his friend was searching for comfort, trying to sooth himself, so it was without thought that he laid a hand on Jimin’s back. “I think I want to be a better person,” Jimin said, “but I just don’t know how either.”

If he had the energy, Namjoon would’ve laughed. It may have been borne from astonishment, at how his friend managed to sum up both their plights so simply, but knowing it would’ve been tinged with hysteria kept Namjoon’s lips shut. Instead, he swallowed it back down and offered the words that seemed easier to come when the question hadn’t been from himself, directed at himself.

“We take small steps,” Namjoon said, “and we do what we know we can begin with.”

Above them, the sun had fully risen behind the cloudy skies, but Namjoon’s mind was at long last startlingly clear.

Yoongi stared at the small basket that was thrusted in front of his face, unable to help the dubious frown as he regarded it. It didn’t prevent him from taking it with both hands, even as he cast Namjoon a skeptical look. “What is this?”

“I remembered something you had told me a while back,” Namjoon said. With the basket on Yoongi’s lap and out of his hands, Namjoon sat down beside him, their sides flush against each other with nary a gap in between. “Seeing them had made me think of you, so I managed to sneak a few away.”

At his vague words, Yoongi’s curiosity arose. Pulling away the basket’s lid, he peered inside and promptly gasped in wonder. “Oranges,” he whispered. Dazed, he took one out almost reverentially, holding it in his palm and simply just processed the weight of it in his hand.

“They’re in season right now, so there is an abundance of them in the markets,” Namjoon was saying, “I may have gone a little overboard though?” He sounded abashed, and from the corner of his eye, Yoongi could see Namjoon rubbing the back of his neck. “If it’s too much–”

“No!” Yoongi held the orange, and the basket, close to his chest, as if Namjoon was going to take them away. He wasn’t, and the action garnered an amused, if relieved, smile, but Yoongi didn’t care. “I love it – I love these,” he said, slowly settling the basket back on his lap. “I could probably finish them by today.” He definitely could. The basket wasn’t too small, but it wasn’t too large either. Yoongi had never seen this many at once before, both as a child with restricted access and Yuan simply not the right place to grow their own, depending on imports for the exotic fruits. However, if the taste was as good as he’d remembered, then Yoongi doubted he’d have trouble finishing them. 

“I was going to say you could share them with Taehyung-ssi,” Namjoon said, and yes, he was definitely looking far too amused for Yoongi’s liking. “But I suppose that works out. And I can always get you more.”

Yoongi smiled, pleased. With the orange in his hand, he was tempted to dig in right away – but at the last moment, he decided it could wait. He may not have had one in years, but the oranges could wait just a little longer. Namjoon’s lips still held that smile that Yoongi needed to wipe away first, and if he also tried to convey his gratitude through the kiss he initiated with full enthusiasm, no one had to know it any more than the rest of their fraternization.

(Later, in his chambers, a singular orange begrudgingly shared with Taehyung, Yoongi was happy to discover that the oranges did taste good. In fact, maybe because it was fresher, not needing to be transported across the lands to be delivered, but it was actually better than he’d remembered.

Or maybe it just had something to do with who had given the gift, a theory that Yoongi nestled carefully against his heart just as the orange slices were pressed to his lips.)

“Now remember, use this ointment topically twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening.” Hoseok put down the vial and exchanged it for another one. “This oil should be massaged into your muscles every night to help with the soreness,” alternating the vial for a small pouch of powder, he held that one up as well to show it clearly to both Yoongi and Taehyung. “And drink this once every night before bed. You can mix it with water and drink it like tea. It’ll help boost your immune system and supplement your healing from within.”

“Thank you, Hoseok-ssi,” Yoongi bowed his head. He was unbothered by his partial state of undress, as his limbs were still sticky from the first vial’s ointment that Hoseok had applied before giving them their own small stock with the instructions for it.

“It’s,” Hoseok winced, “really no problem, Mama.”

When he made no move to leave, Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him, Taehyung staring as he gathered the vials and pouch. “Is there anything else?”

Hoseok grimaced. “I spoke to the Jeonha, Mama.”

Taehyung froze, looking almost comical from where he was still partially bent over the table at Yoongi’s bedside, vials and pouch clutched to his chest.

Yoongi kept his face blank and said nothing, waiting for Hoseok to go on.

He did, although not without dithering for a few more seconds. “I’ve tried to tell him using the … force he has been wouldn’t be conducive to impregnating you.”

At the words, Yoongi flinched, and however miniscule he tried to make the motion, Hoseok still noticed, for he looked apologetic. “The Jeonha did not seem to,” Hoseok pressed his lips into a flat line, his eyes dropping, “he did not seem to be caring for my words any more.” When Hoseok lifted his head to make eye contact with Yoongi, his expression was one of genuine remorse. “I apologize, Mama,” he said, voice quiet, “I do not think I will be able to speak for you any longer.”

Yoongi breathed in, nodding as he let the air back out slowly. He understood all too well what Hoseok was trying to say. There was nothing holding the king’s anger back any longer. Yoongi was essentially a dead man walking from now on.

He swallowed, throat tight, unable to speak as Hoseok took his leave, the physician casting one last mournful look at Yoongi. He wondered if Hoseok was thinking that this would be the last time he’d see Yoongi alive, for him to look like that.

Chapter Text

They were almost halfway through the new moon cycle when the palace became lively once again. Festivities for Seollal was underway, and servants were running around like beheaded chickens, frantically preparing.

It wasn’t the first time Yoongi was watching the palace erupt into a flurry activity. Many occasions had passed with Yoongi an dispassionate participant. Ironically, it was only the king’s anniversary the previous moon cycle that Yoongi had actually enjoyed himself for once. Nevermind that it was after the king’s celebrations had finished. If Yoongi had harbored any hopes of being more invested in the coming festivities, however, it was extinguished by his latest check in with the physician. The thought that this may very well be his last festival he would be alive to see weighed heavily on his mind, and no matter how the palace was brightening up in anticipation for Seollal, Yoongi couldn’t even bring himself to at least take interest in how Goryeo celebrated the tradition, in comparison to Yuan.

And that was one of the many causes of Yoongi’s sadness now. He greatly yearned to see Yuan one last time, internally debated on daring to request the king for permission to visit his homeland. If he was still alive on the anniversary of his own birth, he would have tried to go then. But with the anniversary for the death of the king’s parents falling on the subsequent moon cycle, Yoongi doubted he would have the chance then.

Maybe next month, he could try. Perhaps the gloomy season was aiding his melancholy, for Yoongi struggled to find any form of optimism regarding his own life. It was like a switch had flipped in his mind, and he was now far too aware that every day may be his last, every night potentially the night where the king would lose control and completely give himself over to his unwavering rage.

It was a tiring way of living, but it also had another negative consequence as Yoongi decided he would no longer care. He wasn’t stupid or reckless enough to put others at risk, but if he was going to die any day now, then what was holding him back in his misery? Why couldn’t he let himself indulge in one last pleasure he’d yet to attain? One he would secretly fantasize of in the darkest and quietest moments of the nights, and Yoongi came to a resolution.

The celebrations for Seollal had begun a few days later, and Yoongi didn’t care. He went through the motions, but his mind was adrift, eyes darting around the vast crowd. Plate upon plate was placed in front of him, the wafts of tteokguk and japchae an aromatic smell gone unnoticed with Yoongi’s lack of appetite. He ate when others ate, watched with the crowd as the performers took the stage, but otherwise waited impatiently for it all to end.

And when it did, he rushed out as politely as he could, turning to face Taehyung as soon as no one else was around.

“Take me to Namjoon’s chambers,” Yoongi ordered.

Taehyung had, for the first time, looked apprehensive. But he still obligingly led Yoongi down the corridors, the both of them studiously ignoring the guards positioned at occasional intervals. Yoongi doubted Taehyung had ever been to Namjoon’s chambers himself, but the ease with which Taehyung directed him had Yoongi uncertain. Then again, as a servant, Taehyung had probably been around the palace far more than Yoongi himself.

When they finally reached their destination, Taehyung knocked on the door before stepping away, standing behind Yoongi. Yoongi cast him a glance over his shoulder, but the door opened before he could say anything.

“Yoongi?” Namjoon seemed perturbed to see Yoongi standing there, for which Yoongi couldn’t fault him for. Now that he was standing here in front of Namjoon’s chambers, he was struck with a moment of doubt, second guessing himself.

But he was already here, and Namjoon was looking increasingly concerned for every second that Yoongi didn’t respond. So he straightened his back and jutted out his jaw, projecting confidence he wasn’t feeling entirely.

“I came to see you,” he said evenly, his face cool. The corridor may have been empty of guards, yet they were already treading a risky path by doing this – whatever this even was. “May I come in?”

Namjoon glanced behind Yoongi, seeing Taehyung. But his friend didn’t react, his own placid smile on his face to mask the nervousness Yoongi knew was there, so Namjoon just looked back at Yoongi, nodding and stepping back from the door.

“Of course.”

Yoongi walked inside, his heart in his throat. There was an itchiness in his skin, something at the back of his mind screaming to reconsider. Yoongi might have, if it weren’t for the way his muscles relaxed upon entering further into Namjoon’s chambers, finding himself at ease despite the new environment. It wasn’t strange to fathom why – this was Namjoon’s chambers that he was finally given the privilege to see. Or taking the privilege to see, not that it mattered. Not as much as Yoongi’s hungry eyes taking everything in, from the abundance of books, the slightly cluttered desk, the otherwise overall cleanliness of the rest of the chambers. And leading beyond it, further in, was Namjoon’s bed, perfectly made with not a single crease visible from where Yoongi was standing.

Realizing he was alone, Yoongi turned around. Namjoon was still near the entrance, having not followed Yoongi in. With his abrupt turn, he managed to catch Namjoon watching him before Namjoon ducked his head down, a small smile on his lips. It made Yoongi smile as well, even as his eyebrows raised at how Namjoon stood by the still open door.

Following Yoongi’s line of sight to the door, Namjoon looked back out, pausing. “Ah, Taehyung-ssi. Are you coming in?”

Taehyung grinned, and only Yoongi could see the flash in his eyes that belied the cheery look. His friend wasn’t voicing it, though, and neither would Yoongi. “No, I’m afraid I have to return to the main palace now. I was just showing Yoongi the way, but now that he’s here, I’ll be taking my leave.” Taehyung bowed quickly, Namjoon returning the action automatically. Before Namjoon had even straightened up completely, however, Taehyung was gone, leaving just the two of them alone.

A few seconds passed before Namjoon closed the door. The sound of the door sliding shut felt final to Yoongi, as if they’d reached a point of no return. It sounded dramatic to Yoongi, even within his own head, but he couldn’t bring himself to be amused by it when there was a modicum of truth to it. And Yoongi was instigating it as well, because as Namjoon turned to him, Yoongi walked towards him.

“I didn’t see you in the main halls,” Yoongi mentioned.

“I left early,” Namjoon said. Stepping closer, removing the distance between them. “Yoongi…” Namjoon watched him, but made no move to stop him or turn away as Yoongi was finally close enough for their toes to touch, for their chests to brush on synchronized inhales. Yoongi had to tilt his head back to be able to meet Namjoon’s eyes, almost losing himself in those dark brown pools. His hands subconsciously raised to fist onto Namjoon’s jeogori, as if it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Will you do something for me?” Yoongi whispered in the scant few inches of air between them.

“Anything,” Namjoon was quick to respond, even as he continued to gaze at him with concern.

Yoongi tightened his hold on Namjoon’s jeogori, a flash of fear that his next words might push Namjoon away. “I want you to take me tonight,” he said. His throat was clogged from a whirlpool of emotions, ranging from tentative hope to mind numbing anxiety, yet he still forced the words out. “Take me like a lover would. Take me like… take me as if we are wedded, with–with not a fear of anyone else.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, his hands flying up to rest atop Yoongi’s. He didn’t push him away or untangle his hands, Yoongi was gratified to notice. But his hands had hovered in the air for a second too long before settling on Yoongi’s skin, a hesitance Yoongi hadn’t had to see in a long while now.

“Yoongi,” and oh, Namjoon was pained, from the clear anguish twisting his face to the strained notes of his voice, as if Yoongi was asking to destroy them.

In a way, he supposed he was.

“You know we can’t,” he begged, an echo of words distantly familiar to Yoongi. “If – if I bedded you, and it took,” his eyes downcast, he dropped his voice to a whisper, so quiet Yoongi would have missed it had he not been standing as close as he was, “Yoongi, the Jeonha –”

“I don’t care about him,” Yoongi cut in, tugging on Namjoon’s jeogori, yanking him closer. “He would have me dead, Namjoon-ah.” Namjoon’s eyes flashed at that, something indecipherable washing over his features. If he had to garner a guess, Yoongi would say it was misery, even if there was something else to it. “I could die before we’d even know,” Yoongi pressed. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed, that you don’t realize this.”

Namjoon said nothing, but his silence spoke for him anyway, as his eyes closed again, his expression tortured. Namjoon’s hands circled around his wrists, no longer just touching, but actively holding back, and Yoongi was emboldened by it.

“Please, Namjoon-ah. Please, just,” he paused, licking his dry lips, “give me this.”

Namjoon’s head dropped, their foreheads touching, their chests brushing with every inhale, Namjoon’s every exhale a warm puff of air on Yoongi’s lips. 

“You’re not going to die,” Namjoon began, but Yoongi scoffed, not unkindly.

“Don’t fool yourself, Namjoon-ah,” he kept his voice soft, as if appeasing a child, even if his words were only a harsh reminder of their cruel reality. “Not even Yuan can stop the Jeonha now.” Not that they would even if they knew what was going on within Goryeo’s palace. Because the treaty was going well, personal biases aside. The war had ceased, and lives were no longer being slain for the sake of it. That, the lives of thousands if not more, took utmost priority to all who were concerned.

Yoongi’s uncle being one of them, and he’d never particularly cared for Yoongi in the first place.

“I wouldn’t let you die,” Namjoon said, and Yoongi softened. Freeing a hand from Namjoon’s jeogori, he raised it to cup Namjoon’s face, Namjoon’s fingers still around his wrist as Yoongi stroked the sharp line of his cheekbone with his thumb.

“No one could stop the Jeonha,” Yoongi rephrased. “He can kill me whenever he wants. And you cannot put a plan in place for an event you don’t even know of.”

Namjoon’s breathing became erratic, deep, shuddery breaths as his hands flexed and unflexed around Yoongi’s wrists. Yoongi waited, his own breathing slowing, his heart rate declining as he calmed. He had said everything he needed to say, and if Namjoon still refused him, well. It would certainly hurt, but Yoongi would try to take it with grace. 

He really hoped Namjoon wouldn’t though.

Minutes must have passed, an eternity in Yoongi’s mind, before Namjoon responded. The slightest of actions, more feeling than movements. His hands stopped their fidgeting, closing more resolutely around Yoongi’s wrists. He took a step further until their chests were pressed to each other even without the expansion of their inhales. And finally, Namjoon was nodding, small jerky movements so as to keep their heads still pressed together, even as his cheek nuzzled into Yoongi’s palm.

“I refuse to let you think I wouldn’t fight for your life,” Namjoon said, “as if I would just sit back and watch you die. I’d prove it by stepping away right now–”

Yoongi’s stomach dropped, and he fought to keep his face expressionless even if he knew he must have gone pale.

So much for taking it with grace.

But Namjoon was still speaking, “but heaven help me, Yoongi, because I want you too, so much.” He pressed his lips to Yoongi’s palm, not so much a kiss as much as he was clearly desperate for the contact. “So how can I refuse you when you ask me like this yourself?”

Yoongi exhaled, his head light. He wasn’t sure when he started holding his breath, but now that he was breathing again, he was also able to register the tightness in his muscles. He slowly lowered his shoulders from where they’d raised up to his ears, complexion coloring. “Namjoon-ah,” he said, hating himself for how small his voice sounded, unable to change it anyway. “Kiss me?”

Namjoon did. Dashing away the measly distance remaining between them, he pressed their lips together. Their hands separated, Namjoon’s arms finding their home at Yoongi’s waist, Yoongi cradling Namjoon’s head with his own. They shared chaste pecks at first, but far too quickly it grew passionate and heated, Namjoon nipping at his bottom lip with fervor, prompting Yoongi’s mouth to part with a small gasp. Yoongi was swept away in the familiar senses of all that was Namjoon as Namjoon pushed his tongue inside, meeting his own. He only had a split second to recognize Namjoon’s intentions when the arms around him tightened, before he was being hoisted up.

“Namjoon!” Startled, Yoongi pulled his head back, staring down at Namjoon with wide eyes – down, because from this position, his head was now above Namjoon’s – even as he automatically wrapped his legs around Namjoon.

Namjoon smirked back up at him, and. Oh. It made heat pool in Yoongi’s gut, the way Namjoon held him so easily with darkened eyes, striding across his chambers with Yoongi in his arms. His muscular arms, Yoongi was reminded, as he trailed his gaze down those biceps that flexed with the weight, yet Namjoon didn’t appear strained at all as he carefully deposited Yoongi on his bed.

His back meeting the mattress under him broke Yoongi out of his reverie of appreciating Namjoon’s muscles. Leaning back against the pillows, Yoongi refused to let go of his hold around Namjoon’s neck. Namjoon could’ve easily broken it, yet went along with it, drawing himself up on the bed as well. With Yoongi parting his legs, making space for him, Namjoon let his knees drop between the cradle of them, his hands at Yoongi’s sides.

Pleased with Namjoon’s compliance, Yoongi drew him back in for another kiss, not entirely gentle but not as heated either, their tongues staying within their own mouths this time. Yoongi didn’t feel as overwhelmed, but Namjoon’s body above his, holding him down to a bed for the first time was distracting in its own right. They were still clothed, and already Yoongi felt vulnerable, their position far more intimate than any of their previous escapades.

Namjoon shifted above him, leaning his weight entirely on one arm as the other reached down. He merely brushed against Yoongi’s thigh and Yoongi was hitching his leg up, his bare foot by Namjoon’s hip. When he lost his shoes, Yoongi had no memory of it, but he was glad for it as Namjoon’s finger met bare skin. Tracing the thin skin by his ankle with his pointer finger before the entirety of Namjoon’s palm wrapped around the joint, moving up his calf and drawing up Yoongi’s chima in the process. As Namjoon continued to bare his leg, his flesh pimpling up against the air it was exposed to, Yoongi shoved his hands in the gap between Namjoon’s own sokjeogori at his chest. Sliding it apart, he managed to expose Namjoon’s torso, about to tilt up with the need to press a kiss against his pectorals, before Namjoon was drawing himself away.

Unbidden, a whine of protest slipped past Yoongi’s lips, his hands fumbling against Namjoon’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him back. Namjoon hushed him, his face gentle.

It looked like Namjoon was about to say something, but then he just bit his lip, the flesh swollen from their earlier activities. As if he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble around them, reminiscent of their first time, Namjoon just shook his head as he sat on his knees. He undressed himself under Yoongi’s keen, unflinching gaze, slipping off his hanbok entirely and dropping it carelessly on the floor beside the bed. Left only in his pants, he moved off the bed, but paused with his hands at the waistband. He cocked an eyebrow at Yoongi.

Swallowing, Yoongi pushed himself up until he was seated. He was abruptly made aware of the fact that for all they’d touched each other all over, for all that they’d seen each other in partial states of nudity, they’d never seen each other entirely undressed. The knowledge had his fingers trembling, but Yoongi didn’t hesitate to disrobe himself until the fabric pooled under him, only one last goreum keeping his sokchima still wrapped around him.

He glanced at Namjoon, flushing when he saw him bending over to remove his pants. Ducking his head down, he yanked at the goreum, wanting it to be done with before Namjoon straightened and saw him still clothed when he’d already stripped himself completely.

The goreum came free, his chima unraveling, Yoongi absently drew his hand through his hair, freeing it from the pin that held it all together at the top in a moment of procrastination, his hair falling freely down his back. He barely had the time and courage to tug at his dari sokgot before extra weight dipped the bed down again as Namjoon rejoined him. Cheeks aflame, Yoongi studiously kept his eyes trained on the bed between his legs. They were marred with fading bruises with the last visit to the king growing less frequent — yet no less burdensome — allowing them to heal for the time being. He eyed them rather disdainfully until Namjoon was there, a finger on his chin tilting his head up.

Their eyes met. Namjoon was looking at him with utter care and adoration, Yoongi could have deluded himself into thinking it was something more than that, deeper than it all.

Namjoon kissed him again, and he kept their lips pressed together as he guided Yoongi back down, his head landing on the pillows, before Namjoon let his body follow, pressing down onto Yoongi’s.

Yoongi gasped into Namjoon’s lips, his eyes opening. Namjoon was still kissing him, the subtlest of creases causing a furrow between his eyebrows. But Yoongi was more taken by the fact that he could feel all of Namjoon, from his sturdy chest, his thighs that were probably as large as Yoongi’s head, if not bigger, and–

And Namjoon’s length, erected and completely hard, brushing against and leaving a wet smear from its tip on Yoongi’s hips.

His hands were shaking, but they still flew to latch onto Namjoon’s back, a moan building up in Yoongi’s throat when he felt the muscles there as well, under his palms with no barrier between their skin, flexing and shifting as Namjoon held himself up above Yoongi, his long hair a curtain around Yoongi. Even if there wasn’t a centimeter’s gap between them, Yoongi knew that Namjoon was still holding himself from completely suffocating Yoongi into his mattress, his heavier weight having the potential to crack a rib or two of Yoongi’s.

Yoongi circled his arms around Namjoon’s neck, and pulled him in closer anyway.

Namjoon cursed, his hand slipping as he fell on Yoongi before he caught himself. Harried, he pushed himself back up, but in the process, his cock brushed against Yoongi’s own smaller one, and Yoongi moaned, aloud and unrestrained. Namjoon froze, staring down at Yoongi as Yoongi writhed, aching for more contact. Through slitted eyes, Yoongi watched as Namjoon paused before shifting again, bringing a hand down between their bodies.

Time seemed to come to a standstill as Namjoon brushed his thumb against Yoongi’s little cock, flicking at the tip of it. The next moan was caught in Yoongi’s throat, his hips writhing, unsure if he wanted to rock up against Namjoon’s hand or down in an attempt to grind his cunt against Namjoon’s cock. Namjoon made the decision for him, gliding his hands down, stroking Yoongi’s cocklet in the process. His forefinger joined his thumb as he touched the labia of Yoongi’s cunt, already leaking wet in anticipation, but they both knew it wasn’t enough for Namjoon’s lengthy girth.

Namjoon lowered his head until it was pressed against Yoongi’s shoulder, the both of them already breathing heavily as Namjoon pushed two fingers into Yoongi’s cunt in one go. Crying out, Yoongi arched his back, grinding his hips down anyway. It was a little too much a little too soon, but the weight of Namjoon’s hand inside him was too satisfying, a sense of home saturating Yoongi’s senses as he was filled. With fingers steadier than the ones clawing at his back, Namjoon prepped him slowly. Not as slow as the last time he’d readied Yoongi to take him, not needing to lubricate Yoongi as he provided plenty himself. And with Yoongi being used to taking Namjoon’s fingers several times now, it didn’t take long before Namjoon was scissoring three of his fingers within him, a fourth grazing his opening.

Lashes wet with unshed tears, born from a flood of emotions entirely unrelated to sadness, Yoongi gazed at Namjoon with blurred vision, sobs emitting hiccups from his throat. He wanted Namjoon to fill him up, but with it so close to happening, Yoongi suddenly had the ability to be patient and wait a little longer, allowing himself to be sidetracked.

When the next thrust of Namjoon’s hand had his smallest finger slipping in the slightest bit, Yoongi nodded, holding Namjoon closer. Bucking his hips down, he wordlessly urged Namjoon to push in further, and with a quick, searching gaze, Namjoon did.

Yoongi’s jaw slacked, head hitting the pillows as he was unable to hold his neck up any longer. Four fingers were more than he’d taken before, but he was so adequately stretched, producing so much wetness that it didn’t hurt at all, only the slightest of twinges as his muscles adjusted to take in the extra girth. Namjoon’s cock was larger, he knew, and Yoongi had to swallow as an excess of saliva pooled in his mouth. He wasn’t nervous, rather overcome with the need to be filled. It was satiated only somewhat as Namjoon thrusted his fingers within him, deliberately slow before speeding up, twisting his wrist and getting close to that spot within him, but purposefully avoiding it.

Namjoon shifted again, his head lowering to capture one of Yoongi’s buds in his mouth. Legs flailing against the sheets, Yoongi’s hand clambered against Namjoon’s shoulders, nails leaving behind scratches as Namjoon simultaneously spread apart his fingers, his tongue hot as it laved around Yoongi’s nipple. The robes he’d left under him were undoubtedly soaking wet as slick dripped steadily out of him each time Namjoon pulled out his hand, only to push it back in. The constant thrusts, even without stimulation to his cock, and Namjoon’s wet mouth sucking at his sensitized nipple had Yoongi drawing close to orgasm anyway. He was ready to close his eyes and give himself over to it, thinking Namjoon must have wanted him to come first once, when Namjoon pulled his hand free completely, releasing Yoongi’s nipple with a wet pop at the same time.

Yoongi’s eyes flew wide open, staring between Namjoon and his hand, which hovered in the air between their faces. His skin was already flushed pink from Namjoon’s touches, yet still Yoongi found an untouched spot as the back of his neck only began to heat up at the sight of Namjoon’s hand covered completely in Yoongi’s slick, all the way down to his wrist. And as if that weren’t enough, Namjoon pinned Yoongi with a heated stare as he brought his hand to his mouth, and sucked at his fingers.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, almost scandalized, thoroughly flustered as Namjoon’s eyes fluttered shut, a pleased hum leaving his lips as he sucked off Yoongi’s arousal from his own hand. For all that Namjoon’s visible enjoyment made a part of Yoongi satisfied, knowing Namjoon’s face was contorted with delight because of him, the lewdness of it still had Yoongi’s legs drawing up, feet flat against the bed, knees trying and failing to close with Namjoon’s torso between them.

Namjoon dragged his fingers out of his mouth, purposefully slow as he stared at Yoongi. The moment his fingertips were released, tugging down his own lips and now smeared with Namjoon’s spit, Namjoon trailed his hand down Yoongi’s torso. Nerves aflame, Yoongi gasped, back arching into the soft brushes, writhing as Namjoon traced circles around his chest, down the center of his belly, a line up his cocklet, that had Yoongi mewling, reservations vanishing as he grew more desperate. The tears in his eyes slipped free, sweeping down his face and onto the pillows below his head as Yoongi twisted in the sheets, needing Namjoon to move on already.

A fingernail dug into the slit of his cocklet and Yoongi shouted, curling inwards. Namjoon was quick to place a firm hand on his hip, and Yoongi wasn’t sure if he should be taken by the display of strength or disappointed because it meant that hand was no longer agonizing him in the best of ways.

He couldn’t settle on either, for Namjoon was pulling his hand away yet again, a cry ripped out from Yoongi’s throat before he was abruptly silenced when he felt the blunt head of Namjoon’s cock nudge against his entrance. Fingers whitening from how tightly he latched onto Namjoon’s shoulders, Yoongi wordlessly gaped, rapidly blinking in an attempt to clear his vision. When the tears subsided, Namjoon was staring at him, a question in his eyes.

Yoongi nodded, and Namjoon pushed in.

Throwing his head back, a guttural groan resonated in the air from the both of them as Namjoon split Yoongi apart, his muscles compelled to make way as Namjoon sunk into him in one smooth, unfaltering thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt. When he was settled all the way in, his hip bones pressed to Yoongi’s ass, they stilled. Namjoon was holding himself up with both hands now, encaging Yoongi. Fine tremors ran up his arms with his effort to stay in place while Yoongi adjusted to his girth, his own legs trembling where they collapsed back on the bed. Yoongi was heaving, struggling to get his lungs to function as they were supposed to. A shameful part of his brain was gleeful to note that Namjoon was larger than the king, his belly distending with the shape of Namjoon’s cock. It would have been frightening, considering how much damage even a smaller girth had inflicted within Yoongi before.

But Namjoon wasn’t the king. Namjoon was entirely unlike the king. From the get go, he’d cemented Yoongi’s decision to lay with him now with every word, every action he had done thus far. Even with how he held himself in place now, despite the struggle on his face evident to Yoongi, his own urges to move put to silence by the greater need to wait for Yoongi to give him the signal. And as Yoongi gazed up at him, his muscles contracting and relaxing as they adjusted, Yoongi felt his heart soften at the sight of the man above him. This man who treated him with gentle hands, who would look at him with a complete single-mindedness, every part of him showing how attentive he was to every word Yoongi uttered, actually paying attention to and being considerate of Yoongi, doing his best to make Yoongi happy…

Reaching up past Namjoon’s shoulder, Yoongi wrapped his hand around Namjoon’s neck, and tugged him down. Namjoon’s eyes opened wide with alarm, slipping to his elbows as he was taken off guard. It pushed him in deeper, Yoongi wincing, but he was quick to hide it as he kissed Namjoon.

With the flurry of commotion that had occurred, it took Namjoon a couple of seconds to get with the program, but once he did, he was kissing Yoongi back just as enthusiastically. Namjoon’s arm slipped under Yoongi, hand flat against his back as he hitched Yoongi up and closer to himself, the other flat against his belly, not pressing but merely feeling where Yoongi’s belly bulged from Namjoon’s cock. With a nip to Namjoon’s lip, Yoongi let his other hand stray downwards, fingers grazing at his ribcage, down his hip before clutching onto Namjoon’s meaty ass. Namjoon grunted against Yoongi’s mouth, but he was undeterred. A little shy, he slung his opposite leg around Namjoon’s waist, but it was with a smirk against Namjoon’s mouth that Yoongi grabbed on tight, digging his nails into the flesh.

Namjoon reacted exactly how Yoongi planned, growling under his breath as he automatically bucked his hips, thrusting into Yoongi. Yoongi moaned, breaking the kiss as his head fell back again. Unbothered, Namjoon moved his head down, latching onto Yoongi’s neck to press kisses down the length of Yoongi’s throat. The entire time, he moved his hips, pulling in and out as he began thrusting with a steady rhythm, before picking it up, his belly flattening every time Namjoon pulled out, only to distend again when he pushed back in. The movements of his hips grew more powerful, increased in speed and vigor to the point that the bed under them rocked with the motions, thudding against the wall each time Namjoon drove into Yoongi. And with his cock slamming into Yoongi’s walls, slick leaking between their thighs in gushes, the air was also punched out of his lungs, a never ending stream of moans and gasps, interspaced with the occasional whimpers, Namjoon tearing it all easily from his throat.

Yoongi clung tight, both legs around Namjoon’s hips now, his hands scratching at Namjoon’s back, nails leaving behind red trails as Namjoon brought him closer and closer yet to the brink of pleasure. He could already tell he would be sore later, but it would only be a wondrous ache that Yoongi would want to devote his focus to. His only regret was, with Namjoon mouthing sloppily at his neck and shoulders, the fact that they still had the wherewithal to avoid leaving bruises. It felt stupid, that they’d gone this far but had to draw the line at Namjoon leaving his own marks. A stupider part still wished to risk it, dared to hold Namjoon close until he bit and sucked at Yoongi’s skin until it was blooming red and purples – a bouquet of lust and desire, rather than violence and anger for once.

A hand was already crawling up Namjoon’s back, without conscious thought on Yoongi’s part, ready to do just that. For better or worse, Namjoon took that moment to bite at Yoongi’s nipple instead, tugging on it until Yoongi was arching his back to keep his chest to Namjoon’s mouth, the distance a physical ache. At the same time, a hand was on his little cock again, captured between Namjoon’s forefinger and thumb, rubbing at the head of it. Namjoon pounded into Yoongi hard with his next thrust, shifting as well so that his cock aimed upwards, and bright white light overcame Yoongi’s vision as he erupted between them.

With a shout, Yoongi arched, legs clamping tight around Namjoon, his muscles spasming uncontrollably, clenching around Namjoon erratically as his cock spurted feeble trails of cum on his belly. Namjoon grunted, head dropping with Yoongi’s walls tightening around him sporadically. His thrusts grew more frantic as Namjoon grew closer to the edge, driving Yoongi to oversensitivity as he came down from his high. Hands tightening on Yoongi’s waist, Namjoon came not too long after, hips still pistoning away as he released inside Yoongi. His cock kept pulsing, hips still slamming against Yoongi’s ass as he milked himself. Cum poured out of him, filling Yoongi up far more than Yoongi himself would ever be able to ejaculate, and by the end of it all, Yoongi was left gasping, bleary eyed and dazed as he could feel his belly protruding with how much Namjoon had filled him up – was still filling him up, with his heavy cock within him as well.

His belly felt hot and weighed down by the time Namjoon stopped cumming, both of them coming from their high. Yoongi’s heart rate had barely calmed down, however, when Namjoon pulled out, Yoongi wincing when the tip slipped out completely. But Namjoon didn’t stop there, going further down Yoongi’s body. He barely had a moment to realize what was going on when Namjoon’s mouth was on him.

Yoongi gasped, eyes shooting wide open as Namjoon sucked at his cunt. He could feel the cum trickling out of him, and Namjoon was dutifully lapping it up, prodding his tongue in to coax it out more. Struggling to swallow, Yoongi’s hands shot to Namjoon’s hair, grasping onto the long strands, fingers flexing with the urge to push him away at the oversensitivity. He knew what Namjoon was doing, or what he was trying to do anyway, if in vain. Yet Namjoon’s tongue was insistent, and Yoongi’s muscles were sore and still tingling with the last vestiges of his orgasm, but his stomach clenched as sparks ran up and down his spine at the sensation anyway.

Yoongi groaned when, as Namjoon’s tongue slipped in further and pushed his swollen walls apart to get in deeper, his nose brushed against the underside of his little cock. It sent shocks cascading throughout his body, making him curl up with his nail digging into Namjoon’s scalp again as he came again, feeling wrung out with only a few drops of cum escaping his cock, more slick gushing out of his cunt, accompanied with Namjoon’s cum. Namjoon tried to lick that up as well, but Yoongi could no longer take it, shoving away at Namjoon’s head with clumsy palms. The moment Namjoon’s tongue was out of his overwhelmed cunt, Yoongi was grappling at Namjoon’s head again, uncoordinated fingers guiding him up until Yoongi could capture Namjoon’s devious lips in a kiss instead, aiming to distract him.

And as far as distractions went, it seemed sufficient enough, for Namjoon kissed him back with almost as intense zeal as he had worked Yoongi’s cunt. Albeit more moderately, it helped Yoongi calm back down, relaxing against the mattress as Namjoon slumped down on him. The tension eased away from both their bodies as they allowed themselves to relax. They kept kissing unhurriedly, their ardor for each other not disappearing but lightened, lethargy settling upon them as they moved to their sides, their lips still connected as their kisses died down to chaste pecks.

Minutes later and Yoongi was finally able to bring himself to part from Namjoon’s lips, only to curl up and tuck his head under Namjoon’s chin. Eyes half lidded, fingers absently tracing random patterns on Namjoon’s sweaty chest, Yoongi was just about ready to give in to slumber, only just keeping himself awake. He knew he had to return to his chambers, couldn’t spend the night here, but with every second that passed, the reasons to leave grew weaker, the want to fall asleep beside Namjoon growing stronger. Yoongi felt so comfortable against Namjoon, hearing his heartbeat under his ear, those strong arms wrapped around him to hold him close, feeling safe and protected in a way he barely had since even before coming to Goryeo.

Yoongi didn’t think he’d felt this secure since his brother passed, actually. Although they were obviously different persons providing different roles in Yoongi’s life, not even Taehyung had managed to make Yoongi feel so at peace when in his arms. As a child, it had been his parents, although the memories of them grew fainter with time. Later, it had been his brother, whenever he’d managed to sneak past their guards and instructors, trying to comfort Yoongi with his presence and a warm hug during the tumultuous period involving all the changes in their lives after their parents' passing. And now, Namjoon.

Namjoon, who managed to bring about comfort and warmth in this cold, harsh land, with his gentle persona, his attentive eyes, his soft words, and his careful touches.

Yoongi snuggled in deeper, despite the absolute lack of space between them anyway. “Thank you,” he murmured, the first words to be uttered in a while. The bubble around them still persisted, as if Yoongi’s volume wasn’t enough to break it.

Namjoon’s arms tightened around him, his head ducking down to press a kiss to Yoongi’s hair. “Please, don’t thank me,” he whispered back.“I would do anything for you, Yoongi-yah,” there was an agonized note in his voice, one Yoongi wasn’t sure he wanted to acknowledge, not when his heart was too busy skipping a beat at the endearment, his breath catching for a fraction of a second.

“Anything.” 

Like a dam had broken, Yoongi became unrestrained with his desires over the course of the month cycle. Whenever they had time and the opportunity, he was seeking out Namjoon as often as the other man sought him out. No longer confined to hazardous areas of the palace, they frequented each other’s chambers as well now, a blind eye turned from the heightened risk in favor of the heightened arousal they were overcome by in each other’s presence. Yoongi was now collecting memorable moments between them like a treasure. From Namjoon holding him up against a wall, those muscles flexing even as Namjoon’s face itself displayed no strain holding Yoongi up while pistoning away inside him. To a night in Yoongi’s chambers, Namjoon under him, his mouth on Yoongi’s cunt while Yoongi attempted to go further down on Namjoon’s cock from atop him.

And even the more innocent times, Namjoon suddenly having an array of objects to gift Yoongi with. While oranges were the most frequent, Yoongi was equally enamored at the other thoughtful objects Namjoon shyly handed over; a beautiful binyeo with the jamdu in the shape of a hawk mid flight, wings spread out — “they represent strength and grace” Namjoon had whispered into Yoongi’s ear while Yoongi cradled the pin, still mesmerized by it but also being rapidly taken by Namjoon’s words, “it only seemed fitting for you,” and Yoongi was in awe that Namjoon saw him deserving of such a descriptor — and decorated with jade; a norigae adorned with lotus flowers embedded with opals and rubies — “resilience and rebirth”; a black dagger emblazoned with hanja characters in gold — “it says perseverance”; a pin in the shape of a lotus embedded with opals and rubies — “resilience and rebirth.”

Yoongi wore them all with pride, the small items bringing him more fulfillment than the robes distinguishing him as Goryeo’s Mama. Taehyung was all too happy to adorn him with it when he helped him get dressed in the mornings, a knowing smile on his lips. And Yoongi would smile back, even as his cheeks colored, but feeling far too much joy to consider anything else.

It was still in the winter season when the moon cycle passed and a new one began. Yoongi was well aware and subsequently surprised that the king had called him with less frequency, but he wasn’t too hung up about it, not when it allowed him time with Namjoon instead. But when halfway through the moon cycle Yoongi awoke one day feeling nauseous, he really shouldn’t have been surprised, in hindsight. As it was, it took a week of waking up and immediately flinging himself off the side of the bed to scramble for the bucket Taehyung had begun to leave behind from the third day before a mounting realization of dread dawned upon him.

Another week passed, before Taehyung finally managed to convince him to summon Hoseok, his friend assuring him that he would bring the physician under complete discretion.

When Hoseok arrived and examined him, he only confirmed what Yoongi had already suspected, looking no less shell-shocked himself.

The bubble around him seemed to crash and shatter into millions of pieces. Yoongi didn’t know if he wanted to feel horrified at the consequences of his actions catching up to him… or simply ecstatic at the news. It was one that had arised from far better circumstances than he thought he would’ve had to hear it previously. And it all caused a maelstrom within him, because even if Namjoon was the cause of Yoongi’s condition now, someone Yoongi was far more content with and even overjoyed to be able to share this with, it didn’t change the current situation of things overall, really.

The ticking of a clock Yoongi hadn’t heard in ages returned now, but, to Yoongi’s surging terror, this time with another, smaller one echoing right behind it.

Taehyung was very much dazed as he made his way back to the kitchens. He held a tray of soup in his hands, and he was simultaneously trying to focus hard on not spilling it while also avoiding thinking about why exactly he was bringing Yoongi something light for his stomach, something that would help with the nausea that prevented Yoongi from keeping anything substantial down.

He wanted to say he was surprised by the news, but truthfully, Taehyung wasn’t. He’d seen how Yoongi and Namjoon had gotten closer, had even helped initiate or enabled it at times, bringing them to each other or ensuring the places they’d sequestered themselves away in wouldn’t be barged in upon by others.

But for it to come to this extent… Taehyung wasn’t surprised. But he supposed, whatever horror he felt at the news was probably nothing compared to what Yoongi was probably facing, his friend likely undergoing it with more severity combined with other emotions as well.

Taehyung sighed, his fingers on the tray flexing. Whatever the future held, he always knew he would spend it at Yoongi’s side, loyally and until the end. No matter the wrenches thrown their way now, that certainly wouldn’t change.

“Taehyung-ssi?”

Taehyung held back another sigh. Already fraught with nerves, he was frankly this close to snapping. Not even decorum would have held him back. The tray in his hands was more effective in reminding Taehyung of his place.

“Jimin-bin.” Taehyung bowed slightly, not meeting Jimin’s eyes. He felt deranged enough that if their eyes met, he was truly concerned that he might just scream nonsensically without any explanation, the need to vent his emotions almost unbearable yet with enough coherency in his mind to know that he wouldn’t dare utter why he felt this way.

Although he was apparently not coherent enough to prevent himself from considering screaming in the king’s concubine’s face, Taehyung mused dryly at the back of his mind.

“If it’s nothing too urgent, I must hasten to take this to the Mama,” Taehyung bowed slightly, pointedly raising the tray to gain Jimin’s attention.

Jimin frowned, likely confused as to why the Mama would be eating at an untimely period of the day, but Taehyung wasn’t going to explain anything about Yoongi to him. Or at least, maybe he should’ve allowed himself to let slip that the Mama wasn’t feeling well, the same lie he’d fed the kitchen staff to get them to begrudgingly serve him at this time of day, if it would’ve gotten Jimin – not to feel any sympathy for Yoongi, Taehyung wasn’t that delusional, but to at least let Taehyung back on his way.

“I won’t keep you for long. I’ll just be quick about this and say my piece, and you can do with it as you will. If you decide, I won’t ever bother you again either,” Jimin said, glancing back at Taehyung, who raised his eyebrows, interest piqued despite himself. “I’ve recently had my eyes opened that my perception and behavior may have been wrongful to you – and the Mama. Excuses aside, I still could have done better to be more understanding and welcoming, rather than shun the Mama completely without bothering to get to know him better first. That is on me, and I sincerely do apologize for it.” Jimin bowed his head – but kept going until he was at a proper ninety degree angle.

Taehyung’s eyes felt like they were about to pop out of his head. He frantically glanced around, praying no one was around to see the sight of the royal concubine bowing to him, a servant from Goryeo, and was only barely gratified to find them completely alone.

“I know that I must also apologize to the Mama as well,” Jimin said, finally raising from his bow, eyes downcast. “I do not want to intrude upon him after my ghastly conduct towards him our one and only time we met, so if it isn’t too much trouble, Taehyung-ssi, would you mind letting the Mama know I would like to speak to him as soon as he is free to do so?” His hands fiddled with the sleeves of his jeogori, and his overall comportment was far more respectful and remorseful than Taehyung had ever seen him before, in all their times they’d happened upon each other over the last several months. That more than anything else, even the words he’d uttered secondary to Taehyung, softened Taehyung.

“I’ll let the Mama know you wish to talk,” Taehyung said. “And thank you. You,” he paused, huffing, “you really had no need to pursue this, but I do appreciate that… you want this second chance.” Taehyung grew grim again, because as much as he wanted to be optimistic about something at least, he was still a little too wary about Jimin. Only time – and Yoongi’s forgiveness – would allow him to overcome his begrudgement. “I hope you choose to do it wisely. The Mama,” he selected his words with care, not wanting to spill anything about Yoongi in an underhanded way to garner Jimin’s sympathy, “does not need anymore hatred towards him.”

With Jimin looking at him so seriously, as if he was taking the words to heart and not lightly at all, Taehyung allowed himself a small smile. “I think you might even be able to become friends, which would be wonderful for both of you.”

Jimin smiled back, albeit slow and cautious, but it was enough. The sight of it was actually quite dazzling when it wasn’t backed with malicious intent, and Taehyung would have found his breath taken by the sight if he hadn’t had more pressing matters to attend to.

“If you’ll excuse me, I really do need to get this to the Mama,” he raised the tray again, and Jimin nodded understandingly, even as his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of it once again. Taehyung ignored it. “I’ll talk to him and… let you know what he says.”

“That’s all I ask for,” Jimin said, bowing again – only his head dropping this time, which Taehyung easily returned.

As he left Jimin behind and continued his way to Yoongi’s chambers, Taehyung contemplated the interaction. He didn’t doubt that Yoongi could do with another friend, but he wondered if Jimin would really end up being a suitable candidate for it.

As he made his way into Yoongi’s chambers, sliding the door shut behind him, Taehyung ultimately prayed for the best. To the spirits listening to him, he wished that whatever it was would only bring ease to Yoongi, and not any more misery. Because sitting on the bed in front of him, looking completely ashen and lost in his thoughts, Yoongi clearly didn’t need any more of that.

“Hyung,” Taehyung said softly, bending down as he set the tray on the table beside the bed. For now, it was devoid of things, the usual ointments and pouches of healing herbs stored away safely. Later, it would be filled again, with pouches of teas Hoseok recommended Yoongi take, that Taehyung promised he’d pick up after ensuring Yoongi ate. “I brought you food.”

Yoongi blinked to awareness, eyes flitting to Taehyung before the tray. He wordlessly nodded, and Taehyung brought the tray over to Yoongi’s lap, helping him adjust the blankets around him so he was still swaddled in them but had the space to move his arms freely.

Taehyung watched as Yoongi began to eat. Even though Yoongi didn’t look entirely there, his hand was still steady, not a droplet spilled as he carried the spoonfuls of soup to his mouth. He ate at a measured pace, not too fast despite his hunger, neither too slow from the fear of the nausea returning. Taehyung was glad to see it, more so glad to see the bowl gradually emptying.

He didn’t realize he’d gotten carried away staring, however, until the bowl was near empty before Yoongi paused, the spoon near his mouth as he cocked an eyebrow at Taehyung.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your company, Taehyung-ah, but is there something the matter?”

Taehyung startled, sheepish. “I, uh,” he paused. There was no way Yoongi didn’t know Taehyung was concerned for him, needed to see him be able to stomach something completely as a way to reassure himself even in the smallest of ways. Taehyung wasn’t sure if he wanted to voice it aloud, however, feeling like it would skirt dangerously close to the subject he wanted Yoongi to broach first. “I bumped into Jimin-bin on my way here.”

Yoongi tilted his head, placing the soup back in his bowl. “You’ve mentioned that happening a few times,” he said. “What occurred this time?”

Taehyung bit his lip. “He apologized again,” he said, “but this time, he also wanted to apologize to you.” Yoongi’s eyebrows rose. “Basically, he said something about seeing the error in his ways, and wants to speak to you whenever you wish to.”

Yoongi blinked. “Huh,” he said shortly, before picking his spoon back up. As he resumed eating, Taehyung was content to note that he at least looked more present this time, thoughtful rather than dissociated.

When the bowl was empty, Taehyung took the tray back, suppressing a pleased smile. He knew he shouldn’t count his chickens yet, that he should wait to see if the soup was more agreeable to Yoongi’s stomach first, but he was happy regardless that Yoongi was able to finish it entirely without pushing it away like he had for a week now.

Standing, he glanced over at Yoongi. “Do you wish to talk to him?”

Yoongi frowned, appearing confused. His face cleared when he realized what Taehyung was talking about, but he shook his head. “I’ll talk to him later,” he promised, “but right now… can you,” he dropped his gaze to his lap, taking a deep inhale. “I need to talk to Namjoon first.”

Taehyung nodded, any compulsion to smile disappearing as the atmosphere grew somber once more. “I’ll go fetch him for you.”

The sun was setting by the time the doors to his chambers opened. Curled up on his side and buried under several more sheets than usual, Yoongi didn’t move from where he was blinking blearily out the window, the evening sun almost blinding him.

“Yoongi?” At Namjoon’s subdued voice, Yoongi’s eyes closed, a battle he hadn’t even realized he’d been fighting until he won. His muscles subconsciously relaxed while Namjoon drew nearer, hovering anxiously at his bedside. A hand darted out from under the mountain of blankets, silently beckoning Namjoon closer. “I came as soon as I could.” Namjoon slowly sat on the bed, clasping Yoongi’s hands between both of his. “Taehyung said you weren’t well… and that you had something to tell me?”

The concern bleeding heavily from his voice prompted Yoongi to open his eyes again, the sun blocked out as Namjoon sat before him. The words he knew he had to say weighed heavily on his tongue, so he chose to postpone it just a little bit longer, tugging at Namjoon’s hands until Namjoon understood.

Namjoon cast a glance at their door, knowing Taehyung would be loitering nearby. They didn’t usually visit the other’s chambers until the sun had fully set and night had descended upon them. Soon, it would be dinner time, and a servant would be coming by to deliver Yoongi’s dinner. But with Namjoon here, they both knew Taehyung would ensure no others would enter except him, and even then only with Yoongi’s permission, if only so Taehyung didn’t have to see anything none of them wanted him to.

Slipping off his shoes, Namjoon kept their hands connected as he got onto the bed and under the covers, facing Yoongi as he curled up beside him, mirroring Yoongi’s pose. Their hands rested on the bed between them, and Yoongi kept his gaze trained on them as he traced his fingers over the back of Namjoon’s hand, all too aware of Namjoon watching his face intently. Namjoon didn’t say anything, despite the worry seeping from him, patiently waiting for Yoongi to speak of his own will.

It was perfect to give Yoongi the time to muster the strength to speak.

“Hoseok-ssi came to see this morning.” When Namjoon didn’t react, nary a blink nor a furrow of his eyebrows, his hands still around Yoongi’s, Yoongi went on. “He examined me and told me why I’d been feeling,” he paused, “off, this past week.” Yoongi fell into silence again, and still, Namjoon didn’t speak, even though Yoongi knew the tension was heightening for him.

“He said I’m pregnant.”

Now, Namjoon reacted. His throat bobbed with the force of his swallow, eyes closing as his hands squeezed Yoongi’s. Afraid yet still needing to see how Namjoon was going to respond, Yoongi’s eyes flitted up, anxiously taking in the planes of his face, the rigidness of his jaw, the creases between his eyebrows.

As if tempting an executioner, the next words slipped out of Yoongi desperately. “It’s yours,” he said, his voice breaking, as if Namjoon couldn’t know, wasn’t aware that there was no one else it could have been.

It was Namjoon’s turn to remain silent, but Yoongi had neither the patience nor the sanity to wait him out, needing Namjoon to speak, to voice out whatever was going on in his mind.

“Say something,” he begged, hating how small and broken his voice sounded, unable to help it as tears clouded his vision. “Please?”

Namjoon’s eyes shot open, likely hearing the crack in his wet voice. The stiffness in his muscles fell away as he regarded Yoongi, and he sighed. “Yoongi-yah,” he whispered, and he sounded just as broken, just as desperate, that the tears slipped free from Yoongi’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he closed his eyes in vain, his cheeks wet as liquid dripped down nonetheless. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you–”

“No, no, no.” Namjoon hushed him, scooting forward on the bed to get closer as he let go of Yoongi’s hands, only to wrap his arms around him as he gathered Yoongi in a hug, holding him tight against his chest. “You didn’t push me for anything I didn’t want – we both knew the consequences, and I am equally responsible for–” he faltered, “for this.”

Yoongi pressed his head to Namjoon’s chest, eyes closing. “H-Hoseok said there’s teas,” the lump in his throat felt like a stone, jagged edges cutting into soft flesh to draw out blood, but Yoongi had to say it, had to let Namjoon know everything. “If I wanted to get rid of–” his voice had died down to a whisper, and for all his might, he couldn’t finish the sentence. He altered his course instead. “Before anyone knows,” he finished, voice barely audible.

It was clear Namjoon heard him anyway, by the slightest increase of pressure in Namjoon’s arms around him. It was tight, bordering on painful, but that wasn’t what was bringing Yoongi discomfort.

“Do you want to?” Namjoon’s voice was tight, devoid of any other emotion for Yoongi to go off of, that he found himself unable to do anything but respond truthfully.

He shook his head against Namjoon’s chest. “No.”

Namjoon exhaled, his arms going slack. He ducked his head down, pressing his face flat against Yoongi’s hair as he just breathed for a bit. “Okay,” he finally said. His quiet voice was loud enough for Yoongi’s ears anyway with their closeness. “That’s okay.” He loosened his hold, freeing a hand to run it up and down Yoongi’s back. The gesture had Yoongi relaxing, more tears slipping free – from exhaustion, from relief, or maybe just the culmination of the past few stressful minutes, anything really – and dampening Namjoon’s jeogori. “We’ll deal with it together then, come what may.”

Tentatively wrapping his own arms around Namjoon, Yoongi sighed. It certainly wasn’t a cure all, but it did wonders to assuage Yoongi’s concerns for the time being. At a little more ease now, Yoongi’s breathing calmed, mind beginning to drift along with Namjoon’s soothing strokes. The air between them grew tranquil, the underlying tension all but forgotten, and it lulled Yoongi to the point that he was on the verge of drifting off, the sun descending past the horizon through the window behind Namjoon. In fact, he was just about to nod off, Namjoon’s arms the perfect cradle, when a faint knock resounded through the chambers, stirring them from their meditative state.

He pulled his head back enough to respond to Taehyung's voice, his own sounding scratchy despite the time that had passed after the emotional turmoil he’d gone through. Taehyung entered quickly enough, the door barely opening to allow him space to come through, swiftly shutting it behind him. He glanced at the prone forms still on the bed as he made his way to the low table, setting down the large tray he carried on it. As he began to place the bowls of food, Namjoon sat up, disentangling their hands to brush his hair back, smoothing it back into place. With Namjoon’s attention on him, Yoongi got up as well, the two of them getting off the bed to make their way over to Taehyung.

Yoongi raised his eyebrows when he noticed there was enough food for two. Taehyung shot him a quick smile, rising to his feet and holding the tray to his chest. “I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

Yoongi side eyed Namjoon, shifting on his feet. “There’s a lot of food,” he stated stupidly, his hand flinching at his side with the instant urge to smack himself on the head. “Would you care to join me for dinner?”

Namjoon’s smile was nothing but warm, easily nodding as he accepted Yoongi’s invitation. They sat across from each other, digging into the hot meal. The banchan smelled aromatic, and while Yoongi ensured Namjoon had plenty to go with his rice, he resolutely stuck with his own soup. While it was easier to indulge in more solid foods at night, the previously delicious foods tasted more pungent in the aftermath of heaving it up the following mornings.

The soup went down easily, Yoongi pretty much unbothered by the lack of anything else on his own plate. As much as Namjoon watched him eat his simple meal with a heavy gaze, his company was enough to satiate Yoongi far better than the broth.

And when they retired to Yoongi’s bed, Yoongi’s quiet request for Namjoon to spend the night accepted without hesitation, it was just as easy and satisfying for him to fall asleep within Namjoon’s arms.

Much less satisfying, however, was when Taehyung burst into his chambers when the sun had barely risen, panic written all over his features.

“It’s the Jeonha,” Taehyung informed, rendering a harried Namjoon and Yoongi frozen from where they’d been unceremoniously roused, the flurry of activity alarming them into action before his words struck them still like a statue. “He’s summoned you to his chambers tonight.”

A second passed, and then Yoongi was leaning over to grab the ever present bucket by his side as his measly dinner made its reappearance. Namjoon was quick to grab onto him, one supporting him at his waist, the other rubbing gently at his back, but even that wasn’t enough to comfort Yoongi any longer. Because for all that Yoongi might not have been fazed by a summons from the king on any other day, things had changed now, and it was no longer just his own life he had to fear for. 

By the time he had finished vomiting everything within his stomach, only bile left to spit from his mouth, Yoongi straightened up from where he’d been hunched over the bucket, only to slump against Namjoon’s chest. He placed his hands atop Namjoon’s arms as they encircled him, taking shuddery breaths as he watched Taehyung frantically fetched him a goblet of water. His hands were shaking too much, however, and Namjoon had to end up taking it for him, helping Yoongi take sips of it while Taehyung lifted the bucket to go and empty it, his face set in a grim line.

No sooner had the door shut behind Taehyung that Namjoon exhaled. He leaned over to set the goblet aside on the bedside table before he was back to holding Yoongi, but with some distance between them as Namjoon faced him with a taut look.

“I need to tell you something,” Namjoon said with a grimace. “And it will upset you, but I need you to listen until the end.”

Yoongi frowned, but acquiesced with a nod anyway.

“The Jeonha had made plans when the treaty was being written,” Namjoon began slowly. “To everyone, the wedding was to cement it. To a select few, it was to ensure an heir. To even lesser known knowledge, however, was that the Jeonha was planning on using the child as,” Namjoon paused, his jaw clenching as he considered his next words, “an instrument to taking over Yuan.”

Yoongi blinked.

Namjoon shook his head, deflating. “If he had successfully impregnated you, the Jeonha planned to use your own child against you, to coerce you into reaching out to your uncle and ensuring he played by the Jeonha’s whims so no harm would befall upon either of you.”

Yoongi gaped. Whether or not Namjoon had anything else to say, he didn’t know, because he found himself interrupting Namjoon despite his earlier agreement to stay silent. “That’s preposterous!” He exclaimed, leaning back in Namjoon’s arms. “Even if–” he shook his head, “the Jeonha doesn’t know my uncle,” he said, gritting his teeth. “My uncle doesn’t care about me enough to risk Yuan. He would put Yuan first before me, even if it meant my life was at stake, much less my child’s.”

Namjoon looked devastatingly pained at his words. “That was the scheme we had begun with,” he said, “but when you hadn’t conceived in the past few months, his ploys had changed.”  

“What is he–” but then Yoongi blinked, plans put to the wayside as he ran Namjoon’s words through his mind again. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

Namjoon paused. “I mean that the Jeonha had consulted me with his initial suggestions for a takeover,” he said. “I was aware of it, but I had no hand in it.” His arms tightened around Yoongi, as if to physically convince him if his words failed to. “I had even tried to convince him against it, but he was set in his ways.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, attempting to process everything. “And now?” He said finally, when he could bear to speak again without lashing out in anguished rage. “What is he doing now?” He elaborated, not wanting to think any further about Namjoon’s involvement, or lack thereof, apparently, in these plans at the moment.

“I’m not entirely sure of the more minute details,” Namjoon said, “the Jeonha hadn’t bothered to consult with me this time. But I’ve been speaking to the military commander, and from what I’ve gathered, his endgame is the same anyway.”

Yoongi opened his eyes, cocking an eyebrow. “To take over Yuan?” He asked simply, but Namjoon shook his head.

“It’s… more than that, Yoongi.” Namjoon sighed, closing his own eyes this time as remorse washed over his features. “On the anniversary of his parents’ death, he plans to visit Yuan with you… and have you assassinated.”

Yoongi swallowed, a futile attempt at wettening his abruptly dry throat. “But – how would he get Yuan out of this?” His brain raced as he tried to put the pieces together. “The people would riot, with or without a leader.”

“The assassination plot, he intends for an attempt on his own life as well as yours. With your death, he would challenge your uncle, making it seem like it was your uncle’s plan to have the Jeonha assassinated but with you caught in the crossfire. It would cast doubt upon the citizens over your uncle, and criticism for him, which the Jeonha would take advantage of by forcing him to hand over Yuan as atonement for your death… either willingly or not. There would be challenges and difficulty, of course, from political unrest to civilian riots. But ultimately–”

“The Jeonha himself would appear innocent enough that Yuan would not suspect ulterior motive,” Yoongi finished, the puzzle complete.

Namjoon nodded, his expression tormented. “I had never agreed to it,” he said, the words coming out in a rush now. “I need you to understand, Yoongi. None of us saw the benefit in pointless bloodshed, not when the treaty seemed effective enough. The Jeonha refused to hear otherwise, however, and we had no other option than to defer.”

Yoongi bit his lip, his head dropping. The weight of the secrets Namjoon had divulged felt like a physical burden. All Yoongi wanted to do was lay down again to give himself time to come to terms with everything he’d been imparted with. Ideally, with Namjoon wrapped around him, but right now, Yoongi felt too tender, rubbed raw from the enormity of his situation; what he was brought here for, and how Namjoon knew everything but hadn’t told him until now… it smarted, quite a bit actually. Not that Namjoon knew, that in itself wasn’t as surprising as much he had chosen to keep this to himself until now, after they’d gotten to this point in their – relationship?

Yoongi had no idea how to label their liaisons, and right now, he certainly didn’t want to put such a solid term to it either.

“I can’t – we can’t tell the Jeonha,” Yoongi said abruptly, back going ramrod straight as a thought occurred to him, “that I’m pregnant. Even if—” even if the Jeonha doesn’t know he’s infertile “—whether or not the child is his, he can’t know I’m carrying. I refuse to let him use my child as some sort of pawn for his deranged plans.”

Panic flashed through Namjoon’s eyes, his fingers flexing at the cradle of Yoongi’s back, reminding him that Namjoon was still holding onto him all this time. “But if he doesn’t know, he’ll continue to bed you,” he said, “and, Yoongi. We both are aware of how the Jeonha treats you. If he accidentally–”

“I’ll deal with it,” Yoongi desperately cut him off, unable to hear the words Namjoon had almost uttered aloud. “I–I’ll find a way. But he can’t know.”

Namjoon didn’t seem entirely pleased, but he bowed his head, submitting to Yoongi. It soothed some of the sting Yoongi still felt, but it didn’t completely do away with the tornado of emotions within him, threatening to send him spiraling.

“I want to rest now,” Yoongi said, his voice small. “I,” he sighed, deciding to be upfront, “I’m not pleased right now, and what you said – while I logically understand everything – I think I’m more hurt that you didn’t bother to tell me about all of this before.”

Namjoon crumpled. He opened his mouth as if to interject, but Yoongi kept going with a small shake of his head. “I’m upset and I just need some time, Namjoon. It’s… it’s all a lot.”

Namjoon relented with a sigh. He drew his arms back, and Yoongi was annoyed with himself to realize that he instantly missed the warmth of Namjoon’s embrace the moment it was gone. “I understand,” Namjoon said, sitting back to put some more distance between them. “Do you wish for me to leave?”

Yoongi’s mouth opened before he paused, truly thinking the offer through. Seconds passed with him debating before he finally shook his head. “No. I may be feeling at unrest but,” he flushed, ducking his head, “I think if you left me right now, that would only leave me feeling worse.”

Fortunately, or maybe wisely, Namjoon didn’t call him out on his words. Instead, he kept his mouth shut as he helped Yoongi under the covers, waiting for Yoongi to curl up into a ball before sliding in behind him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, voice low with uncertainty, his arms hovering above Yoongi’s waist.

With the knowledge that his face was hidden, Yoongi allowed himself to roll his eyes, reaching up to grasp onto Namjoon’s arms and draw them firmly around himself. “Yes.” He said shortly. His tone brooked no further space for any words, so they fell in silence that lasted a long while before Yoongi broke it himself.

“You said,” he started, biting his lip when he sounded more bitter than he expected himself to, “that you wouldn’t let me die.” Yoongi couldn’t help the harsh chuckle that escaped his throat, but he was quick to clamp his mouth shut, swallowing it down, all too aware how he sounded borderline hysterical. He certainly felt on the verge of it. “That you’d do anything to ensure I lived. Was that all a lie?” 

“No!” Namjoon exclaimed from behind him, his arms squeezing around Yoongi for a second before just as quickly loosening their hold when Yoongi gasped at the abrupt pressure. “That was never a lie, Yoongi,” Namjoon’s forehead pressed against the back of his neck. “It was because I knew what the Jeonha had intended, and what I felt for you… I knew I couldn’t let it happen. I never lied to you when I uttered those words, I swear.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, unable to take the painful squeezing of his chest. “Okay.” He said simply, voice small. Time passed, before they eventually drifted off into a much more restless sleep this time.

Chapter Text

Despite Yoongi’s words ringing in his head like a warning bell, Namjoon found himself heading to the king’s chambers a day later. There was no sight of the midmorning sun above him – the clouds had finally thickened to the point that flurries of snow had begun to descend upon them. It was a rarity for Goryeo to see snow, so it probably wouldn’t last long anyway. But the freezing temperatures would persist before the weather would relent in time for spring.

As for now, they were firmly ensconced in the icy season. The servants were barely bundled up adequately for the weather, but Namjoon supposed their constant labor kept them warm enough that additional layers would only prove detrimental, trapping them in sweat that would only work against their bodies trying to regulate their internal temperatures later.

Namjoon himself rarely found himself outside long enough to warrant the usage of his winter clothes, rarely used as they were already. He had thought his thicker robes would have sufficed, but in hindsight, he was woefully unprepared for the reality of the earth, too caught up in his head. It meant that he scurried across the courtyard as fast as decorum allowed, too entrenched into being aware of the eyes on him to break out in a proper jog until he was back in the warmths of the palace corridors.

Once he was inside, however, the warmth that touched his skin was only surface level. His mind was still trapped in its icy prison, where Yoongi’s words bounced off the walls of his mind while a menacing figure stood imposingly in the middle of it. And a few moments later, the figure in his mind stood before him in the real world, looking for all the world completely at ease and nothing at all like the ghastly beast Namjoon’s mind had warped him into.

“Jeonha.” Namjoon dropped into a bow, his skin prickling with discomfort. 

“Advisor Kim. To what do I owe the pleasantries of your visit?”

Namjoon straightened, tongue dancing along the inner edges of his teeth, only just suppressing the urge to jut out his jaw. “I heard you had the Mama visit your chambers last night.” The king raised his eyebrows at Namjoon, which was valid, considering it was quite bold of Namjoon to address the king’s personal activities without prompt or permission. “I thought you had decided to alter your methods?” Namjoon said.

“Ah,” the king hummed. He set down his brush, parchment still wet with calligraphy, and laid it to the side, giving Namjoon his full attention. For all that he was seated on the floor, forced to look up as Namjoon remained standing, Namjoon still felt smaller under his gaze, the king’s eyes dark on his dispassionate face. “The Mama,” he said quietly, dragging the word out. A shiver ran down Namjoon’s spine, something inexplicably foreboding prickling at the corners of his mind. “I suppose I did.” The king tilted his head, eyes distant. “I have.”

“Then, forgive me for asking, but why continue summoning the Mama if pregnancy is no longer the crucial component? Or…” Namjoon hesitated, “is it still of importance?”

The king sighed. He nodded at Namjoon, gesturing him to sit, and it wasn’t until Namjoon awkwardly got to his knees opposite the low table the king sat at that he spoke. “It isn’t,” the king said shortly. “I heard the Yuan heir was sick, and.” The king inhaled, looking away from Namjoon. “I became fretful. If it was more serious. But Hoseok told me he was merely feeling under the weather, and – I don’t know,” the king picked up his brush again, but didn’t put it to the paper, merely resting it in his hands as he gazed at it. “I didn’t need to bed him, you’re right,” the king admitted, “but I still need him alive.”

Namjoon tried not to stare at the king incredulously. Taking a second, he ensured his voice was even before he spoke, “I do not mean to disrespect you by asking all these questions, Jeonha,” he bowed his head in a sign of obeisance, only raising his gaze to look at the king with a lowered head, “but is it not counterproductive to send for him when his presence has only been igniting your temper?”

The king set down his brush. “Are you saying I am incapable of controlling myself, advisor Kim?”

Namjoon blanched. He thought he’d only been repeating the king’s own words, but the king’s expression was inexplicable, causing him to hastily backtrack. “No, not at all, of course I wasn’t insinuating–”

“Calm yourself, advisor Kim,” the king said in a mild tone. “I understand your concern, but rest assured. Not even my hatred for the Yuan heir will sway me from my ultimate goals. Besides,” all of a sudden, the king seemed too ill at ease for Namjoon’s comfort, as he casually picked his brush back up again, sliding the parchment back in front of him.

“I only need him alive for a couple more moon cycles at most, anyway. It’s not like his conditions matter much otherwise, no matter what happens at this point. And,” the king paused, taking a long moment to finish painting another character on the parchment before dipping the brush in the inkpot, “it’s not like he will become pregnant anyway.”

Namjoon went still, his lungs ceasing to expand and fill him with air as he stopped breathing. It took several false starts before the words actually managed to leave his mouth. “… Jeonha?”

The king shot him a baleful glare. “Do you really think me to be foolish, advisor Kim?” He said, and if it weren’t for his fingers turning white around his brush, Namjoon wouldn’t have known how furious the king truly was. “I may have been able to brush off Jimin not conceiving no matter how many times we fell in bed together as a fault with him. But for not a single person, neither the concubines before Jimin, nor the Yuan heir as well, to conceive when at least one of them should be fertile? At least one being perfectly capable of carrying a child? Do you really think I would still fail to see the pattern? That I would stay woefully ignorant of my own faults to the point of ruination?”

Namjoon gaped. “Then why bother with the continuous summons?” He asked, aghast. “If you knew nothing would come of it, then why have him repeatedly visit your chambers at night, when you were well aware that he wouldn’t be able to provide you with a child?”

The paintbrush was flung to the side, ink flying and smearing the parchment as the king slammed his hands down flat against the table on either side of the parchment. His white fingers were splayed out as he leaned forward with a dangerous look on his face, directed with no concealment at Namjoon. “Because I wish to ruin them,” he hissed. “After everything they’ve done to us, after they’ve killed my father and left my mother a mourning widow before she too passed from heartbreak?” The king’s upper lip contorted as his face twisted into a snarl, “I vowed to myself years ago that I would make them pay, advisor Kim, because I refuse to think that any rite or ceremony will truly appease my parents’ spirits. No – only the slow and agonizing death of every one of those Yuan bastards will suffice, and even then, only barely so.”

The king kept staring at him, chest heaving with the exertion of his outburst. And it was then, as Namjoon took the moment to watch his king, the rest of the world disappearing as he regarded the king with full focus, he got a good look at the king’s eyes. He felt faint, as if his head was suspiciously lacking proper blood flow or oxygen. Because like a bucket of ice cold water had been dunked over his head, Namjoon was forced to come to a realization. There was not a sign of the compassion or acumen he’d associate with a man he’d dare to call his friend in front of him, no. As he stared into those dark and haunted eyes, Namjoon could only feel how hollow his guts had become, his throat dry and heart aching.

This man was not his friend. More paramount, he was not the king that Namjoon had once sworn fealty to.

Dazed, Namjoon could only bow, waiting for the king to cool down before waving at Namjoon to rise again.

“I hope you see my point, advisor Kim,” the king was saying, but his words felt like they were reaching Namjoon’s ears through muddy waters – obstructed and lost in the dirt. “I had doubts when keeping this in secrecy even from you. But with how things have unfolded, I trust you would disregard being kept out of the loop in favor of standing with me now, with full awareness of how things must go.”

Namjoon nodded, only dimly aware of what sort of response the king was expecting. His lack of speech and even his ghostly pallor must have gone unnoticed by the king – something that would have been shocking at one point, but perhaps another sign of the king’s spiraling derangement now – or at least a lack of alarm, for he merely sat back, appearing appeased.

“I will forever be grateful to you, advisor Kim,” the king said, his voice low and completely at odds with the lunatic spectacle he displayed before. “Your loyalty is a trait I have found only in a select few, and I am glad I can call you one of mine among them.”

Namjoon dissociated by that point. The words he was able to parse through were making his nauseous, and it was for the sake of his sanity, if not his life, that he had to completely omit the words before they reached his brain.

The king kept speaking, but with Namjoon tuning him out, he was only able to make vaguely agreeable noises at the appropriate places. It was with a foggy mind that he got through the rest of the conversation, and his mind still wasn’t clear as he eventually was dismissed, barely remembering to bow before he took his leave.

As he made his way out of the king’s chambers, Namjoon’s previously shaky resolve now solidified. Yoongi was right. There would be no good in informing the king of Yoongi’s pregnancy, especially not when the king had been aware all this time of his own infertility. It would be a death sentence for sure, Yoongi’s inevitable at one point or another, and his own wouldn’t be far behind once the king started investigating. Whatever fondness the king had for Namjoon would become obliterated if he found out, just as Namjoon’s loyalty to the king had crumbled to dust as well.

Namjoon’s feet took over as his mind struggled to make sense of the situation. He had no intentions of breaking his promise to Yoongi. Even if it meant his own life was now at stake, there was no way he would allow the king to harm Yoongi any further. But he couldn’t do it alone, and as Namjoon found himself in front of Seokjin’s chambers, he knew he would now need to entrust in someone else.

Jin took one look at his face before ushering him inside, settling them at his low table and serving him a cup of tea before addressing the somber air that hung over Namjoon like a visible cloud. In the safety of his friend’s chambers, he allowed his facade to slip, and Seokjin didn’t beat around the bush in addressing it. “What happened?”

Namjoon didn’t even bother drinking the tea, although the warmth of it through the cup was a welcome sensation to his cold hands as he cupped the fragile porcelain. He took a deep breath before meeting Seokjin’s concerned gaze with a steady one of his own. “The Jeonha’s plan,” he said, “we need to stop it.”

Jin’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead, but he kept the rest of his face impassive as he leaned back, regarding Namjoon with a newfound intensity as he processed the words. “I can’t say I didn’t see that coming,” he admitted, leaning back forward to take his cup in hand again, drinking from it. He set the cup back down on the table so gently it barely made a noise, Seokjin’s eyes still on Namjoon as he considered his next words. “What prompted this?”

Namjoon swallowed. “The Mama… he can’t die. He doesn’t deserve to, and the Jeonha,” Namjoon closed his eyes, trying to will the strength to utter the words aloud. When he spoke, it was in a lowered tone, almost a hush as though even in Seokjin’s well secure chambers there was no promise of safety for what he was about to verbalize for the first time. “The Jeonha’s plan has always been diabolical, but,” Namjoon grimaced, “justifiable.”

When he didn’t continue right away, Seokjin tilted his head. “And now?”

“Now it’s no longer even that.”

Jin folded his hands atop the table, radiating calm. Despite the blank mask on his face, Namjoon knew the gears were turning in his head as he tried to apply logic and reason to Namjoon’s claim. “The conquest of another land isn’t justifiable? One that would allow the Jeonha more power, reign of more lands? It may be violent – war always is, and I would know. But is a united land under one ruler not practical of the Jeonha’s aspirations?”

“Are we not united already?” Namjoon argued. “The treaty had been doing well on its own – battles have ceased and the citizens of Yuan and Goryeo both had not had to see bloodshed in the past year. Only the Jeonha’s alterations have caused trouble again, and all in the name of taking over Yuan – and for what, to just rule both lands himself when Yuan has a ruler of their own already?”

Namjoon scoffed before he continued. “Jin hyung, he all but told me this was devised out of pure revenge,” he hissed. “There is no benevolent reason such as uniting the lands into one behind the Jeonha’s proposal. He wishes to see the Yuan royals eradicated in return for his parents’ death. Why else would he deem it necessary to kill the Mama in some underhanded attempt to get his uncle to fold? If anything–” Namjoon’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He may not know the man personally, and from what Yoongi had told him, he had no reason to favor Yoongi’s uncle either, but he was still Yoongi’s blood, which made it feel wrong for Namjoon to speak of him this way.

But logically… “Why not just have the Mama’s uncle killed? With the Mama’s uncle having elected a new heir after the marriage, the Mama wouldn’t be able claim any leadership over Yuan himself anyway. Yet the Jeonha insists that his own spouse be killed instead for the sake of–of public sympathy?”

Namjoon shook his head. “If you want me to justifiably defend the Jeonha’s plot, it would have made more sense to leave the Mama alive, at the very least, even if it meant his uncle’s death – Yuan would just as easily be agreeable to the Jeonha taking over with the Mama alive than with him dead. All these extra measures, killing the Mama and making an attempt on his own life … the risks aside, you can’t tell me you do not see the lunacy to this,” Namjoon said, his voice strained as a pleading tone crept into it.

Jin took a deep breath. For a while, he didn’t speak, and the tension mounted within Namjoon until he did. “You and I both know you weren’t the only one who found qualms with the Jeonha’s plans,” he reminded. Namjoon deflated in his seat, his coiled muscles untensing as if he’d been preparing for a physical attack throughout his tirade. “I only wanted to see if you could actually put together the words against the king aloud. Not because I disagreed that the king’s plan wasn’t correct. However,” he raised a hand to preemptively halt Namjoon’s rising hope. “You would do well to notice I haven’t yet agreed to actively going against the Jeonha’s just yet.” Seokjin put his hand down on the table again, and this time, he stared at Namjoon with such intense scrutiny that Namjoon had to lock his muscles in place to prevent himself from squirming.

“What really brought this on, Namjoon-ah?” This time, the refined edges of his demeanor melted away, all vestiges of the military commander before him completely disappearing until it was only his hyung that sat before him. The honorific emphasized Seokjin’s successful attempt at stripping away their titles and status, leaving only hyung and dongsaeng in the room, encouraging him to speak the truth.

Namjoon acknowledged and appreciated it, but he couldn’t reveal everything. Not yet, and not without Yoongi present, he decided.

But he would still reciprocate Seokjin removing the barrier of their positions and allow himself to confide in his hyung somewhat like Seokjin wished him to.

“I can’t tell you the full matter yet,” Namjoon said haltingly, wincing when he could already see the disappointment in Seokjin’s eyes. “But I,” he sighed. “I have gotten,” he paused, “acquainted with the Mama myself,” he said carefully. “And from our interactions, it only strengthened my current decision that the Mama should not have to die like some casualty to the Jeonha’s madness.”

Jin narrowed his eyes, but barely a few seconds passed before he nodded. “It’s harder to kill a human than an animal, and a person than a human,” he mused. “I know there’s something larger still behind your motives, Namjoon-ah. But maybe I can trust your need for secrecy more. You always did have a big heart behind that equally large brain of yours.”

Namjoon couldn’t bring himself to match Seokjin’s smile, only feeling himself slump against the table. “So does that mean you’ll help me?” He asked, his voice a whisper.

Jin’s smile grew fixed, but his eyes were no less kind. “Come back to me in a few days, and I’ll give you my answer then.”

As far as responses went, Namjoon supposed it wasn’t too terrible. He would just have to hope his hyung would help, because for all his supposedly commendable brains, there would be no way he could achieve keeping Yoongi alive by his lonesome.

Yoongi wasn’t… avoiding Namjoon, per se. But for the next couple of days, he hadn’t actively sought the advisor out. Namjoon still came to see him, but even he seemed distracted, his countenance concerned, shoulders drooping as if with the weight of a physical burden. Not wanting to hurt Namjoon when he already seemed distressed, Yoongi kept his thoughts to himself, trying to work through the conflicting emotions centered around the man himself. 

With the combination of Namjoon’s … not exactly betrayal, Yoongi wanting to avoid thinking of it as such due to the heavy connotation it unwittingly brought, along with the knowledge of his own condition, it left a lot on Yoongi's mind. So, he wasn’t sure if his current decision was the best, if it would only add on to his existing problems or provide a sufficient distraction, but Yoongi was hoping for the latter anyway.

He had sent Taehyung to let Jimin know Yoongi was willing to meet him. Which led to his current predicament, wrapped head to toe in thick garments as he waited outside in the gardens. They probably could have conversed somewhere inside, but the only places Yoongi was familiar with weren’t places he was comfortable bringing Jimin to. The music room was sacred to him, nevermind that it was restricted in general, and his own chambers were far too personal. And while he’d gotten used to the library lately, it was only with Namjoon’s presence, and Yoongi definitely didn’t want to run into Namjoon at that moment.

Granted, meeting at the gardens may have also risked the risk of Namjoon happening upon them, but Yoongi was depending on the frigid temperatures and slight snowfall to allow him his privacy. At least he was dressed quite warmly, swathed in his hanbok and po that he couldn’t even feel the cold. Taehyung had stared at him as if he’d gone insane when Yoongi mentioned where he wanted to go, but acquiesced only after ensuring that not an inch of Yoongi’s skin would be bared to the cold. Only his face was revealed, and that was after Yoongi had put his foot down that he wouldn’t die of frostbite from at least his face showing, and that he wasn’t going to have a serious conversation if Jimin couldn’t see him.

Yoongi had tried to also remind Taehyung that the winters they’d fared in Yuan were far harsher, but that was quickly rebuked by Taehyung pointing out that Yoongi hadn’t ever been pregnant before. That had adequately silenced him, at least as long as it took before Taehyung tried to bury his face under a scarf, and Yoongi had to start protesting again.

At least, Yoongi’s mind drifting, the physician’s urgent visit went well, if tense. Hoseok had quietly tended to him the night after Yoongi had gone to the Jeonha’s chambers. The baby was thankfully unharmed, although Hoseok had warned that any continued strain on Yoongi’s body could have undue consequences. 

Yoongi sighed at the memory. He could only hope the Jeonha’s summons would stay a rare occurrence, at least for the foreseeable future. He had no idea what he’d do once he started showing — if he even got to that point, there was no telling what would happen afterwards.

Hoseok himself didn’t seem any better with the situation, still unable to meet Yoongi’s eyes. They both knew that the pregnancy wasn’t the Jeonha’s doing, that it clearly meant Yoongi hadn’t been faithful. Blessedly, the physician hadn’t directly addressed it yet. Honestly, Yoongi wondered if he ever would.

Namjoon knew, however. Not just because he was the father, but because he’d immediately revealed to Yoongi that he’d visited the king, and retold what had occurred.

That the Jeonha knew… only cemented the decision Yoongi — and now, Namjoon as well — had made. To reveal his pregnancy would be a definite death sentence. 

But to know the Jeonha had already been aware? It felt like Yoongi had been administered with a slow killing poison, one that clawed away at his insides with the potency of an acid, when finding out that for the past year, he’d been forcing himself to share countless nights with the Jeonha, all in vain. Not for the purpose he’d been already struggling to come to terms with, but something far more nefarious, and just as equally pointless.

It was a lot. And Yoongi still had no idea what to make of it. 

The sound of frost crunching underfoot broke Yoongi from his introspections, and he tilted his head as Jimin came into view. When he noticed Yoongi looking at him, Jimin immediately dropped into a bow, his back at a perfect angle.

“Mama,” Jimin greeted. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Jimin-bin.” Yoongi nodded back, his movements a little stilted with the scarf that was wrapped around his neck – a compromise between a frantic Taehyung and a harried Yoongi. “Please, sit.” He gestured to the blanket he was seated on, made of pelts rather than fabric to ensure Yoongi wouldn’t feel the touch of the earth. Yoongi hadn’t even known they could find something like this here, the furs of animals more commonly used in Yuan than Goryeo. He didn’t mind the familiarity, was even still entangling his fingers in the strands in fact, the vague nostalgia rather comforting.

Gingerly, Jimin sat beside him, leaving a large enough space between them as he faced Yoongi. Like Yoongi, Jimin was also bundled in a thick po that hindered from sitting down with ease, though he ultimately made it to the ground a lot more gracefully than Yoongi himself, who’d plopped down rather unceremoniously and left Taehyung to tuck him back in before he retreated, telling Yoongi he wouldn’t be too far from them.

Unlike Yoongi, the hood of Jimin’s po wasn’t drawn up, leaving his head bare and resulting in a rosy flush coloring his cheeks that was fully visible despite his ducked head. For all his flustered state, however, Jimin didn’t hesitate to speak. “I would like to formally apologize to you,” he began, “for acting so horrendously upon our first meeting, and for not having seen the error in my ways until now. My flawed perspective was under no circumstance justifiable for me to act with such hostility, even if I was incapable of welcoming you warmly to my home. I’ve since been guided into broadening my stance on things, and I hope you will be gracious enough to allow me to introduce myself anew this time.” He ended his declaration by bowing again, but Yoongi watched with shock as Jimin didn’t stop until his forehead was to the ground, hands flat beside his head.

Yoongi shook himself from his daze. If his hands weren’t firmly tucked under a few layers of fabric, he would’ve reached out to guide Jimin back up himself. As it was, he felt like a swaddled baby, which did rather well in making Yoongi feel undermined, but he disregarded it and kept his voice gentle instead of lording his tremulous authority over the man who’d come to make amends.

“I acknowledge your apology, Jimin-bin,” Yoongi said. “Please, sit up. I’d rather have this conversation face-to-face.”

Jimin did so, his face abashed, eyes downcast. Yoongi cast a rather envious look at his gloved hands that were fiddling atop his lap, but he redirected his focus before Jimin noticed and got the wrong idea.

“I don’t blame you for your conduct, Jimin-bin. Really,” Yoongi said softly. “If anything, I could only understand your plight, and was unable to find it in myself to begrudge your subsequent behavior.” Yoongi sighed. “Had the circumstances been different, I would have sought you out myself to try and make peace. As it was,” his gaze drifted as he thought back to the long list of events that had Yoongi too tied up to spare even a second thinking about Jimin since they’d met. Taehyung may have spoken about all his encounters with the concubine to Yoongi, but Yoongi hadn’t really thought of Jimin further than what Taehyung regaled him with, despite knowing that Taehyung’s resentment of Jimin involved himself. “I figured it was best to leave you alone, lest my presence aggravated you further.”

“That… was probably for the best,” Jimin admitted. “Had we met again at any earlier moment, I’m afraid I would have a lot more to apologize for now.”

Unwittingly, Yoongi cracked a smile at that. “But we didn’t, and you don’t. And I respect that you were able to alter your mindset, Jimin-bin. Not many are capable of accepting those who’ve slighted them, however unintentionally.”

Jimin winched. “Please, feel free to call me by my name alone, Mama,” he said, “I’d rather not do with the reminder of my… position.”

Yoongi blinked, mouth parting with understanding. “I see,” he said. “Then if I call you as such, would you allow yourself to be at ease and behave more casually with me as well?” Yoongi inquired. “I do recognize your need to mollify, but I doubt we’d be able to come out of this with a better relationship if you felt like you must walk on eggshells around me.”

Jimin stuttered, looking very much caught out in his actions. “I–I can try,” he said, a slight bow to his head.

Yoongi sighed, deciding to go a step further, even if he himself wasn’t too sure about it. “How about you call me hyung, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin gaped, every part of him coming to a standstill. “I – that wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said.

Yoongi shrugged. “Not if there’s no one else around.” Because he had so much experience with what was appropriate when done privately, after all.

Jimin still looked uncertain, but there was no denying the slight twinkle in his eyes as he cast a tentative smile back at Yoongi. “Then I will be honored and do my best to be worthy of the privilege, hyung.”

Yoongi smiled in return. “Can we test it out now, then?” He asked, feeling a little mischievous when Jimin startled. “Let’s have a casual conversation right now,” he elaborated, “what kind of hyung would I be if I didn’t know anything about his dongsaeng?” Yoongi was far too amused as Jimin deflated, looking quite drained from the emotional back-and-forth.

“Ah,” Jimin swallowed. “I… suddenly don’t know what to talk about,” he laughed nervously.

Yoongi sympathized. “How about,” he stretched his mind trying to think of something that could be a safe topic to broach. “How about I tell you about myself,” Yoongi decided, “and you can feel free to share whatever you wish to about yourself, whenever.”

Jimin nodded, slow but with increasing assuredness. “That could be manageable,” he said. Then he shifted, sitting cross-legged as he made himself comfortable. “I will be glad to know more about you as well, hyung.”

Still smiling, and feeling much more unworried than when he’d arrived here, Yoongi settled himself down to begin talking about the lighter aspects of his childhood. It wasn’t a bad way to pass the time, and it worked efficiently in lightening his mental turmoil as he lost himself in happier memories. All the while, Jimin watched him with careful eyes, visibly growing the confidence to confide in Yoongi about himself.

“I wasn’t raised in the palace,” Jimin suddenly interjected. Yoongi had just finished talking about his brother having taught him to use a sword, Yoongi not actually seeing a fight beyond the training grounds, but he easily went silent as he let Jimin speak, giving him his full attention.

“I was raised in the lower city. My parents died when I was a child – my father was killed in the battles. My mother tried her best to keep food on the table. But grief combined with the strain of hard labor had her passing soon after.” Jimin stated this all in a very matter of fact tone, as if he wasn’t bothered that it was the battles with Yuan that had left him an orphan. Actually, it was almost concerning how expressionless he was, but Yoongi wasn’t given long to ponder over it as Jimin continued. “It was difficult to survive, but I managed. Barely.

“And then on one of the Jeonha’s visits to the lower city after a battle to personally determine the damages to the infrastructure, I apparently caught his eye.” Jimin shrugged, appearing casual had it not been for his averted eyes. “I didn’t care much for the Jeonha then as much as the promise of a stable home and food. Overtime, we grew closer though.” Jimin abruptly clamped his mouth shut. He looked like he’d been about to say more, but no more words were forthcoming as silence fell upon them, remaining for a time before Yoongi realized Jimin was done talking.

Yoongi nodded. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents,” he offered quietly.

Jimin smiled, a wan thing. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “A lot has happened since then.”

Yes. Yoongi supposed it had.

Their conversation had come to a natural conclusion, and Jimin was the first to depart, rising to his feet and bowing again. “Will it be alright if we met again?” He asked, before he turned to leave. “Perhaps somewhere warmer next time?”

Yoongi grinned. While their talk went well, he couldn’t deny that perhaps a warmer setting would be better for Yoongi. The layers he was buried underneath were starting to weigh on him heavily, and while it wasn’t exactly burdensome, the urge to curl up and fall asleep right here would definitely be a problem should he give into it.

“Of course,” he said easily. “But you’ll have to choose the setting. I’m still not too familiar with the more common areas of the palace.”

“That’s not a problem at all!” Jimin bounced on the toes of his feet – the cold was starting to get to him, as he fidgeted in place as if to ward off the chill settling in his bones now. “I know a place we can sit and have tea – I’ll let Taehyung-ssi know where it is so he can direct you there.”

Like he’d heard his name, Taehyung himself appeared, Jimin flinching at seeing Taehyung so abruptly at Yoongi’s side. As Taehyung silently helped Yoongi up, Yoongi bowed his head in return. “Then we shall talk soon. You should get back inside now and warm up. I apologize for keeping you out here for so long.”

“Not at all,” Jimin shook his head. Yoongi watched as Jimin’s eyes never left Taehyung, who’d had his head down as he packed up the furs they’d been seated on. “I’m happy we got to converse today.”

When Taehyung straightened, pelts in his arms, Jimin startled. With another bow to Yoongi, he was quickly on his way, Yoongi watching his retreating figure before Taehyung placed a hand on his arm, reminding him they should head back inside as well. As they did, Yoongi side-eyed Taehyung.

“Are you going to talk to him again?”

Taehyung blinked, turning his head to look at Yoongi with a bewildered expression. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He asked.

Yoongi smirked. “I probably will. He seems like a good person, if a little jaded. But he could be a friend to us both, you know.”

Taehyung averted his eyes, staring ahead and stubbornly refusing to maintain eye contact. It could have been excusable as not wanting to trip by not watching where he was going, but Yoongi knew his friend better than that. “Maybe. We’ll just have to see how things go.”

Yoongi hummed, all too understanding.

They were quiet after that, both of them lost in their own thoughts as they made their way back to Yoongi’s chambers. Taehyung amusedly helped unravel Yoongi from the abundance of clothes he’d dressed him in, Yoongi eyeing him threateningly as if daring to say a word. Yoongi knew all too well that if given the advantage, Taehyung would coo over him like a baby.

Yoongi’s mind stuttered at the thought, and like the devil, a knock resounded through the chambers.

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow at Yoongi before going to open it. Filled with nerves, because really, there was only one person who would visit him at a random hour, Yoongi cast his gaze to the floor studiously, busying himself with removing the extra layers now that his hands were freed.

The sound of footsteps drew near, belonging to a single person whom Yoongi knew without needing to look up. A pair of hands appeared in his downturned vision, taking over and gently untying the goreum Yoongi had been struggling with. His own hands fell uselessly to the side, and the only sound between them was of their breathing until the knot came loose, the jeogori hanging loosely on Yoongi’s shoulders.

“Yoongi…”

He closed his eyes. A couple of days may have passed, but Yoongi was still overcome with a sudden wave of emotions, as fresh as when he’d been told of everything. His heart ached, mind screaming with a dichotomy of needs.

Those same hands came up higher to gently cup his face, and Yoongi hated himself for nuzzling into them.

“Yoongi-yah,” a soft sigh, “won’t you look at me?”

He stubbornly shook his head, hearing a low chuckle that sounded more heartbroken than amused. The hands let go, and Yoongi, unbidden, let out a low whimper, grateful that it was low enough that it might’ve been missed. But the sounds of shuffling piqued his curiosity, and he opened his eyes in time to see Namjoon on his knees, prostrating before him with his forehead to the floor.

Yoongi’s eyes bulged, mouth parting in shock.

“Forgive me,” Namjoon said, voice clear despite his position. “I should have told you sooner, but more than that, forgive me for causing you hurt and pain. If there is anything at all you wish from me, tell me and I will make it happen immediately. Even if–” his voice hitched, but Namjoon pushed past it, “even if you wish to never see me again, then I will erase myself from your life this instant.”

Yoongi’s knees were buckling before he knew it, collapsing to the floor as he scrabbled at Namjoon’s shoulders, urging him up. “Namjoon-ah,” he called, voice faint and threaded with anguish. “Namjoon-ah, get up. Please.”

He knew Namjoon could’ve stayed down had he so wished, Yoongi really no match against Namjoon’s broader frame. But his words were plenty enough, Namjoon lifting off the ground until he sat on his knees before him, albeit with his head still down.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I wish I never hurt you, Yoongi. Believe me, I really do.” Namjoon’s eyes closed as his voice shook, “if it feels like even a margin of your pain, how I feel when you can’t even look at me, then–” he cut himself off, and to Yoongi’s wonder, tears slipped past his eyes, streaming down his face. 

Yoongi surged forward, clambering onto Namjoon’s lap as he drew him in a one-sided hug, Namjoon’s arms limp at his sides. “I hate that you knew about this and still became close to me,” he whispered, neither having the energy nor needing to speak louder anyway with his mouth beside Namjoon’s ear. “I hate that you’ve made me feel so alive and cherished when you knew of my demise.” He tipped his head to the side, resting it against Namjoon’s. “You’ve lied and kept a secret from me, and I should be – I am devastated. Yet you treat me with such adoration even now, you claim to be ready to do anything I ask.” Yoongi paused, eyes closing as his own cheeks became damp, vision going cloudy. “How can I ask you to disappear from my life when you’ve brought me such happiness, Namjoon-ah? How can I push you away when I crave to be in your arms?” Yoongi tightened his grip around Namjoon, his voice dropping lower until it was barely audible, his lips barely moving with the weight of his words. “How can I refuse you myself when you’ve given me a child, Joon-ah?”

Finally, Namjoon’s arms rose, circling around Yoongi and holding him close. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice thick. “I’m sorry for lying, for not telling you, for making you upset. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

“Hush,” Yoongi cradled the back of Namjoon’s head, fingers threading in his hair, easily getting tangled in the long strands like he was so prone and used to doing. “I accept your apology, Namjoon-ah. Hush now.” 

Yet Namjoon kept uttering apologies, if muffled against Yoongi’s shoulders, a damp patch growing on the fabric there. Lips pressed in a flat line, Yoongi let him get it all out, tears of his own escaping endlessly. He never stopped holding Namjoon close in the cradle of his arms and legs, allowing Namjoon to hold him back as they sought comfort in each other.

And even when they moved to his bed, uncaring of the sun still high in the sky, they never let go of each other once.

When Namjoon received Seokjin’s summons, he was in the library. He immediately disregarded the book in his hands, dropping it rather carelessly to the table and made his way to Seokjin chambers, long strides carrying him as fast as he dared without rousing suspicion from the guards or servants around the palace.

Entering Seokjin’s chambers, he was a little surprised to see Jungkook there as well, standing at the high table and looking just as curious to see Namjoon there.

“What’s going on?” He said, looking between Seokjin and Jungkook. Despite the lack of greeting, Jungkook was unfazed, raising his hand to wave at Namjoon cheerily. A little chastised, he bowed his head in return, but refocused on Seokjin.

Jin took a deep breath. “I’ve thought it over, and it’s probably the stupidest thing we can do. But I’ve decided to accept your proposal.” He said. “However, we can’t get it done between just the two of us, so I had to bring in someone else we could trust.”

They both looked at Jungkook, whose eyes widened at the combined attention. Namjoon nodded. “You’re not wrong, but does he know?”

Jungkook’s face turned petulant. “I am right here, you realize,” he said, even as Seokjin spoke over him.

“I haven’t told him anything yet.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but Namjoon sighed. Gesturing at the chairs, even if it wasn’t his own chambers, they all obligingly sat, Jungkook’s expression becoming increasingly questioning again. 

“What I’m going to tell you is of utmost confidence,” Namjoon began, regarding Jungkook with a fixed and even stare, his countenance conveying the seriousness of the matter. Picking up on it, Jungkook straightened his back, appearing solemn as he nodded his understanding. “If you do not wish to accept, then you can back out,” even though he himself knew that Jungkook’s help would be greatly beneficial at least, crucial at most, “but we ask that you do not utter a word of this to anyone outside these chambers.”

“You know you can trust me, hyungs.” Jungkook said. “And whatever’s going on, I want to help if I can.”

Jin sighed, shaking his head faintly. “You might not say that once we tell you what’s going on,” he muttered, earning a glance from Jungkook, but Namjoon ignored him. 

“First, we need to tell you the truth behind the Jeonha’s motivation for the treaty.” Namjoon began, his chest already heavy at having to talk about it once again. Jungkook’s eyes were on him, however, and he pushed past the image of Yoongi’s tear stricken face from just this morning embedded in his retinas as he forced his tongue to get the words out. “The treaty… was more or less a farce to him. Essentially, he wished to maintain a facade of peace before using the Mama to take over Yuan for himself.”

Jungkook blinked. His wide eyes caused a wave of nostalgia to wash over Namjoon as he recalled the times those same eyes gazed at him from a much younger and rounder face. Now, Jungkook’s face was sharper with age and training, his body bearing the marks of battles even while retaining the youth and energy to keep fighting, but his eyes remained all the same. Large and curious of the world, far more observant than people gave him credit for, and doubly intelligent.

“How would he do that?”

“By having the Mama killed in his homeland itself on the Jeonha’s parents’ anniversary.” Namjoon leaned back in his chair. “He initially had … another method of going about it. But when things didn’t exactly unfold the way he wished for them to, he had to alter it, but the end result is the same. Have his spouse murdered with a failed attempt at his own, and while the people mourn the loss of their beloved heir, he would point fingers at the Mama’s uncle, making him seem responsible for the vengeful desire to see the Jeonha dead but unwittingly having his own nephew slain in the process,” Namjoon listed out, relaying the same information that Seokjin had conveyed to him before, who now just sat and listened as his own words were recapitulated.

“Amidst the upheaval of confusion and outrage, he would demand the Mama’s uncle to step down, with the promise of death should he refuse,” Namjoon went on. “And, using the marriage to the Mama as reason enough to warrant the right of the throne, the Jeonha would eventually sweep in and take reign. Nevermind that the Mama would be dead.”

Jungkook frowned, his eyes dropping to the table as he processed the influx of information he’d been dumped with. Across him, Namjoon watched Jungkook closely, keeping track of every minute change in his facial expression, while adjacent to them both, Seokjin waited patiently, not yet finding the need to interject with anything.

“So the Jeonha lied?” Jungkook said quietly. “Was the peace treaty for naught?”

Namjoon bit his lip. “His intentions may not have been pure,” he said softly, “but the ceasefire was real. You should know it best, Jungkook-ah, that the wars have stopped. 

“That being said, if that was all there was to it, we wouldn’t be seeing more unrest in the future. The Jeonha’s ultimate goal has already made way for civilians being harmed again, and a take over such as the one he has planned for would not occur peacefully. The treaty already had discontent expressed over it, and people from either land are still wary of the other.

“But seating a Goryeo king on the Yuan throne? That would be a step far, and resentful acceptance may result in rebellion.”

The frown grew deeper, Jungkook stilling. “What do you mean, civilians are already being harmed again?” And then Jungkook’s face smoothed out, albeit with disbelief and horror. His eyes flicked over to Seokjin, “You don’t mean–”

“The bandits at the borders were the Jeonha’s doing.” Seokjin confirmed gravely. He placed his hands atop the table as he met Jungkook’s unwavering gaze, tinted with a hint of accusation. “By causing discontent at both Goryeo and Yuan’s borders, the Jeonha would have adequate reason to travel to Yuan. For the general public, he would be accepting his spouse and in-law to honor his parents’ deaths with him. To the royal courts, the Jeonha would be wishing to address the damages without raising additional fear and concern among the citizens.”

Jungkook remained deathly silent for far too long that Namjoon was glad he wasn’t the recipient of his scrutiny. Even on the sidelines, he had to avoid squirming, and could only admire his hyung for returning Jungkook's reproachful stare with an even gaze of his own.

“So all the patrols you sent us on,” Jungkook said slowly, pointedly, “they were all instigated by the Jeonha himself, and not at all the randomized attacks you had us believe?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook closed his eyes, Namjoon almost sighing with relief. He didn’t, not only due to the inappropriateness of the action, but also because he was all too aware of how devastating the news would be. It was probably worse for Jungkook than it had been for Namjoon to hear it, when Jungkook was the one who had to directly see the results of the bandit attacks on the villagues, the deaths and the destruction.

When he opened his eyes again, Jungkook looked at Namjoon this time. “What is it you’ve gathered me here for, then?” He questioned. “What is it you’ve proposed to do?”

Namjoon sat up, taking a measured inhale. He exchanged glances with Seokjin, and at the reassuring nod, he steeled himself, facing Jungkook. “We want to stop his plans from coming to fruition. And we need to keep the Mama alive.”

Jungkook leaned forward, arms on the table. “And how are we going to do that?”

Hesitating, Namjoon looked at Seokjin again. Seokjin smoothly took over, bringing Jungkook’s attention to him. “That’s what we’re still working on,” he said smoothly, not at all undisturbed, like Namjoon was, by the current lack of progress beyond bringing reinforcements. “But first. Are you with us?”

When Jungkook looked between Seokjin and Namjoon, Namjoon could see no signs of doubt or uncertainty, only a steely resolve that did quite a bit to assuage the stone that had taken residence in Namjoon’s stomach for a while now. “Of course,” Jungkook said, his voice firm and steady. “Like I already said. I will only do my best to ensure I do not fail in whatever you want me to do, hyungs.”

As Seokjin nodded, Namjoon leaned forward, bringing the attention back to him. His mind had already been racing, and by now, the faint threads of a strategy had already begun to solidify in his mind. “In that case, Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon said, his voice grim and heavy despite the casual endearment, “you will be tasked with the most important part of this all.”

With both their eyes on him, Namjoon continued. “You will make sure to protect the Mama’s life, and keep him alive no matter what.”

Chapter Text

Yoongi hadn’t seen much of Namjoon lately, and this time, it wasn’t of his own devices. Over the next few days, Namjoon would slip away after a gentle kiss, whispers of promises and assurances that he was going to always keep Yoongi safe.

He would’ve been more bothered by it, if Namjoon hadn’t slipped back into his chambers at night, uttering updates in low tones of what he’d been up to. Not much progress had been made thus far, but Yoongi appreciated it, knew Namjoon was doing so on purpose, not wanting any more secrets to come between them.

Still, it did mean that hours would go by before Yoongi could see Namjoon again. And after getting used to frequent meetings, the sudden absence wasn’t without its impact on Yoongi’s mood. He tried to distract himself, immersing himself in music and painting with Taehyung once again, but found neither of them unable to hold his attention for long. Music reminded him too much of Namjoon now, and painting was too quiet of an activity, allowing Yoongi to sink into his thoughts.

So, it came as a surprise to all involved when he had Taehyung notify Jimin that he wished to meet, not even a handful of days past since their last interaction.

True to his word, Jimin was more than happy to meet him, Taehyung leading him to the promised chambers Jimin had spoken of. It was in a part of the palace Yoongi hadn’t frequented before – although, that wasn’t really saying much, considering how much of a creature of habit Yoongi had become in Goryeo – but while the corridors were new, the area wasn’t unrecognizable to Yoongi. Familiar with the concubines wing in palaces – his father was faithfully loyal to his mother, but his unmarried uncle had no such restrictions – Yoongi only took vague note of the decorations before Taehyung guided him to the chambers Jimin was waiting for him at.

Unlike his expectations, for Yoongi had never actually set foot in such quarters himself, the chambers were brightly lit, one side of the wall replaced completely with a window to allow for the natural light to come in. The cushions all over the ground was a little more expected, but there were no beds visible in sight, only cushioned couches and low tables. Plants decorated the corners of the room, with the occasional tapestry on the remaining three walls, but it wasn’t gaudy or sensual in any form, more like a seating area intended for the sole purpose of relaxing.

Amidst it all, Jimin sat at one of the low tables laden with a flask and cups nearer to the window, beaming up at Yoongi as he entered with Taehyung in tow. 

“Mama!” He greeted, at complete odds with his previously more bashful appearance in Yoongi’s presence. “I’m thrilled you wished to meet again so soon.”

“I thought I told you to call me hyung,” Yoongi said with a smile, sitting opposite to Jimin at the table.

“Oh, I–” Jimin trailed off, eyes darting to Taehyung. He was hovering nearby, trying to seem unimposing as he analyzed one of the tapestries, before Yoongi caught his flighty gaze and, with a roll of his eyes, gestured for him to sit down beside him. He did so with visibly great reluctance, Yoongi faintly amused at his childishness.

“I’m sure he’s already told you this before, but Taehyung is my closest friend for years now. I trust him with my life,” Yoongi said simply. “You don’t have to worry about respecting my status in name around him.”

Jimin nodded. He busied himself with serving them their drinks, Taehyung staring at the liquid with alarming scrutiny, while Yoongi just took the time to observe his surroundings. Namely, the sight beyond the window caught his attention, and he found himself lost in his thoughts. He was only vaguely aware of Taehyung taking a large mouthful from one of the offered cups and nursing it before setting it down with the slightest shake of his head. Yoongi’s reverie was properly broken, however, when Taehyung took the other cup for himself.

When Yoongi looked back, Jimin was regarding the rejected cup, confused and slightly upset, while Taehyung remained steadfastly unexpressive, sipping his drink quietly. Yoongi decided a distraction was much needed then, and cast about for the first thing to pop into his head.

“The winter season here is quite different,” he said, eyeing the drink. It looked and smelled of makgeolli, and Taehyung’s reasoning behind not handing the cup to Yoongi was made clear. Still, he took the cup Taehyung had abandoned. He cradled it in his hands, merely nursing it without drinking from it, aware of Taehyung’s alarmed flinch and the renewed hope shining in Jimin’s gaze. Yoongi held back a sigh. “It’s not as cold as Yuan, and apparently doesn’t snow much either,” he said.

Jimin blinked, eyes darting to the window. Sure enough, there was only a thin layer of snow outside, and while the sky was overcast, it was really nothing compared to the snowstorms Yuan could get. 

“I’ve only heard about the colder temperatures up north,” Jimin said, gaze still set outside. “I guess because Goryeo is in the south, we’re more renowned for our harsher summers.”

Yoongi grinned. “And us for our harsher winters.”

Jimin looked back at Yoongi. “Was it hard to adjust to?” He asked, face open with interest. “I know you arrived in the spring, and it isn’t too bad then… but you had to face your first summer here soon after.”

“I didn’t really notice it much,” Yoongi shrugged. “I mostly spent my time indoors.”

“Yes, it can be a bit tiring to stay out for long in the summer. But it’s not like Goryeo is without its beauty, even in the relentless heat. Have you toured the palace gardens?” Jimin said suddenly. “The place we spoke last – I’ve spent quite a bit of time there throughout the years, and I must say, it retains its beauty throughout the seasons, even when the winter seasons strip most of the trees bare.”

Yoongi kept his face impassive, aware of Taehyung’s hidden amusement from beside him. “Yes, I was shown around a bit. Although I have yet to see the entirety when in full blooming season, it was still quite impressive.”

“Oh?” Jimin piqued at that, sitting up straighter. “Who showed you around?” Without waiting for Yoongi to give an answer, even if he had been forthcoming with one, Jimin rushed on with avid enthusiasm.

“I would love to take you myself – actually, the gardens are quite the spot of interest to a friend of mine in the palace. He showed me it in the first place and was so invested in its cultivation, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew more about the gardens than the gardeners themselves,” Jimin said with a small laugh.

Yoongi paused. “Your friend,” he said hesitantly, “he wouldn’t happen to be the first advisor, would he?”

“You mean Kim Namjoon?” Jimin said, eyes wide and bright. “That’s exactly whom I speak of  – have you met him?”

Taehyung scoffed into his cup, setting it down and coughing. Jimin cast him a worried glance while Yoongi talked himself out of smacking Taehyung’s back.

“Yes,” he said, a little stiff. “He, ah. Was the one to show me around the gardens. He spoke quite extensively of it too, although I must admit, most of it went over my head.”

Jimin’s eyes softened. “Yeah, that sounds exactly like him.” Jimin paused, turning speculative as his gaze dropped to the table. He set the cup on the table and suddenly became more somber, Yoongi quirking an eyebrow at the change of mood. “He was actually the one who spoke to me and made me realize my narrow-mindedness.”

Yoongi blinked. 

Not noticing with his averted eyes, Jimin kept going, absently tracing the rim of his cup with a finger. “It might sound unusual, considering he is one of the Jeonha’s most trusted confidantes, but he is – obviously – quite intelligent, and prone to seeing the world in a way not commonly viewed. I was skeptical when he implored me to review my attitude, but,” Jimin chuckled, “he can be persuasive when he wants to be, especially when he’s got a point to make that he is assured is valid.”

A tiny, bitter part of Yoongi rebelled, weary of hearing of the man Yoongi had called for this meeting to avoid thinking of. The bigger part of Yoongi was invested, however, in hearing about Namjoon from someone else’s perspective.

He set his cup on the table as well, his lips never having touched it. Discreetly, Taehyung set his emptied cup down in front of Yoongi, switching it over for Yoongi’s still mostly full one. Jimin didn’t even notice a thing, and it wasn’t until Taehyung was sipping from the cup that Yoongi spoke, trying not to glance at Taehyung in concern. Hopefully the fact that Taehyung was taking it slow would prevent him from getting drunk too fast, especially if he was going to be consuming Yoongi’s portions as well.

“We speak sometimes,” Yoongi allowed himself to say. “From what I’ve gathered, he is definitely an insightful and considerate man. How do you know him?”

Jimin’s gaze and mood lifted again, seemingly at ease to talk about Namjoon. “I’d always been aware of him as someone close to the Jeonha,” he said. “It was actually Namjoon hyung who helped me feel more comfortable in the palace. He’d talk to me sometimes when we happened by each other, just casually inquiring about me and how I was settling into what was becoming my new home.” Jimin grinned.

“I’ll admit, I thought he had ulterior motives at first, and confronted him at one point. He let me go on a whole tirade about how he had no chances with me, that I wasn’t going to allow anyone into my heart with just a few words of care, and that it was stupid of him to think I would want to risk my life by falling for someone else after the Jeonha had so graciously offered me a better chance at life.”

Yoongi smiled back faintly. The action felt wooden, as though the smile was plastered onto his face. His mind was struggling to ignore the striking similarities between his own history with Namjoon, and Jimin’s.

“Once I’d run out of steam, he so graciously let me know that he had no such intentions, and just thought I needed a friend, and was more than happy to be one, and nothing more.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “Did he never express any interest in you at all, then?” He asked, unable to help his rather morbid curiosity.

Jimin chortled. “Please, I don’t think I’d ever seen that man look twice at someone before. He has a heart as big as his brain, I’ll give you that. But I would applaud the lucky person to actually catch his interest – he’s always so steadfast in his duties to the king, and seems to be content with just the friendships he collects. It would take more than just my good looks to dazzle him. Not that I mind.” Jimin clicked his tongue, nothing reproachful to the action with how fond he still looked. “I’m happy he was able to oversee my blundering moment and that we could become the close friends we are today.”

Yoongi ducked his head in time to hide the flush he knew was staining his cheeks. Jimin’s unwitting implications weren't lost on him, but he wasn’t ready to reveal how the words impacted him just yet. Taking a few calming breaths, he looked back up, quickly speaking in an effort to maintain the conversation without arousing suspicion. “So, what happened next?”

Jimin hummed. “Well. It took me a while to overcome my embarrassment. But Namjoon hyung wasn’t bothered and kept conversing with me as if all was normal. He really helped me out of my shell, introducing me to others around the palace so I had more people to talk with, showing me the gardens and providing me with a safe space to talk. He never cast judgment or disapproval, was fair and easy to talk with about anything. So while it did take some time, I eventually became comfortable and grew to consider him as my hyung.”

The smile Yoongi gave was still small, but more genuine this time. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “That you were able to find a close friend here.”

Yoongi glanced to his side. “I suppose Taehyung is like that too, for me.” He offered, Taehyung startling at the sudden attention. “Granted, there were no misunderstandings of any romantic pursuits,” Taehyung rolled his eyes, and across them, Jimin flushed a bright red, oddly enough, “but Taehyung had been attending to me since I was under my uncle’s care. Even though he was younger than me and we were both just children, it helped cement our bond as friends first, I suppose.”

Feeling endeared and nostalgic, Yoongi placed a hand over Taehyung’s arm, Taehyung immediately reciprocating and reaching back until they were loosely clasping hands. “We’d only grown closer with time. He knows everything about me, yes, but as do I, him. Like I said,” he glanced at Taehyung, sharing a warm smile before looking back at Jimin, “I trust him with my life.”

There was something rather yearning in Jimin’s gaze as he looked at Taehyung, Yoongi noticed. Even with Taehyung resolutely ignoring his gaze, choosing to peer down the now empty tea cup in his free hand, he at least didn’t seem as antagonistic, perhaps buttered by Yoongi’s words more than anything else. 

“I’ve come to notice that,” Jimin said softly. “He was always quite defensive of you during our conversations. In hindsight, it’s quite admirable – I respect him for it.”

Taehyung quirked an eyebrow at Jimin. Despite the blush staining Jimin’s cheeks, he held Taehyung’s gaze evenly, until it was eventually Taehyung who looked away first, eyes dropping back to the cup.

All the while, Yoongi observed them carefully.

“He’s a good friend,” Yoongi said. “And I have a feeling you’re well on your way to being one as well. For the both of us.”

Yoongi ignored Taehyung’s eyes boring into the side of his skull in favor of basking in Jimin’s beaming face.

He knew Taehyung would have some choice words to say when they were alone again, but fate – if Yoongi ever believed in such a thing – must have been against it from happening right away. Taehyung had been tight-lipped on their way back to his chambers after hours had passed, the sun well on its way to disappearing beyond the horizon. It was a little surprising, considering how he’d downed a good enough amount of makgeolli, and it wasn’t like Taehyung had always been the best at handling his drinks. Yoongi had cast dubious glances at him throughout the duration of their walk, but Taehyung must have been saving whatever he had to say for the privacy of Yoongi’s chambers despite the alcohol in his system.

Only, he didn’t get the opportunity to utter a word. Halfway to Yoongi’s chambers, Taehyung had to change courses to get Yoongi his dinner first. Upon rejoining Yoongi in his chambers, he’d only just set the tray down when there was a knock on his door.

They instantly knew who it was, and sure enough, Namjoon slipped inside as soon as Taehyung opened the door for him. Behind Namjoon, Taehyung shot Yoongi a frustrated glance, Yoongi pressing his lips in a flat line to avoid laughing outright. He exited Yoongi’s chambers without a single word, his shoulders a defeated line as he was forced to postpone his outburst. Namjoon glanced over his shoulder in surprise as they were so abruptly left alone. He must not have thought much of it, however, as he easily made his way to Yoongi, joining him at the low table Yoongi sat at for his dinner.

For all his disgruntlement – and perhaps even slightly intoxicated state – Taehyung was clearly prepared for Namjoon’s arrival, because there was more than what Yoongi could eat on his tray. He helped Namjoon serve himself, handing him the bowl of rice that Taehyung knew Yoongi had no intentions of eating, before sitting back and watching Namjoon dig in. He had to sip his soup at a comparatively slower pace, as if to coax his stomach into preparing to welcome a meal, even if he hadn’t eaten in hours now.

“So how did things go today?” Yoongi eventually asked, after Namjoon had swallowed several bites of his rice with a healthy heaping of banchan to go with it.

Namjoon sighed, resting his hand holding his chopsticks down on the table. “Progress is slow,” he said. “We’re still trying to map out as many fine details as we can for what the Jeonha intends, before we begin strategizing our counterattack.” He cast a wan smile. “But hopefully tomorrow will be more productive. Jin hyung said he’ll be looking into something that might aid us significantly, although he hasn’t disclosed what exactly it is as of yet.”

Yoongi hummed. There wasn’t much he had to say. Any attempts at consoling Namjoon felt vain, as it was for him that they were all doing this. He appreciated their attempts thus far, but didn’t voice it, feeling like it would do nothing but disparage Namjoon’s spirits further with no concrete results on his end.

So instead, he allowed Namjoon to take reign of the conversation, easily divulging the events of his own day at Namjoon’s prompting.

“We met with the royal concubine again today.” Namjoon paused, eyebrows raising. Yoongi smiled. “Jimin-bin – although it’s safe to say we’re beyond titles at this point.”

Namjoon frowned. “Wait – again?”

Yoongi nodded, pausing to take another spoonful of his soup before explaining. “Our first meeting … didn’t go very well, many moon cycles ago. However, he’d said something about a certain someone helping him gain a new insight into things, which prompted him into seeking out my company and wishing to make amends. And to become better acquainted in general, I suppose.”

Namjoon leaned back, looking rather dumbfounded. “I hadn’t realized you had met before.”

Yoongi waved a hand, dismissive. “Like I said, it was brief and nothing worth dwelling on. Now, however, we’ve been able to make pleasant conversation. He’d told me about how he’d come to be here, and more importantly, who had such an important role in making Jimin become comfortable with his presence in the palace.”

It didn’t take Namjoon long to catch on, and he ducked his head, looking a little abashed when he did. “Ah, whatever he told you was probably either a lie or an exaggeration.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “Was it?” He questioned. “For he told me of a kind young man genuine in his intents for friendship. Perhaps too genuine, considering a rather comical mishap in the process.”

Namjoon instantly groaned. “Please,” he said, eyes closing as he rubbed at his face with a free hand. “I can still remember that day. For all that he had the kindness to ensure there weren’t many around, there were still servants lurking nearby, trying to hear why the first advisor was causing the royal concubine such agitation. And Jimin – his face!” He bemoaned, Yoongi’s amusement increasing at the dramatic actions. “The utter scorn and disdain on his face would have sent me running with my tail between my legs had I actually been attempting to court him.”

Seeing the perfect segue, Yoongi leaned forward, chin on his enclosed fist as he rested his arm atop the table. “Why didn’t you?” He asked, wanting Namjoon’s perspective on the matter. “Jimin is certainly attractive, and a delight to converse with. It wouldn’t be hard to believe if you were pursuing him for more than platonic reasons.” And it wasn’t like his status would have held Namjoon back, considering their own illicit affair. If anything, Yoongi’s position probably made it more dangerous for Namjoon. Whatever was between the Jeonha and Jimin, if someone else were to become involved with the royal concubine, they at least had the chance to get out of it alive should they be caught.

But with Yoongi… even if only for public appearances, Namjoon would be executed. The betrayal would run deeper because it was Namjoon, Yoongi supposed, considering the Jeonha would feel nothing for Yoongi other than a flawed sense of ownership.

So he didn’t really understand what the difference was, between him and Jimin, especially when being involved with Yoongi was ultimately the greater risk for Namjoon. And he wanted to know, which is why he pushed the question out, despite the stone in his stomach preventing him from even pretending to be interested in his dinner any longer.

“I was never interested in him like that.” Namjoon said. “Yes, I know he’s attractive, and he’s a good friend and dongsaeng. But romance,” Namjoon shrugged. “I never felt inclined to see him in such a light.”

Yoongi pressed his lips, but ultimately was helpless in giving in. “But you did with me?”

Namjoon blinked. For a while, he didn’t answer, and Yoongi could almost visualize Namjoon’s brain racing, trying to process the conversation in a new light as he regarded Yoongi curiously. “How I feel with you,” Namjoon said slowly, but no less assured in his words, “is unlike how I’ve felt with any other.”

But why, Yoongi wanted to press. Thankfully, Namjoon saved him the indignity of verbalizing his desperation.

“You are beautiful, there is no denying it. But it is not just your beauty that attracts me.” Setting his chopsticks down, Namjoon leaned forward, their meals completely abandoned at this point. “When we first met, properly, the way you played the gayageum was what caught my interest. You were absolutely lost in the music you played with ease, bringing life to the melodies in a way only those dedicated to the art could. The way you were immersed in it, embracing the gayageum like it was a natural extension of you,” Namjoon smiled, soft and fond, his gaze distant. 

“And beyond that,” he glanced at Yoongi, “it is the way you refuse to let your grievances affect you. How you chose to continue seeking activities that brought you joy rather than let your burdens weigh you down.” Namjoon cocked his head to the side. “I’ve seen stronger people crumble from less, but you still stand straight, your head held high with pride and dignity.”

Contrary to his words, Yoongi was very much feeling the urge to duck his head down, flustered with the sudden rain of compliments he had by no means been expecting. He resisted, if only because he couldn’t look away from Namjoon’s deep eyes, looking into Yoongi like they could see into his soul.

“Your strength and resilience was enough to pique my admiration next. It began to bother me that a person with commendable characteristics was distant from me. And the way you could play the gayageum like a siren’s song adding to the enigma you were,” Namjoon paused, thoughtful. “Maybe it was due to my thirst for knowledge; maybe because of my natural inclination to understand and be well acquainted with anyone and everyone, but I wanted to get to know you more.” He suddenly smirked, even as his cheeks flushed. “It certainly didn’t hurt that you were a magnificent sight to behold from the get go, Yoongi.”

Yoongi snorted, a placid facade despite how his insides were thrumming from emotion. “All this talk of strength and mystery, your brain’s need to puzzle me out, while you were really just after me for my beauty?” He stated dryly, only partially joking.

Namjoon reached over, stroking Yoongi’s cheek. He blinked at the random gesture, caught off guard. “Yoongi-yah,” he whispered. “If the beauty you speak of is the one that runs deeper than surface level, then yes. I am absolutely and utterly enthralled with the beautiful person you are, inside and out.”

Yoongi scoffed, averting his gaze, even as his cheeks heated in a tell tale sign that gave away his fluster. “I did not realize you were one to speak words of flattery.”

Namjoon looked rather affronted at that. “It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he insisted. “Your beauty aside, I was taken by the man you are, Yoongi. What I knew of you, what I hadn’t known but learned, and what I still don’t know – all of it utterly captivates me. It makes me wish to only remain with you, learning everything about you to love you more than I do already.”

Yoongi froze. “You,” throat dry, it took several false starts before the words made it out, “you … love me?”

Namjoon stilled, eyes widening as he registered his own words. He probably didn’t intend to say them, Yoongi realized. But rather than taking it back, like Yoongi was prepared for him to, his stomach tight, Namjoon’s eyes only steeled with resolve, posture confident as he cupped Yoongi’s cheek more firmly.

“Yes,” he said. “I do. Maybe not at the beginning, maybe not right away, but overtime… how couldn’t I fall in love with you?” Namjoon’s thumb stroked his cheek, a soft gesture that had Yoongi’s eyes fluttering with it, fighting to keep them open and keep watching Namjoon. “In hindsight, it was really only inevitable that I did,” he said, voice dropping to a low whisper. “They do say opposites attract.”

Yoongi snorted. It was, by far, the most embarrassing thing Namjoon could have the gall to say, and Yoongi wasn’t expecting it in the least. Feeling second hand shame, Yoongi tried to push Namjoon back to his side of the table, a hand pressed to the firm chest that refused to give.

“Go away,” Yoongi muttered, face still cringing, ears aflame – only because of what he had to hear, and not at all because of everything Namjoon had said prior to it. “I refuse to have you in my chambers after that. Terrible, absolutely–”

Lips pressed to his own cut him off. Yoongi’s eyes widened in surprise before instantly closing, not even registering Namjoon’s face in his mind; Namjoon’s eyes closed as well, the little furrow between his brows as he was swept away in the sensations of Yoongi’s plush lips against his own, before smoothening out as Yoongi pressed back eagerly. For all his previous complaints, Yoongi had no qualms returning the kiss, letting Namjoon part his lips and swipe a tongue into his mouth.

Yoongi sighed, allowing his jaw to go slack. He leaned forward, whining when the table pushed against his stomach, a faint tendril of alarm in the back of his head enough to have him pull back. When he did, they were already gasping, and Namjoon only had to take one look at his face and further down, where Yoongi was placing his hand on his belly, before he was glancing at the table separating them. For a second, Yoongi thought Namjoon would do something – push the table away, or stand and join Yoongi on the other side. But then his gaze fell to the bowl of soup before Yoongi, still unfinished, and then back to the hand Yoongi still held to himself.

The heated gaze in Namjoon’s eyes fell away, and he slumped backwards in his place opposite Yoongi. “You need to finish eating,” Namjoon said. “I’m sorry for distracting you from your meal.”

Yoongi gaped, before blinking. He begrudgingly let his tensed muscles loosen, grumbling as he picked up his spoon. “Absolutely unbelievable,” he muttered, even as he – reluctantly – sipped his soup. Namjoon himself didn’t go back to eating, the hypocrite, but merely sat and watched Yoongi, mirroring his earlier position as he rested his chin atop his hand, face disgustingly fond. 

When the bowl was empty, his stomach warm and full and, fortunately, not revolting, Yoongi decisively set his spoon down, raising an eyebrow at Namjoon expectantly. Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head a little as he stood, extending a hand towards Yoongi. He narrowed his eyes at it, but ultimately accepted, Namjoon pulling him up with ease. As he rose, however, his foot caught on the hem of his chima, and a part of Yoongi’s mind was already exasperated with the scenario as he stumbled forward, Namjoon nimbly catching him against himself.

He couldn’t deny the gasp that still escaped his mouth, however, as Yoongi rested his arms on that firm chest, heart pounding from his near fall. Not that he tipped forward any more than a few inches at most, Namjoon swift to react.

“Careful,” Namjoon said, his voice low and husky against Yoongi’s ear. “I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Yoongi shivered, his hands curling into fists in Namjoon’s jeogori. “You wouldn’t let me,” he managed to say, leaning back a bit and tilting his head up so their eyes could meet, “fall, that is.”

Namjoon’s eyes darkened, his arms tightening around Yoongi’s waist. “Never.”

Their gazes dropped down, but it was Namjoon who leaned down first, Yoongi belatedly standing on his toes to meet him halfway. The way his arms went around Namjoon’s neck was familiar, a practiced motion, but Namjoon’s hands dropping from his waist wasn’t. Yoongi’s eyes widened, breaking the kiss when he felt those hands grip the back of his thighs.

“Wait, not–” he groaned, letting his head drop to Namjoon’s shoulder as Namjoon hitched him up, prompting Yoongi to wrap his legs around Namjoon’s waist, “–again,” he finished weakly. Namjoon chuckled, throaty and sounding far too attractive when he was being annoying. Yoongi swatted his other shoulder lightly, head still buried if only to conceal how affected he was at Namjoon lifting him without warning, maneuvering around Yoongi’s chambers with ease.

He was expecting to be dropped onto the bed, however gently, when Namjoon reached it. So it came as quite a surprise when Namjoon spun around instead before tilting backwards, his back hitting the mattress instead, Yoongi gasping as he clutched onto Namjoon tightly. Landing on the bed with Yoongi astride him, it took several beats before comprehension over their current position settled over Yoongi. He blinked down at Namjoon, unused to it, his unfamiliarity visible as he slowly leaned back, hands on Namjoon’s thighs behind him.

Namjoon pushed himself up with his hands on Yoongi’s bed before cradling the swell of his back, breath hot against Yoongi’s mouth. “Do you not want to do this?” He said, and it would have been sweet – his concern – if his hand hadn’t strayed down again, ducking under Yoongi’s chima that had already been hitched up with Namjoon between them. The drag of his plan against Yoongi’s thigh had goosebumps breaking out over his flesh. Yoongi swallowed, legs flinching with the urge to snap closed in a pointless attempt to get away from Namjoon’s touch on his sensitive skin. 

“I–” he bit his lip to hold back the gasp, eyes rolling up, head falling back as Namjoon latched onto skin, licking up a line from the base of his throat to the cradle of his jaw, tortuously slow, effectively wiping Yoongi’s mind clean of any coherent thought. “Baby,” he managed, mind struggling to make sense of his lingering reluctance.

“Hm?”

“No – ah – Namjoon, the-the baby.”

Namjoon stilled, his nose pressed to Yoongi’s cheek. He inhaled deeply. Probably to get himself under control, but the option that he was inhaling Yoongi’s scent was still enough to have Yoongi’s gut clench with desire.

“We can do it like this,” Namjoon said quietly. His mischievous hand crept higher, the tips of his fingers grazing Yoongi’s dari sokgot. “You can go at your own pace.” His fingers fiddled with the goreum. “Will penetration actually harm the baby?”

Yoongi huffed. “You know I’ve met with the Jeonha after I found out.” Fingers let go of the goreum, only to dig into Yoongi’s hip, a searing grip that had Yoongi biting his lip. Yoongi couldn’t blame him — the thought of the Jeonha at such a moment was as equally displeasing for him as it must be for Namjoon.

Yoongi shook his head. “Hoseok-ssi informed me that as long as nothing rigorous occurs, my body will be fine. Nothing you do will hurt me or the baby, Joon-ah. I trust you.”

Namjoon reared back, Yoongi only having a fraction of a second to worry if he’d said something wrong, when Namjoon was kissing him again, hot and hurried, licking into Yoongi’s mouth with abandon. He was left gasping, struggling to keep up, aborted moans and hitches of breaths barely escaping his mouth, Namjoon licking it all up with his frantic tongue. 

Hands at his shoulders took Yoongi by surprise, breaking their kiss with widened eyes as he tried to regain his senses. 

“Take your clothes off,” Namjoon positively growled, eyes dark and narrowed. “Now.”

Biting back a whine, Yoongi slid off of Namjoon’s lap, hurried fingers slipping on his goreum as he rushed to untangle the knots enough to loosen his hanbok, not even bothering to untie it completely before sliding out of the material, letting it all pool to his feet and stepping out of them. Before him, Namjoon was doing the same, borderline ripping away his jeogori and baji, shoving his sokgot off and letting it crumple to the floor at the base of the bed with the rest of his clothes. No sooner had they gotten undressed, Yoongi not given a moment to appreciate Namjoon in all his bare skinned glory, before Namjoon was pulling him close again, Yoongi scrambling as he assumed his previous position astride Namjoon’s lap. Despite Yoongi’s weight on him, Namjoon scooted back until his head was on the pillows, his hands a comforting brand around Yoongi’s hips.

Placing his own atop Namjoon’s chest, Yoongi bent forward, Namjoon’s breath hitching as Yoongi’s palms brushed against his nipples. All of the frenetic energy seeped out of him, his pace now calmer as he pecked at Namjoon’s lips, shy and soft nips that Namjoon returned with leisure, complaisant to Yoongi’s tempo. For a while, they allowed themselves to submerge into each other with their more chaster kisses, luxuriating in the feel of their lips dragging against the other’s without the pressing need to advance any further just yet.

Still, Yoongi couldn’t deny the burning in his guts. It may have been at a low simmer with their gentle kisses, but Namjoon’s cock was a prominent presence against his backside, even if only at half mast.

The sound their mouths made as Yoongi pulled away was loud in the relative silence of his chambers, almost obscene despite the sweetness the actual action had been. He flushed, but didn’t break away from Namjoon’s gaze, both their eyes half lidded with pleasure and contentment. 

Leaning back, Yoongi sat on Namjoon’s hips as he reached between his legs. Namjoon’s cock was flush between his asscheeks, and while it had been a memorable experience, that wasn’t where Yoongi wanted Namjoon right now. With Namjoon’s unfaltering gaze on him, igniting the heat in Yoongi’s belly, Yoongi pressed his fingers to his little cock, stroking the length of it and rubbing circles at the small head with just his forefinger and thumb. He felt sensitive, more so than usual, and with Namjoon’s sole focus upon him, Yoongi let his head fall back, jaw slack and moans and gasps falling freely from his mouth without restraint.

“Yoongi.” Namjoon’s voice was hushed yet absolutely reverent, his palms sliding up and down Yoongi’s sides, the glide of his skin sending a cascade of sensations down Yoongi’s spine. Unbidden, a small smile inexplicably tugged at the corners of Yoongi’s lips, and he chose that moment to let go of his cock, using the same forefinger to brush against his labia. There was the barest layer of slick wettening his mound, but as he coaxed the tip of his finger between them, massaging inside himself, the secretion increased, slowly yet steadily. Emboldened, he gently worked the entire length of his finger within himself, humming out a pleased note as he was filled. His muscles were barely strained at the intrusion, prompting Yoongi to absently add another finger. Every nerve ending within his cunt felt alight, two fingers enough to distract Yoongi from his end goal as he rocked against his hand, the need for more only fleeting through his mind.

Either losing his patience or simply unwilling to remain an observer any longer without actively participating in amplifying Yoongi’s pleasure, one side of Yoongi’s torso went cold as it was abruptly bared to the air, Namjoon’s hand choosing to join Yoongi’s at his core. With Yoongi’s fingers still inside himself, Namjoon stroked Yoongi’s cock akin to how he’d done so himself previously. He didn’t linger for long before Namjoon toyed the tip of his finger at Yoongi’s opening, waiting for Yoongi to draw out his fingers before Namjoon collectively pushed his finger alongside Yoongi’s in the next thrust.

Yoongi moaned, jolting at the added pressure. His hips bucked downwards, leaving smears of wetness over Namjoon’s pelvis. His fingers came to a standstill, only Namjoon’s working within him, but when he noticed Yoongi was no longer moving, he guided Yoongi’s fingers out, replacing it with two more of his own. His hand was bigger, and Yoongi could feel it intimately as his muscles were pushed apart the slightest bit, giving into the stretch before relaxing. Head lolling to the front, Yoongi panted for breath, gazing at Namjoon through his eyelashes. More focused on the sensation of his cunt being worked upon, Yoongi could barely take in the vision before him. He only belatedly registered the sight of Namjoon, surprisingly, not honed in on the sight of his own hand scissoring inside Yoongi’s cunt, but gazing back at Yoongi with the same adoration Yoongi felt within him for the man under him.

“Enough,” Yoongi murmured, once he’d been sufficiently stretched. Although Namjoon’s brow quirked, dubious, he acquiesced, pulling out his hand. He wiped it on the sheets below him before gripping onto Yoongi’s waist again, helping him move up and back until Yoongi was hovering over Namjoon’s cock.

Yoongi wrapped his hand around Namjoon’s cock, holding it upright before pressing the tip of it to his opening. He let out a shaky exhale, because no matter how many times he’d done this, it still felt momentous every single time. Holding eye contact with Namjoon, Yoongi slowly sunk down, taking Namjoon’s length without pause until he was sheathed to the hilt. The strain of the wider girth still caused his muscles to twinge, Yoongi needing to pause and take a breather. Somehow, this position made Namjoon feel deeper than ever before. As though if Yoongi were to place a palm on his belly, he would feel Namjoon’s cock making his belly swell. It was a hypnotizing concept, and Yoongi looked down, already expecting to see Namjoon’s cock creating a space for itself within him. Only, the distension of his belly, curving into a small yet noticeable bump, was one that Yoongi recognized as something else, having watched it grow over the past moon cycle.

Spellbound, Yoongi cradled the swell of his belly, eyes flicking back up to Namjoon. Following along, Namjoon’s gaze flickered between Yoongi’s eyes and where his hand was placed, hardly taking any time to parse out what had Yoongi distracted. The heavy set of his eyes softened, and Namjoon’s mouth parted, absolute wonder taking over his features as he raised a hand to join Yoongi’s, encasing it as the tips of his fingers brushed against the skin stretching out over their forming child.

“I love you,” Namjoon whispered, “I love you both so much.”

Yoongi blinked, eyes suddenly wet. His heart felt so large, full of emotion at that moment, that he had no other thought than to lean down again, kissing Namjoon with a sense of desperation. Namjoon kissed back with equal passion, one hand still stuck between them, flat against Yoongi’s belly, the other coming up to cup Yoongi’s cheek. Guiding the kiss, neither fighting for dominance as much as they basked in their shared sentiments, all felt right at that moment for Yoongi, to be embraced by Namjoon with their child growing securely between them. 

But Namjoon was still buried within him, and it didn’t take long for Yoongi to remember that. Pushing himself back upright, even as a part of his mind cried out to remain connected to Namjoon’s lips, he stared down at Namjoon, chest heaving with the exertion from their kiss. Namjoon’s hand dropped from his face, back to his waist, but the hand against his belly remained in place. Bracing his hands against Namjoon’s chest and maintaining eye contact, Yoongi rocked his hips. 

Both of them groaned at the motion, inactivity doing nothing to reduce their sensitivity. If anything, the delay made things feel heightened, Yoongi’s walls fluttering around Namjoon’s cock. With Namjoon grunting under him, Yoongi did it again, movement more fluid and drawn out, eliciting a whimper from his own throat. Fingers dug into the flesh at Yoongi’s side, and Yoongi hissed, a silent reproach. He couldn’t have marks on his skin, but he could very well make marks of his own, which he easily did by dragging his nails down Namjoon’s chest. If Namjoon had any plans to react, it was put to the wayside when Yoongi chose that moment to lift his hips and slam back down. 

The both of them shouted, barely bitten back in time, only the faintest remnants of awareness reminding them of the need to be silent. Reality at the edge of their senses did nothing to discourage Yoongi from rising again, however. It could have been the position, one Yoongi had never had reason to indulge in before, or mayhaps it was the pregnancy that made it feel like every single nerve ending in Yoongi’s body was furiously more receptive. Either way, Yoongi was desperate to keep moving, to accelerate and augment what he was feeling currently until he was crashing to completion. 

Only a smidgen muffled, Yoongi’s chambers were nonetheless beginning to fill with the sounds of their combined ecstasy as Yoongi repeatedly rode Namjoon with fluid rolls of his hips. Droplets of sweat dripped down Yoongi’s spine, plastering his hair to his forehead as he kept moving. While he was doing most of the work, Namjoon wasn’t unaffected either. His face shined, plastered with a thin sheen of perspiration, Namjoon’s palms clammy as he gripped onto Yoongi tighter in compensation. He helped guide Yoongi’s thrusts, more so when the strain in Yoongi’s thighs became harder to ignore, the joints in his legs aching as Yoongi tried to keep bracing himself in preparation for every upward glide, only granted a brief reprieve when letting gravity take over to help him slam back down. The sounds of flesh smacking against each other was probably as loud as their moans, the breath punched out of Yoongi’s lungs every time he was filled again.

Even as he drew closer to completion, frustration rose in tandem with his arousal, for Yoongi could barely keep going. Noticing Yoongi’s waning energy, how he took longer between each bounce of his hips, Namjoon surged up. He connected their mouths still open with gasping breaths, momentarily yet efficiently distracting Yoongi from his irritation. His mind overcome with Namjoon’s lips and tongue, Namjoon’s wandering hands were an afterthought, even as he sighed at Namjoon’s thumbs flicking over his nipples, his fingernails grazing down his spine. 

And then Namjoon was readjusting his legs, allowing him better momentum as he took control, and thrusted his hips upwards.

With an embarrassingly garbled shout, Yoongi’s head was thrown back, vision white as Namjoon didn’t give him a break. He wasn’t harsh or fast with his thrusts, still mindful of Yoongi, but Namjoon was pushing into him with just enough force that Yoongi could still feel him deep inside, enough speed that Yoongi was never really able to catch his breath.

Hands scrambling for purchase on Namjoon’s shoulders, Yoongi cried out as he was repeatedly struck with pleasure. His groin felt like it was on fire, Yoongi teetering on a precipice. Namjoon brought their mouths together again, but Yoongi wasn’t able to kiss back, merely panting against Namjoon’s mouth. Unbothered by it due to his preoccupation otherwise, Namjoon reached a hand down and captured Yoongi’s cock between his fingers. One, two, three strokes in, Yoongi was biting down on Namjoon’s shoulder, his wail suppressed in the nick of time. Cum spurted between them, faint but with such force that his spasming cock already felt sensitive in Namjoon’s hold. A little further below, Yoongi’s cunt gushed out slick as he kept cumming. Namjoon relentlessly kept driving into him, his pelvis slamming against Yoongi’s waist, and under Yoongi’s cries, the combined noises of their coupling were beyond vulgar.

His muscles were still spasming, clenching erratically around Namjoon’s cock when Namjoon came as well, adding to the mess. Yoongi shuddered, even as tremors were already wracking through his frame, at the sensation of Namjoon spilling within him. With Namjoon still rocking his hips back and forth, although fainter and without rhythm, it worked to push his spend deeper inside Yoongi, his walls thoroughly and entirely coated in the mix of their orgasms. Soon, Namjoon’s hips ceased their movement, and they sat there, entwined in each other, chests brushing against the other’s with every synchronized inhale as their heart rates tempered.

Slipping out and eliciting a small whine from an exhausted Yoongi, Namjoon pecked the side of his head in apology, soothing hands gentle on his sticky skin as he guided Yoongi to lay on his back on the bed. When he didn’t join him, however, Yoongi wrenched his tired eyes open, casting a glare through narrowed eyes.

“Where are you going?” He asked, voice hoarse and cracking, but Yoongi knew it wouldn’t diminish the effect of his glare. Namjoon’s reaction, however, was to merely smile in return, wiping away Yoongi’s hair from his face.

“Let me get something to clean us up with, and I swear I will lay with you.”

Yoongi snorted. The heartfelt promise worked well to assuage his displeasure as fast as it had been to come, enough that Yoongi melted upon his bed once again, an impish little smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Haven’t you already?”

Namjoon stumbled over their clothes, casting Yoongi a startled look, but Yoongi didn’t miss the way Namjoon was clearly fighting off a smile.

Satisfied, Yoongi closed his eyes. True to his word, Namjoon didn’t take long to return. The brush of dampened fabric against his inner thighs and groin was getting to be a little too much, but Namjoon was quick and efficient to clean him up before discarding whatever cloth he’d taken the liberty of using. 

Yoongi hummed with contentment when Namjoon finally joined Yoongi on the bed, taking Yoongi in his arms as if it were only natural to do so. On his part, Yoongi automatically curled up on his side, resting his head atop Namjoon’s chest. Their legs tangled while Namjoon took Yoongi’s hand in his, resting it near Yoongi’s face, and it was at that sight that Yoongi fixated his gaze upon when he spoke.

“I do as well, you know,” he said. His voice was soft, and words were vague, either enough reason for Namjoon to hum questioningly in return.

“I love you too.”

Namjoon’s hand squeezed his. Yoongi smiled proudly, nuzzling his cheek against Namjoon’s chest before settling back down. Like that, wrapped up together as they were, they soon fell asleep, hearts feeling more tranquil than it had in a while. 

There was a new person seated at their table when Namjoon entered Seokjin’s chambers. He took one glance at the newcomer before looking to Seokjin, withholding any form of reaction until Seokjin decided to explain the situation.

He didn’t take long, waiting for Namjoon to be seated before Seokjin spoke.

“Hoseok told me of something rather interesting,” he said without preamble, eyes trained on Namjoon with no attention afforded to the other two at the table. It immediately had Namjoon on guard. “I admit, I wasn’t expecting it whatsoever.”

Namjoon’s eyes slid over to the man in question, who, for his part, appeared suitably chagrined by the entire situation.

“I didn’t mean to spill any secrets,” he mumbled, and the pieces clicked into place with alarming results within Namjoon’s mind. “But I trust Jin hyung with everything, Namjoon-ah. I just didn’t realize,” Hoseok paused, eyes roving around the table, “what was all involved.”

Namjoon sighed, slumping forward and pressing his forehead to the table.

“Wait, what secrets?” Jungkook piped up. Although his head was still on the table, Namjoon unable to bear facing his friends, he could still hear the confusion clear as a bell in Jungkook’s voice. “I thought – I thought Jin hyung brought Hoseok hyung to tell him what was going on for whatever reason.”

“I did.” Seokjin said. “And Hoseok-ah will be of help. But first, is there something you’d like to tell us, Namjoon? Something that could be a little more enlightening for our entire situation, given the severity of the matter we’re choosing to deal with already?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Namjoon straightened in his seat. He still couldn’t bring himself to look up, however, so it was with his eyes set on the table that he spoke. “What do you want me to say, hyung?”

Alright, maybe he wasn’t going to be spilling any confessions that easily.

Jin glared. “How about your exact depths of your involvement with the Mama?”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched. “Why does that even matter?” He retorted. “Does my relation with him have to influence our decision regarding the Jeonha?”

Jin took a deep breath, eyes closing as if praying for patience with the reticent Namjoon. “Maybe it does have some weight, Namjoon. Because the news Hoseok was so gracious in letting me know, combined with what we already know, now puts us on a tighter deadline, in case you forgot to consider.”

Namjoon reddened, his stomach burning with the reminder of something he hadn’t actually failed to think about, actually. He dropped his eyes to the table again as he said so. “I didn’t,” he muttered. “I just. Would have told you when the time was right.”

From his peripherals, he saw Seokjin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “When the time was right?” He repeated. “And when exactly would that have been, Namjoon? When the Mama was already showing? Or when the Jeonha put two and two together to come up with the same four around this table right now – and then some?”

“Alright, enough.” Hoseok’s voice was steely, commanding their instant deference. His eyes flicked around the table; Jungkook looking completely bewildered by the turn of events, Seokjin seething but silent, and Namjoon shameful, unable to meet any of their eyes. “Namjoon – are you really the one responsible for the Mama’s current condition?”

Akin to wading through water, Namjoon’s head managed an aborted, jerky movement that only barely translated as a nod.

Jin cursed a colorful streak under his breath. Hoseok shot him a glare, swiftly silencing him. But the reprieve from Hoseok’s focus didn’t last long as those eyes were back to burning a hole through Namjoon’s skull again. “Are you insane?” Hoseok hissed, leaning forward in his chair. “Whatever in the deepest pits of hell possessed you to impregnate the Mama? Are you out of your humongous mind?”

Jungkook startled, his gaze settling on Namjoon with utter shock. “Wait, what?”

He largely went ignored as Namjoon cowered under Hoseok’s withering reproach. “If the Jeonha finds out–”

The mention of the very person they were supposed to be gathered here for reignited a spark within Namjoon, and he straightened his back, suddenly feeling – perhaps suicidally so – defiant. “At least it was more consensual than what occurs between the Mama and the Jeonha,” he shot back, anger enabling him to meet Hoseok’s eyes. “Do you think I just gave into lust and am now pursuing some fanciful, idealistic ending for myself?” Namjoon chuckled, entirely without humor. “We knew the consequences of our actions, but Hoseok – what should matter more right now is that none other than the Mama will suffer the most for this.” He took a deep breath, his crumbling exposure given away by the shakiness of it. “And our unborn child too.”

It was Seokjin who responded this time, albeit with less heat. “You should have thought of that before bedding him, then.” Namjoon cast him a dark look, but Seokjin was unfazed, fully aware that he wasn’t exactly in the wrong with that statement.

Namjoon sighed, letting his shoulders slump. “Even if I had, we’d still be here anyway.”

They all sombered at that. Except for Jungkook, who was still looking around the table with a dumbfounded expression. “Namjoon… slept with the Mama?” He asked, making the shame return anew as the back of Namjoon’s neck heated.

He looked away, lips pressed in a flat line.

“And now he’s pregnant.” 

No one responded, which didn’t seem to matter, as Jungkook continued to process the situation – unfortunately for Namjoon, aloud.

“So we’re planning to kill the Jeonha before he finds out about Namjoon and the Mama?” His voice pitched a note higher at the end, tinged with hysteria, and Namjoon grimaced.

“I feel like you might be missing a few things–” But Hoseok cut Seokjin off, his eyes wide as marbles.

“Wait, we’re planning to do what?”

Namjoon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. They’d barely begun planning anything, and yet things were already devolving into a mess. What a delightful sequence of events this was.

Jin, at least, seemed more sympathizing, taking over to explain where Namjoon no longer could – and with Jungkook still looking dazed, he was undoubtedly going to be of no help any time soon.

“No, we’re not planning on killing the Jeonha. Yet–”

“What do you mean, ‘yet’?”

“–And no, that is not why we’re planning on – not killing, but stopping the Jeonha from his plans of killing the Mama.”  Seokjin finished, his tone growing increasingly agitated with each emphasis directed at the respective member. “As of yet, we still have no plans on what to do, but all we know is that the Jeonha intends to have the Mama killed in not even two complete moon cycles. Sooner, if word of the Mama’s condition becomes known.” He shot Jungkook and Hoseok with a pointed glance, his warning understandable if unnecessary.

“Somehow, we need to ensure the Mama’s demise does not come to fruition, ideally without anyone’s deaths involved. Whether that requires sabotaging their trip, or, should that fail, having to double down on the Mama’s guards, we don’t have concrete plans yet,” Seokjin said, his words aimed at Hoseok now. “However, we are working on it.”

Hoseok sighed, closing his eyes as he rubbed a hand over his face. “And you just had to bring me into this… why?”

“Like I said. Because what you knew provided crucial information for our own preparation,” Seokjin said simply, and then shrugged, adding, “and besides. We could do with the extra brains, especially considering our resident expert in that department marred his record there.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother to respond. Anything he might say would only reignite the flames of an argument that had just managed to cool down.

Sure enough, all traces of heat had faded from Hoseok’s countenance, as he now looked unsure. “I,” he paused, gaze dropping to the table whilst nibbling on his lip in thought. “I don’t know how I can be of any help right away. I feel like I need time just to digest all that happened now.”

Jin nodded, sympathetic. “I understand, Hoseok-ah. Take some time, but,” he glanced at Namjoon, “not for too long.”

Hoseok bobbed his head, still pensive, and then rose from his feet. “I’ll do my best to help. I don’t – as much as I don’t condone your actions, Namjoon-ah, I don’t want anyone to die either. Neither the Mama or-or the — your child. So,” he shrugged, offering a feeble smile that obviously didn’t reach his eyes, “I’ll try to think of something.”

They all watched as Hoseok departed from Seokjin’s chambers, none of them saying anything until the door was firmly shut behind him.

As soon as it was, however, Jungkook’s head was whipping around so fast, Namjoon would have feared for his neck had those large eyes not been fixated on him. “You really slept with the Mama?” Jungkook said, incredulous.

Namjoon let his head drop to the table, bypassing any verbal responses in favor of letting out a groan hardly muffled by the thick wood.

Taehyung loved his hyung. He really, truly did. From the depths of his heart. In the most genuine way possible. It was inevitable after their years together and, more so, the past year starting with it being just the two of them together against what felt like the rest of Goryeo.

So why Yoongi was attempting to get Taehyung to converse with Jimin and get them closer – well. Taehyung knew why, much similar to his own reasons when encouraging Yoongi to engage with Namjoon – culminations of a child aside. 

But Taehyung had no such intentions towards Jimin, most certainly was not interested in having to talk to him beyond the bare minimum, much less any fanciful ideas of romance. Taehyung had to give it to Yoongi there, no one was expecting anything like that to happen between himself and Jimin. But why did Yoongi have to be so adamant on getting them to be friends? He was perfectly content with their stilted conversations, really. 

And besides. Taehyung already had a friend here. Sadly, the very same friend who helped Taehyung procure the supplies that he now begrudgingly had to lug to the concubines wing to share with Jimin. Thanks to Yoongi. Who Taehyung really loved, truly, but sometimes, he wished they were back in Yuan, where no one would blink if Taehyung decided to punch Yoongi square in the arm – or jeer with the idea that it was fine for them to also treat Yoongi without respect.

But, getting back to the point, and Taehyung’s current predicament. With an exhale, Taehyung forced himself out of the recesses of his mind, brought back into reality as he consciously loosened his grip around his brush, one finger at a time.

Attention drawn by the sound, Jimin shot him an uneasy look, shuffling uncomfortably on his knees. For his part, he did look apologetic as he glanced between Taehyung and the door, where Yoongi had left with an excuse of needing fresh air. Taehyung had been worried at first too. He feared Yoongi was nauseous and trying to get out before he started vomiting or the like in front of Jimin, not wanting to dismiss the man so soon after he’d responded to Yoongi’s request to meet.

But as time went by and Yoongi didn’t return right away, Taehyung’s suspicions changed.

“Do,” Jimin started, voice soft and hesitant. He’d been painting with a lot more concentration after Yoongi left the chambers, and by now, his scroll had a beautiful depiction of a mountainous landscape, the beginnings of cherry blossom trees already visible. “Do you think he’s alright?”

Taehyung snorted, only slightly abashed when Jimin reared back. “He’s fine,” Taehyung said. He did feel a little bad, that Jimin was feeling so clearly uncomfortable in his presence. A while ago, he wouldn’t have cared, but now that Yoongi himself was enjoying Jimin’s presence… he supposed it felt rather petty of Taehyung to still hold his grudge. “He probably just wanted to stretch his legs for a bit.” That was probably enough, seeing as Jimin nodded, going back to his painting. But his muscles were still stiff, and the air was still awkward, and Taehyung knew it was solely because of him.

He internally sighed, bracing himself to push the conversation further. “Yoongi hyung isn't really that into painting,” he offered, eyes darting away when Jimin peeked at him with guarded interest. “He indulges in it to give me company, more than anything, but he’d much rather be doing–” Namjoon-ssi, “–other things.”

“Ah,” Jimin pouted, eyes dropping back to their paints. “It would have been fine if he wished to do something else,” he said, the slightest bit despondent. “I mean, he did offer the activity himself, but if I had known it wasn’t to his interest–”

“You misunderstand me,” Taehyung cut him off, a little stiff as he tried to figure out how to placate Jimin. “I think this was actually… exactly what he wished to do.”

Jimin stared at him rather dumbly. Taehyung refused to think about how… innocent, Jimin appeared, blinking at him like that as he tried to parse through Taehyung’s words. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung actually sighed this time, hand flinching with the aborted motion to smack his head. “He wanted us to talk.”

Jimin’s eyes cleared, right before his face dropped. He straightened, slowly setting his brush down, and knitted his fingers atop his lap. Taehyung didn’t think about how that disappointed him, how he’d have much rather Jimin kept painting even if they remained in silence. 

“We,” Jimin paused, “don’t have to,” he said, uttering the words with care. “I understand you’re still not fond of me. If Yoongi hyung won’t be returning then,” Jimin’s gaze drifted to the side, eyeing the door, “I can take my leave,” he said. As if this wasn’t his chambers but Taehyung’s.

Taehyung grimaced, shaking his head. “You–you don’t have to.” He shrugged, trying to make it look casual as he kept his gaze fixated on Jimin’s scroll. “I mean, it looks like you’re quite skilled with painting and – we don’t have to talk. You can just finish your painting, you’ve gotten quite a bit done already. But I wouldn’t be averse to – to understanding you better?” Taehyung cringed at himself. “I haven’t really been fair to you, so you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But we can if you want. It’s up to you, really.” Clamping his mouth shut, he sealed his lips against any more words that may have wanted to rampage out of him.

His ramblings must have appeased some spirit out there, however, for Jimin slowly, cautiously, began to smile.

Taehyung wondered if that strange stone in his throat was one borne of regret.

“We can keep painting,” Jimin agreed, voice light and airy. “And… maybe you can tell me about your interest in it?”

Taehyung eyed him. It was strange, the idea of speaking about something he favored so easily to someone he still wasn’t comfortable with. But he was trying, and so was Jimin, so the least he could do was keep going with … whatever was going on here, he supposed.

So, as he resumed to paint, eyes studiously on his scroll, Taehyung talked. His words were stuttered and thought over not once, or twice, but thrice, as he dubiously revealed of Yoongi’s encouragement for Taehyung to find a pastime, asking around as if for the Mama, meeting Jungkook and being introduced to a whole new artistic world.

Jimin listened attentively, a tiny little smile ever present on his face, only painting every now and then as if it was an afterthought, something he had to consciously remind himself to do.

“He definitely cares for you,” Jimin said at some point, when Taehyung felt like he was running out of words to say, meager and succinct as they’d already been. It was still an astute observation, if a little redundant too.

“We care for each other,” Taehyung said plainly. “I don’t know what else he’s told you of us, but he wasn’t lying when he said we’ve known each other for many years now, and been friends for just as long. Being attentive to one another’s well being comes along with the package, more than just a typical master and servant.”

“You’re his confidante,” Jimin said matter of factly, not an ounce of doubt heard in his statement. “It makes sense. You’ve definitely portrayed yourself as deserving of that title.”

Taehyung refused to let himself be affected by that, knowing what Jimin was referring to. Instead, he kept his face neutral, shrugging. “Again, we’ve had years to become close.”

Jimin smiled rather wistfully. “It’s very admirable,” he said, “not just of you, but that you’re able to have such a close bond.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Do you not have anyone you’re close to?” He asked, curious. “The last time you met with hyung, you spoke of being friends with Namjoon–ssi.”

Jimin hummed. “Yes. He’s a close friend now, don’t get me wrong. But from childhood,” Jimin paused, pursing his lips. “I can’t help but imagine how that would have been.”

Taehyung huffed, suddenly amused. “Oh, it’s not all that glorious.” He chuckled, a flood of memories washing over him. “Yoongi hyung – he’s an amazing person, and sure, he was a well behaved child and all that. He didn’t… exactly have things easy, although not a lot of us did.” He dipped his head towards Jimin in acknowledgment, who nodded in acknowledgment, otherwise remaining attentive. “But we both had our moments of being, well. Impudent,” he smirked.

Jimin’s eyebrows rose, interest obviously piqued. “Oh?” He asked, visibly trying to avoid pushing but still inquisitive. Taehyung didn’t find himself put off by it, although he was studiously avoiding thinking about how odd it was that he apparently felt fine sharing stories now with Jimin.

“Mm. There were times when hyung would be so tired from his day of lessons and such that he’d become rather taciturn with my presence. He told me at one point that it had bugged him to have someone younger than him serving him, someone who appeared so perfect in their duties.” Taehyung snorted. “Of course, I had to prove him wrong, that I wasn’t just some meek, humble child devoted to a life of servitude. So one day, he was particularly worn out and just, I don’t know, looked all sullen and like he’d rather be anywhere other than near me. Which I decided to take as a personal offense.”

Later, Taehyung had learned that Yoongi never had a problem with Taehyung himself at that time. Rather, he’d just been driven to exhaustion that day after a particularly trying meeting with his uncle along with the lessons with his strict and rigid instructors. All he’d yearned to do by the end of the day was retreat into himself in the privacy of his chambers with no one else around. But they hadn’t been close enough yet for Yoongi to trust him with an uncharacteristic request to be left alone, much less hadn't known each other well enough for Yoongi to be more assured in Taehyung’s presence. Taehyung didn’t voice any of that.

“So when he just glared at me while I was merely trying to help him into his nightclothes, I decided I’d had enough, and threw his clothes on the ground, telling him to just dress himself if he thought himself so above me, and stormed out of there like the impudent child I was.”

Jimin’s eyes were wide circles, jaw slackened with shock. It was a more dramatic reaction than Taehyung would have expected, but Taehyung just felt emboldened by it, nodding his head eagerly as if to emphasize the unnecessary drama of it all.

“The next day he was very apologetic, took the blame and said it was all his fault and that he didn’t mean to make things difficult for me. It admittedly took me aback, I wasn’t expecting him to actually apologize. But he did, and he was very remorseful even though things weren’t even that serious.” Taehyung clicked his tongue.

“I could say things were better after that, but I suppose it actually made us more comfortable with arguing with each other over several smaller things before we realized there wasn’t any genuine anger over it. I think it actually helped Yoongi hyung, if anything – as if I was providing a sense of normalcy for him, where we’d bicker like normal children disregarding our opposing statuses entirely. And then we grew up and,” Taehyung stuttered, abruptly coming back to himself and redirecting his words before they could take a darker route than he’d been aiming for, “we stopped seeing the need for petty arguments and found our rhythm in a more amicable yet close relationship.”

Jimin leaned back, sensing the end of Taehyung’s recollection. “That’s fascinating,” he murmured, “how you were able to disregard your statuses and behave as normal children.”

Taehyung exhaled, a short huff of air proclaiming his amusement. “Children cannot fully be expected to be proper at all times with no break. There are bound to be cracks, that which we were properly able to utilize and take advantage of. And it turned out for the better than if we hadn’t.”

Jimin smiled. “Children can be quite delightful in that way,” he mused, his expression turning rather rueful before he blinked. “Not that you aren’t delightful anymore – I mean, you’re both quite nice even if I hadn’t–” Jimin abruptly cut himself off, looking pained as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Taking mercy on him, even as he felt his stomach churn at the thought of children, Taehyung smiled placatingly. “I understand what you mean. And you – you’re not so bad yourself, either.”

Jimin opened his eyes, shy and tentative as he peered at Taehyung. “You– you really think so?”

Taehyung paused, licking his lips. The words he were about to utter as means of appeasement suddenly seemed more heavy, like a part of Taehyung’s future weighed on it. It made the unease return, but with Jimin gazing at him with such an open expression of hope and longing, the words slipped out before Taehyung could think about it.

“Yeah. You’re quite nice as well, Jimin-ssi.”

And even though it felt like Taehyung’s insides were swirling within him, Jimin’s beaming face made it seem like maybe that wasn’t to be such an ominous thing, perhaps.

Chapter Text

A new melody had been playing in Yoongi’s mind lately. It was one he realized he’d begun composing since Hoseok had confirmed of his pregnancy, and with each visit to the music room since then, he’d allowed his fingers to strum out the notes, at some points allowing his mind to drift while other times he’d be intently focused on developing the chords.

It was on one of these days where he’d been sitting with the gayageum before him, letting himself play through the entire song and only taking mental notes of what he’d wanted to tweak without actually altering anything yet, just playing through until the bare notes of it came to life until the end. The final notes had only just finished reverberating through the chambers, Yoongi already adjusting his fingers to play again from the beginning, this time with the intent to add the changes he’d already compiled in his mind, when the door opened.

Fingers stilling on the strings, Yoongi felt a smile overtake his features without conscious thought as Namjoon slipped in, a small bag cradled in one hand as he closed the door behind him with another. Namjoon’s eyes swept over the room, taking in the noticeably empty spot where Taehyung usually sat, but had long since abandoned since it became normal for Namjoon to join them almost every single time. He still accompanied Yoongi to the music room, unwilling to let Yoongi make the walk himself, even if Yoongi had claimed more than once that he was perfectly fine walking on his own two feet. But Taehyung wouldn’t budge, falling back on claims of his position as Yoongi’s personal servant so as to accompany him and ensure Yoongi was completely looked after – at least until Yoongi was with the gayageum again. After that point, Taehyung would disappear with a pointed look, one that Yoongi fervently kept avoiding with heated cheeks.

Taehyung had only complained once, and rather mildly too, to show that he held no true ill feelings of being away from Yoongi while in the music room. If anything, Yoongi understood and was moved by the silent implication that Taehyung was completely trusting of Yoongi being left alone with Namjoon, even now. But he had still effectively imparted his lack of interest in spending hours watching Namjoon and Yoongi be swept up into their own world and ignoring Taehyung entirely, even if he had his paintings to entertain himself with. A lack of want for proximity meant wandering hands, and whatever restraint Yoongi and Namjoon tried to employ in respect of Taehyung’s presence obviously wasn’t enough.

Which meant that once again, Yoongi and Namjoon were together with no one else around, and Namjoon was quick to take advantage of it, movements completely at ease and natural as he rounded the gayageum to sit right beside Yoongi, their sides flush against each other.

Yoongi watched with curiosity as Namjoon handed the bag over, waiting for Yoongi to move the gayageum off his lap and onto the ground before taking it. Opening it without any preambling, he peered inside, and his smile grew wider until his teeth were exposed when he saw the small orange spheres within.

“You spoil me,” Yoongi said quietly, even as he eagerly took one of the fruits out and started peeling it immediately.

Namjoon leaned more heavily against his side, the both of them now resting their bodies against each other while watching Yoongi’s hand deftly working at the fruit. “Oranges are very good for your health,” Namjoon stated, very matter-of-factly. “And,” his voice dropped lower, quite but no less sweet, “they’re good for the baby too.”

Yoongi’s hands halted, his cheeks burning as he bit his lips. He was abruptly overtaken by a flood of emotions, mostly centered on the absolute fondness and – and love for the man beside him. Strange, that it culminated in his eyes blurring with unshed tears, but not entirely inexplicable, considering how often Yoongi found it far too easy to cry lately.

Blinking rapidly to dispel the forming liquid, Yoongi resumed peeling the orange, resolutely ignoring the slight tremble in his hands. Namjoon swept up the peels once Yoongi was done, tilting away to deposit it on the ground to collect when they left. He startled when he turned back and Yoongi held the first piece right at his mouth. 

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, but obediently opened his mouth, allowing Yoongi to place the slice in his mouth, a finger dragging against Namjoon’s tongue and lip before retreating completely. Namjoon’s pupils dilated as he kept his eyes on Yoongi, even as he finally closed the mouth and chewed slowly on the small piece, not once looking away. Feeling hot under the scrutiny, Yoongi averted his own gaze, fiddling with the fruit to take apart a piece for himself, but he didn’t bring it to his own mouth just yet.

“I brought it for you,” Namjoon said, when Yoongi didn’t eat it right away.

A random rush of courage striking his nerves, Yoongi met Namjoon’s gaze again, popping the fruit in his mouth but leaving his finger inside, the same that was still wet from Namjoon’s mouth. Namjoon's eyes dropped, expression hungry and gaze growing darker as Yoongi slowly slid his finger out, licking at the tip before biting down on the fruit. 

The taste of citrus on his tongue, however, momentarily distracted Yoongi. He closed his eyes, letting out a pleased hum as his attention diverted, enjoying the tangy fruit. A smile tugged at his lips unconsciously, and he swayed in place, relishing in the slice for as long as it lasted before he had to swallow it down.

When he opened his eyes again, mind already on thoughts of taking another piece, he caught Namjoon’s gaze and paused. Any signs of heated passion had faded away, leaving only a fond smile on Namjoon’s lips as he watched Yoongi with utter adoration. Blinking, Yoongi dropped his gaze again, feeling far more shy than when Namjoon had looked at him with lust. Busying himself with taking another slice in his mouth, he studiously kept his gaze averted, even if he couldn’t help glancing at Namjoon from his peripherals.

Of course, with his attention solely on Yoongi, Namjoon didn’t miss it. He let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to cup Yoongi’s cheek with a hand. Namjoon sighed, drawing close to press their foreheads together, Yoongi’s eyes widening with surprise before his eyes fluttered and then completely closed, Namjoon’s touch unwittingly soothing and grounding.

“Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon whispered, drawing out his name with an exhale. “I absolutely adore you,” he said.

Yoongi tilted back a little, enough to separate their faces but not going too far. He cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you loved me?”

“I do,” Namjoon was quick to say, the words falling from his mouth easily. “I love you so much.”

Despite having taunted Namjoon himself, the easy admission still made Yoongi blush, unable to maintain eye contact.

Namjoon kept his hand on his cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin, while his other hand came around to gently settle itself over Yoongi’s belly, the growing roundness of it easily obscured by Yoongi’s hanbok for now. “I love you both a lot.”

Smiling again, small but joyful, Yoongi placed his free hand over Namjoon’s, curling into Namjoon’s chest. “I love you too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you both as well.”

Whatever the future may hold, Yoongi wasn’t thinking about it now. Outside the little bubble they so often found themselves in, reality waited for them, one where Yoongi was still conflicted with tumultuous emotions revolving around fear for his unborn child and discontent still with Namjoon, even if it was decreasing. But here, firmly ensconced within their moment, Yoongi could let himself forget about it, choosing instead to bask in wanting to be close to Namjoon, the man he otherwise was, the man who was also the father of their child. It was that security which let Yoongi delude himself further, maybe even strengthening his as of yet wavering conviction that he could rely on Namjoon to uphold his word, and find a way for them all to get through this safely, however it may be.

Namjoon honestly hadn’t been expecting for the king to have summoned him. Lately, all it felt was like Namjoon had been the one to visit the king himself, trying to find out what was going on with the king and what he was planning. But this time, the king had sent for him, and Namjoon went with no hesitation even as his stomach twisted with worry and dread.

The few seconds he waited outside the king’s doors to his chambers felt like an eternity before he was allowed in, and heading into the chambers was akin to heading to the gallows in Namjoon’s mind. He pushed that thought out of his head, making sure his face was wiped clean and set neutral as he bowed before seating himself at the low table opposite the king, glancing down at the various scrolls flattened out upon it.

“You summoned me, Jeonha?”

The king hummed, not taking his eyes off the scrolls before him. Upon a further glance, the unease curdling Namjoon’s guts grew intense when he realized it to be a map of the border between Goryeo and Yuan. The scroll right beside it was a map of Yuan’s southern territory, the border shared with Goryeo painted only at the very edge.

“I am going to have my fighters draw in towards Yuan,” the king said abruptly, Namjoon’s eyes flicking back to him sharply at the statement.

Namjoon took a careful inhale, ensuring his voice held no wavering before he spoke. “I thought you planned on making it appear as if it were to be an unbiased attack?”

The king waved a hand rather dismissively, however. “I will have reports of a few skirmishes in our own territory sent out to avoid suspicions from arising, fret not. But to get Yuan to actually pay attention in time, I need to up the severity of the attacks so that true concern will become sullied with fear, and Yuan’s ruler will find logical reasoning slipping from his mind.”

Namjoon hesitated. “Is that not a bit of a stretch?” Namjoon said slowly. “To assume that Yuan’s ruler will be completely oblivious? What if he chooses to deal with the bandits on his own?”

The king finally looked away from his scrolls, regarding Namjoon with dark eyes. A chill ran down Namjoon’s spine, but he refused to show how the king’s choler affected him on his face.

“Then I will make sure he has no choice but to meet with me to address it. If a shared problem is what will unite us, then I will display the heads of my own, poor and innocent civilians to get him to stand before me.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened. “You’d have our own people killed?” He asked before he could think, too aghast to filter himself.

“Casualties happen in war, Namjoon-ah,” and oh, how Namjoon detested the sound of the endearment when uttered so closely with such vile words. “Their deaths will not be in vain, and their spirits from the afterlife will rejoice upon seeing how it was for the greater good when Goryeo is one larger land under one ruler entirely.”

Namjoon gaped, only just managing to bite his tongue in the nick of time. This is insanity, he wanted to shout. You’ve gone completely delirious, he wanted to rage. But he bottled it all up within him, the words manifesting like the physical need to vomit with how thick they sat at the back of his throat. Restraining himself into complete silence instead, he bowed his head, forehead throbbing as he fought to find the right words to appease the king, fought to find the Namjoon that would have not an ounce of doubt in the man before him.

It wasn’t there, a glaringly empty hole left behind where his loyalty to the king once was, and it only had Namjoon biting his cheeks to hold back a gag.

“I wanted to inform you of this beforehand this time, because I need you to do me a favor,” the king said, and Namjoon reluctantly raised his head again. “Not all the deaths will be our people. The Yuan heir is too valuable to die right now, but if another northerner parading around as one of our own were to die…”

Namjoon’s mind raced, drawing to a horrible conclusion just as the king confirmed it with his next words.

“Then both lands will have to be involved, even if it is as meager of a life as the Yuan heir’s servant.”

Namjoon blinked, his hands flinching on his lap in an aborted movement – to do what, throttle the king? Namjoon felt almost delirious himself at the instinctive notion. “You want to have Taehyung-ssi killed?” He asked, barely able to voice the words.

The king nodded, his eyes alit with a fire Namjoon burned at from just witnessing. “I want you to arrange his death, Namjoon. And I trust you to make it seem as barbaric as bandits are wont to do.”

Every cell within his body froze. How he responded was a vague memory, whatever else the king said stored away in the recesses of Namjoon’s mind to be dealt with later. Minutes passed, the king becoming more amicable now that his order had been conveyed. He even offered Namjoon a cup of tea at some point, which Namjoon had no choice but to take to appear unaffected, hands oddly yet fortunately unshaking despite the thunderstorm wrecking through him. No sooner had he emptied it, however, did he take his leave, the king unbothered as he dismissed him.

Leaving the king’s chambers, Namjoon came to a standstill, his mind turmoiled. Normally, he would immediately retreat to Seokjin’s chambers to immediately convey whatever he’d learned, but the weight of this information held too many ramifications to be discussed calmly and critically. As if the new life that hung on the line was just another plot point, nothing more in the grand scheme of things to ultimately save Yoongi’s life.

Yoongi… he had to tell Yoongi. Namjoon may not have been close to Taehyung himself, but he was friendly enough with the man. More importantly, he knew how important Taehyung was to Yoongi, marking him as a significant enough figure in Namjoon’s life by extension. 

But what would he even say? That he was now tasked with the direct order to have Taehyung killed, to the man he loved, about the other man who was such a crucial counterpart to Yoongi? He may not be willing to hold any more secrets from Yoongi, but he hadn’t failed to notice how Yoongi had become more prone to emotional outbursts, small and contained as they may have been. The pregnancy was visible in not just physical changes, but Yoongi was not exempt from the hormonal mood swings, no matter how much he tried to hide it, even if from Namjoon.

Namjoon shuffled in place, looking down the corridor before him. His feet itched to walk, to run towards a place where he could find salvation, yet whatever reasoning remained in his mind held him in place, fighting to figure out where exactly his solutions lay.

Ultimately, it was with shaky steps that he made his way to Seokjin’s chambers first. He wouldn’t hide the news from Yoongi, couldn’t no matter how much his heart screamed at him, but he refused to face him without even the barest backbones of a plan, a promise to keep Yoongi’s dongsaeng safe as well.

Hoseok was muttering to himself furiously when Namjoon entered the chambers. With Seokjin and Jungkook casting him with perturbed glances, Namjoon’s entrance went mostly unnoticed. Seating himself, he stared at the people around him for nary a second before the words tumbled out of his lips, effectively silencing Hoseok’s mumblings and garnering their attention completely.

“The Jeonha ordered me to have Yoongi’s friend killed.”

While Hoseok blinked and Seokjin frowned, it was oddly enough Jungkook who responded to that first. “Taehyung-ssi?” Jungkook asked, eyes wide with the slightest crease between his eyebrows. It grew pronounced when Namjoon nodded slowly, somber albeit a little addled.

Jungkook blinked, and then stated with no levity in his tone, “you’re not going to kill him.” It was very matter-of-fact, Namjoon would’ve been honored to think Jungkook knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to do that. Except, the tense set of his shoulders belied that rather, Jungkook meant he wouldn’t allow for Namjoon to even think of doing so.

Namjoon would have been offended instead, but found himself more grateful where his disoriented brain allowed him to be so. He hadn’t been aware that Jungkook knew of Taehyung, enough to feel strongly about the matter, but it would be of use. Insensitive as it might have sounded, at least his rational counterpart would be in sync with his emotional investment here.

“I would never,” Namjoon solemnly vowed. “But this,” he paused, “complicates things.” Taking a deep inhale, he turned to Seokjin. “Please, tell me you have something.”

Jin stared at Namjoon for a second longer, searching his features for what Namjoon didn’t know, but then he turned to Hoseok. “We might actually have something.” He tilted his head at Hoseok, gesturing for him to speak, which he did promptly.

“There’s a tea,” Hoseok began, placing his interlocked hands on the table, “it’s… like a slow poison – but it won’t kill the king,” he rushed to add. “It’ll merely incapacitate him. Weaken him and slow him down, have him succumb to illness. Again, nothing fatal if administered properly,” Hoseok repeated, “but it would have him on bed rest until we stop giving it to him.” He glanced at them meaningfully.

Seokjin continued. “And if he’s on bedrest and sufficiently ill enough,” he looked to Namjoon, “then he would be unable to go through any traveling. Especially those requiring long distances, such as across Goryeo and well within Yuan to meet with their ruler. He wouldn’t even be in a state to hold meetings with his own court, much less another’s.” 

Namjoon straightened in his seat. For the first time in weeks, he felt hope igniting within him, an ember yet to burn but promising a raging wildfire to come. “Okay, then we’ll just give him that.”

But Hoseok shook his head, hesitant. “There’s… one slight problem. It has to be given in multiple doses throughout a period of time. Enough so that the Jeonha’s illness won’t come about randomly and all at once. And throughout a prolonged period of time to ensure that he can’t recover before the anniversary.”

Namjoon was already thinking, mind racing with the obstacles that would bring about, when Jungkook tentatively raised his hand, akin to a child in a classroom. It was endearing, but his question very much wasn’t. “And what about after?” He asked, eyes darting between Namjoon and Seokjin. “After the anniversary, if we stop giving the Jeonha the tea and he recovers… what’s to stop the Jeonha from going through with his plan when he gets better again anyway?”

Namjoon stilled. As much as he hated to admit it, Jungkook had a point. And yet, “we’ll take it one step at a time,” he offered, although his voice didn’t sound very convincing even to himself. “For now, we need to figure this out – is there nothing else?” He directed at Hoseok and Seokjin, needing to know if they really couldn’t come up with anything else – short of outright killing the king.

“We could trip the Jeonha near one of the higher level windows and have his limbs break,” Seokjin said dryly, “but that might be a little more risky considering we wouldn’t have complete control over the outcome. And – if he survives it intact – he might have the person who shoved him executed out of principle at this point.”

Namjoon cringed. “Yeah, let’s maybe … not.” Even if Seokjin meant it as a joke – although, knowing him, it was probably something he’d seriously considered at some point – he wasn’t mistaken in that there were too many things that could go wrong in trying to have the Jeonha come to physical harm like that. Nevermind that the Jeonha wasn’t a dundering fool himself, well efficient in taking care of himself in a battleground, much less flat ground in the relative safety of his palace – whether or not his own trusted people were planning treason. But if he ended up dead or pretty much as good as – Namjoon wasn’t ready to deal with the anarchy of that just yet.

And yet, he found himself absently storing away those thoughts, a part of his brain already mentally preparing strategies for the worst case scenario. Just in case.

“The tea,” Namjoon said, redirecting them. “We only have one moon cycle left, more or less,” he pointed out. The daunting reminder sounded like the beat of the funeral procession’s drums to his own ears. “Will it take effect in time?”

At Hoseok’s confirmation, he nodded before moving onto the next point.

“Additionally; if it needs to be administered regularly, then how are we going to bypass his servant? Surely, they’ll figure things out if the taste tester of all people succumbs to the same illness the Jeonha does.”

“Not unless he trusts the person serving him,” Seokjin said. “It’s not often, but there is a rare occasion when he doesn’t have someone testing the food served to him beforehand.”

It took Namjoon a second, but it didn’t take him long to think of the one person the Jeonha was more lax with.

He blanched at that. “You – we’d have to bring him in,” he said, already shaking his head. But he wasn’t outright shutting down the idea as much as he was posing the potential flaws that Seokjin would need to counter. “No matter what’s been going on between them now, do you really think he’d be willing to harm the Jeonha?”

Seokjin shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “We could just exchange the teas in his chambers, we wouldn’t have to tell him anything.”

This time, the movement of Namjoon’s head was more steely, his denial concrete. “And risk harming him if he chooses to drink it himself? No, that’s too dangerous.”

“Wait, hold up.” Jungkook raised his hands, palms out as he tried to slow them down. Beside him, Hoseok looked – not as confused, but like he was already putting together the pieces, and was starting to appear contemplative, as if entertaining the idea as well. “Who are we talking about now?”

Namjoon stared at Seokjin for a beat longer before focusing on Jungkook. “Jimin,” he explained succinctly. “Whenever the Jeonha meets with Jimin, he doesn’t take anyone else with him. Whatever goes on inside … I do not know nor do I care to know of the details. But I do know that they’ve exchanged – maybe not complete meals, but enough nourishment for. Well.” He pursed his lips, not really wanting to think of the Jeonha – or his friend – any further in such ways. “So if Jimin offers him something to eat or drink, then unless he has it himself first, then there’s no one else to try whatever the Jeonha is given.”

“We could tell Jimin,” Hoseok tried. “Even if he tests the tea first, he’s well trained in performing. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to pretend to drink the tea before the Jeonha has it.”

“This is ludicrous,” Namjoon muttered, but he could already feel his resolve weakening. “Again, how would we even convince him?”

“By talking to him.” Seokjin said. “You, out of all of us, are closest to him. And the situation at hand. Explain things to him fully, give him the chance to at least hear things out. If he outright refuses, then we’ll think of something else, but for now, this is the best we have, and it’s worth a shot,” he reasoned.

“Unless Jimin decides harming the Jeonha is too much and he decides to tell the Jeonha of our doings.” Namjoon retaliated.

Seokjin scoffed. “Please, do you really think that lowly of him? Of the bond between you two?” He shook his head, something knowing in his eyes. “Just, try it, Namjoon-ah. Whatever he decides, I’m sure we can trust him.”

Jimin was minding his business, having just returned from a walk through the gardens, his head in the clouds as he absently let his thoughts drift through his mind. The still low temperatures meant that Jimin had dismissed his servants, neither having the need for them to accompany him nor wanting them to suffer the cold either, even if it was starting to warm up a bit with winter drawing to its end. For his part, he was bulked up adequately so that the cold didn’t bother him much when he was outside, but within the palace he was growing uncomfortably warm and was frankly looking forward to shedding the extra layers back in his chambers.

So he was a little miffed when Jungkook appeared out of nowhere, latching onto his arm and bringing them both to a halt.

“Jungkook-ah?” With a double take, Jimin felt his irritation ebb away, replaced with concern as he took in his friend’s unnaturally grim expression. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“I need to speak with you urgently,” Jungkook said, voice quiet yet rushed, countenance unlike anything Jimin had seen before. Helpless to do anything but nod, Jimin freed Jungkook’s hold on his arm, only to link their arms together instead and lead them back to his chambers. Despite the pace he’d set to be faster than his preferred one, they were still slow enough to appear casual to any outsiders, but Jimin didn’t miss the rigidity in Jungkook’s muscles from where they were joined at the sides. As if he was restraining himself from expending extra energy to rush them, not wanting to draw attention.

As soon as they were back in Jimin’s chambers, outer layers needing to be removed forgotten, Jimin turned on Jungkook, ready to demand an explanation, but Jungkook was already beating him to it.

“We need your help,” Jungkook said. “The Jeonha…” but then he paused, closing his eyes as if to take a moment to reorient himself. With a shake of his head, he opened his eyes and looking at Jimin, gaze unwavering. “There’s a lot to say and it will be a lot to take in, and – I’m not going to be able to tell you much myself, but we know we can trust you and – and I just need you to listen, okay?”

Any other time, Jimin would have swatted at Jungkook’s head, a familiar retort easy to fall from his tongue as he admonished Jungkook for not talking properly to his elder. Right now, however, Jimin was dumbfounded, only able to blink in shock as he tried to process Jungkook’s rapid fire words.

Without giving Jimin further time to process, much less respond, Jungkook went on. “Meet me at Jin hyung’s chambers tomorrow past noon,” he paused, dragging a hand through his hair, “and make absolutely sure no one sees you. Come alone,” he reiterated, as if the implication of his previous words hadn’t been enough. “And be discrete, I guess.”

Bewildered, Jimin nodded. He opened his mouth – to say what, he still hadn’t the faintest idea. Maybe to question Jungkook further, maybe to ask again if Jungkook was sure everything was alright – although it seemed decreasingly likely. But before he could get a single syllable out, Jungkook had opened the door again and was out of Jimin’s chambers, closing the door behind him gently yet swiftly.

Jimin blinked, feeling odd footed and dizzy with the rush of the random encounter. Eventually, however, the feeling of his body beginning to overheat brought him back to reality. Jimin stepped away from the door, fingers struggling with the goreums of his po with uncharacteristic difficulty as he began to undress himself. With each layer shed carelessly to the ground, his body regained natural temperatures, and his mind was easily distracted again. His thoughts no longer flowed freely this time, Jungkook’s words undoing the relief his walk through the gardens had brought his mind. His head felt heavy once again with a different burden unceremoniously cast upon it, that Jimin barely took notice of his servants appearing to serve him his dinner before getting him ready for bed.

At least sleep was quick to come, body worn out from the walk despite his still working brain. Jimin was grateful for the reprieve. The next few hours would go by quicker with him unconscious, and it would bring Jimin closer to the time he was set to meet Jungkook again, and hopefully receive enlightenment about whatever was going on.

Namjoon knew he had to tell Yoongi. And he was going to. But the words sat heavily on his tongue, even with the sweet promise of progress finally made that would come after.

But Yoongi’s eyes were keen and attentive, almost enough to have Namjoon squirming in his seat, that he knew Yoongi knew something was up. So no sooner had Taehyung cleared the table and left the chamber did Namjoon find the words slipping out of his mouth. At least he had the wherewithal to not begin as rough and abrupt as he had at Seokjin’s chambers, working himself slowly through the ordeal to prepare – himself, more than Yoongi, for the words that needed to be uttered.

“I met with the Jeonha today,” he began, and then – “he wants me to have Taehyung-ssi killed.”

Okay. So maybe he wasn’t going to walk through it like he’d meant to after all.

Yoongi froze, turning pale so fast that Namjoon grew concerned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not going to,” Namjoon was faster to say. “Of course I wouldn’t. But – he expects Taehyung’s death to really emphasize the urgency of the situation for Yuan. He doesn’t want you dead yet, but if Taehyung were to be – to be killed, then it would affect you enough that your uncle would have to hear him out for certain. So,” his voice died out as he trailed off awkwardly, unable to speak any further before giving Yoongi the chance to register his words.

It took Yoongi a while, understandably so. He blinked, eyelashes fluttering with the rapid movement, before completely closing his eyes, taking several deep breaths while Namjoon watched, waiting.

“Okay.” Yoongi finally said after what felt like an eternity later, opening his eyes and piercing Namjoon with the weight of his stare. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not going through with it whatsoever, first and above all,” Namjoon said, keeping his tone measured to convey the severity of his words. “I promised you I would allow no harm to come to you, and that will extend to Taehyung-ssi as well.”

Yoongi nodded slowly, his glare softening only by a margin. Taking it as a good enough cue for him to go on, Namjoon decided to continue.

“I met with Jin hyung immediately afterwards. And we finally have something we think we can do.”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, head tilting slightly in a wordless gesture for Namjoon to keep speaking.

“We’re going to try and have the Jeonha fall to illness so that he won’t be able to travel to meet with your uncle in the first place. It’s… not a complete cure-all for the entire situation at hand,” Namjoon said, thinking of Jungkook’s words. He didn’t want to address it, but it apparently held a bigger presence in the back of his mind than he’d thought, for it to fall out so easily with Yoongi now.

Or maybe that was just because of who he was talking to right now.

“But it would prevent your uncle’s death for starters, and your planned assassination would become null.”

Yoongi blinked, inhaling deeply. “That – is a start, I suppose,” he began, eyebrows furrowed contemplatively. “But – what about when I start showing?” He posed, skeptic. “Hell, Namjoon-ah, I already am. Is he going to be so sick that he won’t even notice that I’m growing larger to the point everyone else will know and speak of it? Will he be absolutely unable to process when a whole child will become present in the palace that everyone will assume is his child?”

Namjoon slumped, feeling a little helpless. “We haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” he confessed weakly. “We were just trying to tackle the more pressing situation first. However it goes, that would have been our next conundrum to solve, however.”

Yoongi stared a little disbelievingly at Namjoon. Which was pretty warranted, considering it was his life – and their child’s – they were discussing.

“Right,” he said. “Okay. That’s – it’s not alright, but I guess I understand.” He didn’t look entirely happy about it, however. Namjoon kept his mouth wisely shut and waited for Yoongi to go on.

“So – getting to Jeonha to become ill. How will that come to work?”

Namjoon sighed, shifting from his knees so that he was sitting cross-legged instead. “We’re going to bring in Jimin,” he conceded. “The way to have the Jeonha become unwell to the point of being restricted to his bed will involve continuous administration of a certain tea, courtesy of Hoseok. However, with his food constantly monitored, the only way to be able to bypass his taste tester without him falling ill as well means we’d need to have the Jeonha completely – and rather, blindly – trusting of the person serving him.”

Yoongi frowned. “And the only person he trusts to that extent is Jimin?”

Namjoon dipped his head. “It’s still in the works,” he said, “and there’s still some uncertainty regarding, well. Everything. We need Jimin to agree to everything first and foremost. And he’d have to see the Jeonha on a regular basis as well, which brings about its own set of problems. After that, we’d need to double check that the Jeonha really does take food from him without checking it. But if all goes well, then he won’t be summoning you anytime soon to take notice of your current condition, and the trip to Yuan would be postponed indefinitely, if not outright canceled.”

They fell into silence as Yoongi processed the words, Namjoon fiddling with his fingers as he waited. When Yoongi lifted his gaze again, Namjoon was almost taken aback by the firm set to his shoulders all of a sudden, the grim set of his jaw. “I want to come with you. Taehyung as well. To your next meeting.”

Namjoon blinked. “Are – are you sure?” He asked, uncertain. He wouldn’t deny Yoongi if he absolutely wanted to come, but they had already agreed that Yoongi had no need to directly be involved, not just because he couldn’t be seen but also due to Yoongi’s previous lack of interest.

But Yoongi looked certainly interested now. “Yes,” he said easily. “This doesn’t just entail me now. If Taehyung’s life is at stake too, then I want in. Both of us. I refuse to be left in the dark when he’s involved.”

Namjoon took his time to respond. But knowing from the get go that he wasn’t going to refuse Yoongi outright asking for something for the first time since this began, it was only inevitable that he acquiesced with a measured bob of his head. “We’re meeting again tomorrow,” he said softly. “After noon. We can’t go together, but I’ll let Taehyung know where Jin hyung’s chambers are so he can direct you.”

Yoongi jerked his head in a brief nod, as if deeming the matter settled. Taking cue, Namjoon leaned back from the table, eyeing Yoongi with a hint of wariness as he gauged the man’s temperament. “Do you wish to retire to bed now?” 

Yoongi shot him a sharp look at that. “Are you required elsewhere at this time of night?” He asked, an eyebrow cocked knowingly. Flushing, Namjoon shook his head, to which Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Then you’re joining me unless I tell you otherwise, Namjoon-ah,” although his tone was still curt, the rigidity of his shoulders was melting away, and he looked almost fond as he regarded Namjoon. “If I haven’t repeated myself already, then let me tell you this again. I trust and appreciate your efforts, and I’m trying to remain hopeful and optimistic. However, you have to understand that there is a part of me that expects to live every day as my last.”

Namjoon swallowed, throat going dry. It effectively prevented him from retorting immediately, which was just as well, as Yoongi kept going.

“And that means I want you to be with me – with us – for as long as I can.” Yoongi finished, his voice dropping.

Namjoon bowed his head, unable to maintain Yoongi’s steady gaze. “You know I will do my best to ensure you a long life,” he said, voice quiet. “Yours and our child. To the point that you won’t… you wouldn’t have to have me by your side should you no longer want to.”

Yoongi huffed, the exhale sounding sharp and vicious in the otherwise growing silence within the chambers. Namjoon was forced to look up as, with a flurry of his robes, Yoongi rose, rounding the table without fanfare and looking down at Namjoon like the regal entity he was. “Don’t be stupid,” Yoongi bit out, but he still extended his arms, wordlessly gesturing for Namjoon to grab onto them. He did, and with the slightest of tugs, Namjoon got to his feet as well, mindlessly following Yoongi as he led them to his bed. “I’ll always want you around, no matter how upset I am with you. Haven’t I proven that already?” He said, without looking back as he walked before Namjoon.

Feeling his expressions contort into a helpless smile, Namjoon stared fondly at the back of Yoongi’s head. “Then I will always be by your side as well, Yoongi-yah.” 

They’d shifted once they’d reached his bed, Yoongi beginning to turn around to face Namjoon, but at his words, Yoongi paused, staring at the bed instead. Still, with his side towards Namjoon, Namjoon didn’t miss the reddening of his ears, the slight flush of his cheeks.

He also couldn’t help but notice how Yoongi’s hanbok over his belly stretched over so faintly outwards, the multiple layers no longer enough to hide the growing curve.

“Shut up and help me undress,” Yoongi ordered, but there was definitely no bite to his words any longer, his affection given away with his inability to meet Namjoon’s eyes.

Tearing his eyes away from Yoongi’s belly and choosing to grin like a hopeless fool at his words instead, Namjoon obeyed.

When Taehyung came to serve Yoongi lunch the next day, it was with a befuddled expression that Yoongi wasn’t exactly surprised to see. And sure enough, as Taehyung began to lay out the food, he started to speak, clearing up any doubts Yoongi might’ve had as to the cause of it – not that he had any in the first place.

“Why did Namjoon-ssi just tell me where to find the military commander’s chambers?” Taehyung asked, eyes on Yoongi as he laid the food out with ease. “And why did it sound like he expects us there after you’re done with your meal?”

Yoongi sighed. He suddenly felt so, very tired, a bone deep exhaustion settling upon him as he approached the table. He’d been unable to find the words earlier, Namjoon’s presence a soothing balm that disappeared with him when he’d left. Afterwards, Yoongi had been consumed by his own thoughts and difficulty with the situation as reality hit him once again, that he’d failed to talk with Taehyung earlier. Now that he’d brought it up, however, there was no putting it off any longer.

“Sit down,” he said gently, gesturing for Taehyung to sit opposite him. Taehyung did so, although not without a suspicious expression that stayed on his face throughout as he waited for Yoongi to explain. “Remember when I told you about what Namjoon said? About the Jeonha – and what he’d intended for us and Yuan?”

Taehyung’s face grew steely at the reminder. It admittedly hadn’t been a pleasant conversation, one that Yoongi felt pained to convey – not for himself, but because he knew Taehyung wouldn’t take it lightly. And sure enough, Yoongi had almost come close to physically restraining Taehyung from physically seeking out the king to do – what, he didn’t think even Taehyung knew at the time, overcome with blind rage. Namjoon had been a close second to be the object of Taehyung’s ire, and there had been a few days where Taehyung had even refused to look at Namjoon directly, Namjoon fortunately none the wiser. Thankfully, Taehyung’s anger had ebbed for the most part, but Yoongi was well aware that it sat perpetually like a heavy boulder in the back of Taehyung’s mind, ready to begin rolling to the forefront of his mind at the slightest trigger.

One that Yoongi was purposefully initiating now, with no other choice left.

Yoongi settled a hand over his belly. It was a subconscious habit he’d picked up lately but was trying to abandon, if in vain with the increasing growth. The touch was both comforting as much as it brought him anxiety, yet he tried to focus on the soothing aspects of it right now as he looked into Taehyung’s eyes.

“The Jeonha wants you dead as well,” Yoongi said shortly. “He told Namjoon to do it himself. And while Namjoon has no intentions of going through with it, I informed him that I wish to be involved with his meetings regarding his attempts to thwart the Jeonha’s plans – all of them, from now on. With you as well, considering its your life the Jeonha decided to do away with, as if you mean nothing.”

Taehyung’s jaw had grown steadily slackened with shock, eyes wide with each word Yoongi uttered. But now he blinked, scrutinizing Yoongi shrewdly. “But I don’t mean nothing,” he said, softly, yet knowingly. “Do I?”

Yoongi sighed, absently running circles over his belly. “You don’t,” he agreed. “And therein lies the problem.” Leaning back on one palm, Yoongi flattened his hand under his belly, cradling it. “That’s why Namjoon showed you the way to the military commander’s chambers. Because we are going to meet him after I finish eating. You should eat some too,” he added, tilting his chin at the food Taehyung had brought, enough for two out of habit by now. “I have a feeling we’re going to need the energy to deal with the next however many hours it will take for things to be discussed, especially with our added presence now.”

Chapter Text

Taehyung walked beside him as they made their way through the unfamiliar corridors. Both of their senses were on high alert, hearts in their throats as they did their best to evade prying eyes. Somehow, despite entering corridors housing higher ranking officials of Goryeo’s court, there was almost a suspicious lack of guards, one Yoongi wasn’t too willing to question as it made their path less challenging.

At the end of one corridor, Taehyung brought them to a stop, taking the lead and stepping in front of Yoongi to knock on a door. Right away, he stepped back until he was behind Yoongi just in time as the door opened, a familiar face peering out through the small gap.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon’s face melted into relief. “Did you manage to get here well?” He asked as he opened the door wider. Slipping in with Taehyung close on his heels, Namjoon dipped his head at Taehyung, but then turned back to Yoongi, a hand settling at the base of Yoongi’s back. The action wasn’t unfamiliar, the slight press of fingers digging into his muscles welcoming even, if they hadn’t been in the presence of others, two of whom Yoongi barely recognized.

“No one saw us,” Yoongi quietly answered, but his eyes were on the men around the table, an unnamed one between the other two having gotten up immediately at his arrival. At least Yoongi recognized Hoseok, who nodded at him in acknowledgment which he returned. The other two, however, Yoongi wasn’t sure he could put the right names to the appropriate faces.

Following his line of sight, Namjoon easily took over. “Right. Allow me to introduce you formally to Kim Seokjin, Goryeo’s military commander.” At the introduction, the still seated man opposite Hoseok rose to his feet, bowing in a smooth motion.

Startled into action, Yoongi bowed in return, a hand flying to his stomach as he struggled to maintain his balance which had been a little off as of late, and it was only as he was straightening again that he remembered himself. Cheeks immediately staining a furious red, Yoongi averted his eyes, swiftly dropping his hand back to his side, but he knew no one had missed it, the attention to his bump more pronounced now than before.

At least the military commander had the grace to not mention it, keeping his eyes on Yoongi’s face as he spoke. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Mama.” His voice was as smooth as his actions, cadence as calm and poised as his countenance, and Yoongi could immediately tell that this man would be a formidable member in the royal courts as much on the battlefield.

Tilting his head in acknowledgment, Yoongi’s attention was sidetracked when the other man came forward, a large smile on his face. It would have been odd to be greeted with such enthusiasm, had Yoongi not taken notice of the flickers of his eyes over Yoongi’s shoulders, the man’s interest clearly elsewhere.

“And this is Jeon Jungkook,” Namjoon introduced. “He’s one of our best fighters, and our closest friends.”

Yoongi’s face cleared up in understanding, looking over his own shoulder as Taehyung crept closer, Jungkook’s eyes firmly on Taehyung instead now. “You’re Taehyung’s friend,” Yoongi said, glancing between the two before settling his gaze on Jungkook, smiling more naturally now. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” and he bowed again, uncaring that Jungkook hadn’t bowed first yet himself. “I’ve wanted to thank you personally for a while now, and I wish to take this opportunity to do so.”

When he straightened again, relying on Namjoon’s warm hand at his back for balance as he didn’t want to bring his hand to his belly again, he saw how Jungkook’s eyes had widened to large proportions, staring at him in shocked awe, before the obviously flustered man dropped into his own bow.

“It is an honor to meet you, Mama,” Jungkook said, still bowing. “And please, you have no reason to thank me.” He finally rose, nibbling on his bottom lip as he glanced with uncertainty between Yoongi and Taehyung.

“On the contrary,” Yoongi said, “I have every reason to do so when you’ve made my friend so happy after coming here. I think it is safe to say that it truly would have been a lot more dreary for Taehyung without you.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened further, if that was even possible given the already largened state of them, and dropped his gaze to the floor, cheeks taking on a red tint. “I value his friendship as well,” Jungkook said to the floor, voice a little quieter. “He makes me happy too.”

Unable to help himself, Yoongi’s eyes darted to the side. Sure enough, Taehyung was starting to blush too, although he was grinning a large and wide smile, eyes fond. Eyebrows raised, Yoongi still embedded the sight to his memory, happy to see his friend so exuberant after ages. 

Namjoon took reign of the conversation from there, gently steering Yoongi to an empty seat. “We’re just waiting on Jimin,” he informed, pulling the chair back for Yoongi. “But he should be here in a few minutes.” He pushed the seat in for Yoongi, making sure Yoongi was well settled before pulling out a seat on Yoongi’s immediate left for Taehyung as well with a cordial smile, placing him beside Hoseok. Although, he didn’t wait until Taehyung was seated before he rounded back to Yoongi and sat on his other side. The military commander on his other side went ignored as he fully turned to Yoongi to cast him a warm smile before he turned back to the rest of the table. The other three were now seated as well, and Yoongi watched with detached fascination as the smile dropped from Namjoon’s face, replaced with an impassive mask.

Before anyone could say anything, however, there was a knock on the door, and this time Jungkook was scrambling out of his seat in a haste to answer it. Shifting in his seat, Yoongi craned his neck to watch as Jungkook cautiously opened the door, tense muscles only relaxing when he took note of who it was outside, and then he was quickly ushering the person in.

Jimin entered as Jungkook took one last glance outside before closing the door behind them, Jimin’s eyes swiftly roving around the chambers. His eyebrows raised as he took in everyone else around the table. “I have no idea what I was expecting when you said to meet me in Jin hyung’s chambers,” Jimin said, voice dry, “but I don’t think this was it.” Still, he made his way with Jungkook to the final remaining chair opposite to Namjoon with ease, dipping his head at everyone as he sat down.

“Jimin-ah,” Namjoon smiled, but it was a small thing plastered onto his face with a grimace, contorting his face rather oddly. “I’m glad you came.”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow at him. “To what, exactly?” He said, looking around the table once more. “And for what reason did it require such secrecy?”

“About that,” Namjoon cast a skittering glance at Yoongi, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, really. “We need your help.”

Before he could go on, the military commander rolled his eyes with a huff, leaning forward. “Give him some context, Namjoon-ah, before dumping him in the deep end.” He turned to Jimin, hands atop the table. “Did Namjoon tell you of his dalliances with the Mama?”

Yoongi blushed, even as his head whipped around to regard Namjoon critically, uncertain of the answer himself. For his part, Namjoon groaned, burying his face in his palms, as if to do away with this part of the conversation.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes.

Turning back to the front, he watched as Jimin frowned between him and Namjoon. “I… guess I was aware that Namjoon was communicating with Yoongi hyung,” the military commander’s eyebrows raised at the familiar term, but he stayed silent as Jimin went on. “But you make it sound like there’s something more to it than I’m thinking.”

“Namjoon hyung got the Mama pregnant,” Jungkook piped in, looking far too cheery about it than he had the right to.

Yoongi blinked, flattening his lips into a thin line as embarrassment flooded through him.

Jimin gaped, jaw hanging slack as he stared at Namjoon, and then Yoongi. “He – you what?” He finally managed, looking back at Namjoon with absolute incredulity written all over his features.

Beside him, face still hidden away, Namjoon sighed, shoulders heaving with the strength of the action.

When it looked like Namjoon would be of no use, and with no one else saying anything either, Yoongi spoke up. “It was more my fault than his,” he said stiffly. “We – I wasn’t thinking things would get this far.” He cast Jimin an apologetic look, though he knew Jimin wouldn’t understand the depths of what exactly he was apologizing for just yet.

At least Namjoon must have felt emboldened by Yoongi speaking up first, because he finally unearthed his face from his hands. There was a shakiness to them that Yoongi noticed just as Namjoon did, for he ducked his hands under the table.

Yoongi fought to keep his face straight when, instead of folding his hands over his own lap like he’d expected Namjoon to, a hand latched onto Yoongi’s thigh instead. It was not at all surreptitious, what with the distance between their chairs enough for everyone else to see Namjoon’s arm extended from above the table.

“Regardless of Yoongi hyung’s pregnancy, there’s something else you need to know, Jimin-ah,” Namjoon said. “And it’s about the Jeonha.”

Jimin’s face grew steely as he tore his eyes away from where Namjoon’s hand was clearly placed, lips pursing. “What about him?”

“Did he ever tell you anything beyond his marriage to Yoongi hyung in the first place?” Namjoon asked, and although he initially winced, the topic clearly a sensitive one, it was quickly wiped away, face a blank mask now. “Other than providing it as a reason to solidify the treaty as it was publicly announced?”

“No,” Jimin said succinctly. “And if he meant to explain it further, then I had never met with him to give him such an opportunity.” Then he frowned, growing suspicious. “Why do you mention that in particular, though?”

Namjoon took a deep breath. “Because it was a farce,” he said. “The marriage to Yoongi was initially just a means to grow closer. At first, he told us of his plans to get Yoongi pregnant and use the child as a hostage. But it was only recently that he revealed his own awareness of… his infertility.”

While the rest of the table remained unfazed by this, only Jungkook’s eyebrows raised in shock, clearly not aware of this information. Still, he kept silent as Namjoon went on. “From the get go, the Jeonha had no ideas for peace – not anything longstanding, anyway. The treaty was just a means to an end, and while he’d been implementing changes as time went on, it was all for one ultimate goal.”

With the rest of the table in complete and utter silence, Namjoon’s words were as clear as his voice was dark.

“Taking over Yuan as his own.”

Jimin blinked, leaning back in his chair. He glanced at Yoongi again, eyes flitting to Yoongi’s belly in the process, and Yoongi refrained yet again from placing a protective hand over the small swell of it.

“So,” Jimin shook his head, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. “If he knew he was infertile, then why bother marrying Yoongi hyung in the first place?” He asked, a touch of desperation tinging his tone. “Why bother with the concept of using a child he would not be able to create?”

Namjoon paused, fingers digging into the meat of Yoongi’s leg. “Honestly, I don’t even know if he was aware of his infertility before the marriage. But afterwards…” clenching his jaw, his chin jutted out as he spoke with finality, “madness,” he said. “The Jeonha’s become overcome with hate and anger towards Yuan,” he shook his head, distaste and disappointment twisting his face. “Over the past several moon cycles, I’d personally witnessed the Jeonha changing from the man we once knew into – into someone else. Someone having completely given over to his blind rage.” He looked to Jimin with a genuinely remorseful expression, voice softening. “The Jeonha I’ve been meeting with lately… isn’t the man you saw worthy of falling in love with, Jimin-ah.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised, thankfully unnoticed with everyone’s focus on Namjoon. If his words hadn’t been truthful, Yoongi seeing the darker depths of the reality Namjoon was trying to paint, then he would’ve thought Namjoon was trying to manipulate Jimin. As it was, Namjoon had burdened himself with a task far crueler, only conveying honesty as he broke news of something that would no doubt be taken lightly by Jimin. 

Jimin, who had turned pale, teeth gritting as he stared at Namjoon. “Even if I were to believe… all of this,” he said tersely, “then what does this have to do with me anyway? Why bring me here now to tell me all this?” 

“Because we need your help,” Namjoon began, but Jimin waved him off, a single, sharp slicing gesture through thin air.

“You already said that,” he stated, and Namjoon nodded.

“I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” he retorted, albeit apologetically. But Jimin understood, keeping silent as he waited for Namjoon to continue. “The Jeonha’s intentions aside, I had began interacting with Yoongi hyung, as you know,” Namjoon said. It sounded like a tangent, but one they all knew was connected. “And yes, it led to us… sleeping with each other.”

From Yoongi’s other side, a small mutter, one barely audible had Yoongi not been well acquainted with the voice, was heard only to Yoongi’s ears. “Multiple times…”

Without looking, Yoongi reached out and pinched Taehyung’s leg under the table, causing him to flinch and slam his knee into the underside of the table. The action garnered curious glances from around the table, but with Namjoon ignorantly going on, their attention was redirected, leaving Yoongi free to shoot Taehyung with a quick glare.

Despite rubbing at his knee, Taehyung managed to send back a blithe smile.

“But as Jin hyung was so kind to point out, it only gave us an added deadline to a problem we had at hand already.”

“Stopping the Jeonha’s insanity?” Jimin guessed, tone flat.

Namjoon hummed a confirmation, but his eyebrows were still furrowed. “Since the beginning, the Jeonha had his own timeline for the goal. Despite multiple other alterations, this one has remained unchanging.” Namjoon exhaled, rubbing his hand over Yoongi’s thigh. “On the anniversary of his parents’ death, the Jeonha intends to be at Yuan to demand a meeting with Yuan’s ruler. As far as the public would be aware, it would be in regards to the latest attacks by bandits on villages both in Goryeo and Yuan. Bandits that he himself hired to initiate the need for a meeting.”

Jimin frowned, looking between the military commander and Jungkook. “Is that why there had been an uptick with the soldiers’ activities?” He questioned, finally settling his gaze on the military commander. “Because he’s been sending out attacks on innocents?” He seemed more disapproving and disappointed than alarmed, although Yoongi wasn’t sure if it was due to the Jeonha’s doings or at the military commander himself.

The military commander sighed. “A part of the plan,” he explained. “For all his lunacy, he made sure to cover his bases. The attacks on Goryeo are far more superficial compared to the attacks Yuan’s villages are facing. Still, patrols are sent out to calm the innocents, but also to ensure that the damage to his own civilians isn't severe.”

Jimin huffed, but before he could retort to that, Namjoon brought the attention back onto himself again.

“Apart from the blatant violation of the treaty, even if through underhanded ways, that isn’t all. On the day of the meeting, the Jeonha will have an assassin sent targeting Yoongi hyung and himself, with only one actual death in the aftermath.”

This time, Jimin’s face was more somber as he glanced at Yoongi. “And I’m assuming it's not himself,” he surmised, not incorrectly. 

Namjoon bowed his head briefly. “Using Yoongi hyung’s death as incentive, he will twist the narrative and make it seem like the assassin wasn’t his. Further pointing the suspicion and thus leading to a duel between himself and Yuan’s ruler – Yoongi hyung’s uncle. With no remaining Yuan royals, Yuan’s royal courts will be in an uproar, and he’ll take advantage of the chaos to take reign.”

Jimin blinked, eyebrows wide as he slumped back against his chair. ”Shibal,” he muttered under his breath, before letting out a short chuckle, entirely unamused and borderline hysteric, if anything. Pressing his face into his palms, he took a deep breath, the rest of the table collectively silent as they watched and waited for Jimin to regain his bearings after the tremendous amount of information Namjoon had finally finished imparting.

With Namjoon’s hand a death clutch on his thigh, and no one else’s attention on them anytime soon, Yoongi allowed himself to move his hand as well. He shakily placed it atop Namjoon’s and gripped it equally tight, his other hand eventually slipping under the swell of his belly as well. With the atmosphere around them devolving into terse silence, both the touches felt like a critical requirement to ground Yoongi, helping to keep his breathing calm and steady as they continued to wait.

Minutes passed before Jimin raised his head, hands dropping to his lap. “Okay,” he breathed out a long exhale. “Okay.” He repeated, steadying his composure. “So what do you expect me to do with this information now?”

Namjoon shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable. “We’d been meeting for a while now, discussing possible methods to prevent the Jeonha from assassinating Yoongi hyung and his uncle. However, if there’s one thing he has yet to reveal to either Jin hyung or me, it’s who the assassin is, if he’s even hired one yet. Without that knowledge, it left a lot more open ends that would be harder for us to cover to ensure everyone’s protection at Yuan.

“Instead, we decided to head it off before he could even get to Yuan. And,” Namjoon shifted again, hand squeezing Yoongi’s thigh, “that’s where you come in.”

Jimin’s eyebrows raised, but he stayed quiet.

“By incapacitating the Jeonha beforehand and preventing him from traveling, we can ensure doesn’t make it to the meeting at Yuan, keeping everyone safe for now. It’s a short-term solution, we know that. However, we figured we’d address the immediate problem first before focusing on a longer-term plan afterwards.

Jimin narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to parse through Namjoon’s words. “You want me to help… incapacitate the Jeonha?” He guessed. “By doing what, exactly? Trip him out of a window?”

Adjacent to them, the military commander suddenly snorted. Namjoon shot him a pained look before shaking his head, obviously knowing but unwilling to explain what that was about. “In a way. Yes.” He tilted his head at Hoseok, who explained.

“I have a tea that if served on a regular basis can cause sickness,” Hoseok said briefly, before Namjoon was talking again.

“The only concern is bypassing the Jeonha’s servant. Should he test the tea regularly as well before the Jeonha tries it, then it would raise flags when the servant falls ill as well. But if the Jeonha saw no need for it to be tested, then only he would be affected.”

Jimin stared. “You want me to meet with the Jeonha and serve him this tea,” he deduced. “Nevermind the fact that my reaching out to him after this long would be suspicious in itself, what if people figure out that I’m the one who was actively giving it to him?” He retorted.

“They wouldn’t, not easily,” Hoseok spoke once again. “I will undoubtedly be checking in on the Jeonha’s deteriorating health, and I can easily dismiss his sickness as being caused by any forms of poisoning. In fact, after a certain point I can even take over your task, Jimin-ah. Under the guise of healing potions, I can continue slipping him the tea and ensuring he takes the proper dosage to remain bedridden, neither allowing him to recover anytime soon, nor – well. Accidentally killing him, I suppose.” Hoseok finished off sheepishly.

Jimin audibly swallowed, looking around the table slowly.

“I,” he paused, glancing at Yoongi. The way his eyes flickered down was noticeable, especially as they stayed there. Yoongi refused to move despite the attention not just to Namjoon’s hand still on his leg under the table, but also when Jimin’s eyes stayed fixed on his belly. “I need to think about this.” He abruptly stood, the chair screeching against the floor as it was pushed back. “I heard everything you had to say, I’m assuming,” he only waited long enough for Namjoon to give him a stilted nod before he went on. “But you can’t just expect me to agree to – to this right away.”

Namjoon took his hand away as he stood, Yoongi internally bemoaning the loss of contact. “I understand that,” he said, voice soft and sympathetic. “But Jimin-ah… we don’t have much time.”

Everyone’s eyes went to Yoongi again at that, and frankly, he was growing tired. If he’d known he would be subject to this many telling glances nor having the need to speak even once, maybe it would’ve been better if he stayed away.

But then Jimin’s eyes softened, the rigid set to his shoulders melting by a margin, and Yoongi pushed those thoughts away.

“Just give me a day at the very least,” Jimin said. “I swear, I’ll try to have an answer for you then.”

Namjoon bowed his head in acquiescence, and Jimin backed away from the table. In silence, they watched as Jimin left the chambers, the door sliding shut behind him with a resounding thud as wood met against wood.

Hoseok letting out an exaggerated exhale was what broke the silence, and they turned to him with raised eyebrows mirrored on everyone’s faces. “Well. It could have gone worse?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “We have a moon cycle left before preparations to Yuan would be expected to begin,” Namjoon said, eyes stormy. “Every day that passes is a day less for us to act.” He didn’t give Hoseok or anyone else the time to respond, ignoring them as he extended a hand to Yoongi. “Let me escort you back to your chambers,” he said quietly, almost low enough that others would have missed it had the attention not been on Namjoon already.

Ignoring the undoubted flush to stain his cheeks, Yoongi accepted the hand anyway. He didn’t really need the help, but he selfishly wanted to feel Namjoon’s hand against his again, yearning for the warmth Namjoon always carried around. And with Namjoon’s palm encasing his, changing into an arm around his back once Yoongi was standing, it was a little easier to ignore the multiple set of eyes on them as Namjoon began walking them to the door.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Namjoon said over his shoulder. “And hopefully…” his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Hopefully, Jimin will have decided to agree by then.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure he felt as optimistic about it. As he leaned his head against Namjoon’s shoulder once they were outside, however, with Taehyung beside them keeping an eye out for them, a vague thought formed in his mind. It solidified the further they walked, and by the time they’d safely reached Yoongi’s chambers, his resolve was cemented.

He glanced at Taehyung before they could enter, Taehyung rolling his eyes but obligingly stayed behind as Namjoon and Yoongi stepped through the threshold. Taehyung shut the door behind them, leaving them alone with him on the other side, and had the walls been any thinner, Yoongi imagined he would’ve heard footsteps leading away as Taehyung adamantly gave them the seclusion Yoongi desired now.

It only took Namjoon a few seconds to realize Taehyung hadn’t accompanied them inside, but when he did, he looked at Yoongi with concern. “Are you tired, hyung?” He asked, hands on Yoongi’s hips as he shifted Yoongi so as to face him fully. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Yoongi wordlessly shook his head, placing his hands on Namjoon’s shoulders. Rising to his toes, he pressed a soft kiss to Namjoon’s cheek, his forehead as Namjoon lowered himself in complaisance, the tip of his nose, and pressed a final kiss to the corner of Namjoon’s mouth before leaning back. He was gratified when Namjoon was no longer appearing as worried, more amused now even if there was a tenseness to his muscles, one Yoongi figured wouldn’t completely disappear unless and until Jimin responded positively to their proposal.

Or further yet, until Yoongi’s life was effectively secured, he supposed.

Yoongi looped his arms around Namjoon’s neck to keep them close, but he found himself staring at a random spot on Namjoon’s chin. He wasn’t really able to bring himself to meet Namjoon’s eyes. Even if he treasured the close contact between their bodies, he still yearned to deepen the intimacy by returning Namjoon’s gaze, challenging as it was.

A hand settling on his hip, Namjoon’s other hand came up between them to place a finger below Yoongi’s chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met. Yoongi bit his lip, at a loss of words to fill the air, but with Namjoon gazing at him so intently, he must’ve figured out what Yoongi wanted for anyway.

Leaning further down, Namjoon pressed his lips to Yoongi’s, effectively freeing Yoongi’s bottom lip from his own teeth as Namjoon captured it between his instead. Humming, content, Yoongi raised his hands, raking it through Namjoon’s hair as he let Namjoon guide the kiss, deep and impassioned with the way he moved his lips against Yoongi’s in a steady motion. They stayed in their embrace for as long as their breaths allowed for, Namjoon repeatedly pecking kisses to Yoongi’s top and bottom lip separately before nibbling on them with careful teeth, swiping out his tongue to soothe the sting afterwards, only to repeat his actions. Melting against Namjoon’s hold, Yoongi was helpless but to return it as best as he could, sucking on Namjoon’s upper lip when he could, meeting Namjoon’s tongue with his own at other times.

Eventually, the need for oxygen caused them to part, but Namjoon merely rested his forehead against Yoongi’s, not letting them go too far as they panted for breath.

“What brought this on, hm?” He dragged his thumb over Yoongi’s bottom lip, eyes fixed as the plump flesh was tugged in the direction of his digit before letting go, Yoongi’s mouth absently settling into a pout while Namjoon lifted his eyes.

“It’s – been a while,” Yoongi said stutteringly, still gasping a little as his heart rate took longer to settle down. The embarrassment rising up his spine certainly didn’t help matters either. Yoongi struggled to maintain eye contact even as he knew the flush on his cheeks – already present after Namjoon’s mouth had thoroughly ravished his own, and hopefully would continue to do so again in the next few minutes – grew darker. “Am I not allowed to want you?”

“It hasn’t been that long at all.” Namjoon’s eyebrows raised, a little disbelieving but willing to let the matter drop if Yoongi wished. 

Betraying himself, Yoongi’s mouth ran on its own. “It makes me happy,” he said, words stuttering for a different reason now as he tried to make sense of his own brain, “to see you passionate. About making things right, even if just to save me.” The heat now a burning sensation in his cheeks, Yoongi averted his gaze, no longer able to hold it. “It makes me feel – selfish, and spoiled, I guess. It’s not a feeling I’m used to, exactly.” Freeing his fingers from the roots of Namjoon’s hair where he’d been gently scratching at Namjoon’s scalp, he lowered them to play with the hair at Namjoon’s nape instead. “I’ve been cared for, obviously. As a prince, as a friend, and as a younger brother. But to be cared for due to a different sort of love, one that I can call solely my own,” unbidden, the corners of his lips tugged up into a small smile, and he tilted his head further into the hand that Namjoon still cradled his jaw with. “It is… a unique sensation that I am quite enjoying, I think.”

Namjoon sighed, stroking Yoongi’s cheek. “You deserve to be spoiled, Yoongi-yah.” He pecked Yoongi’s other cheek, a quick thing that had Yoongi swaying forward, wishing it lasted longer. “I’d give you anything and everything to keep you feeling this love I hold for you from the very depths of the cells that form my body.”

“Aish,” Yoongi playfully cringed as he leaned back, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in his gut. “You certainly have a way with words, Kim Namjoon.”

Namjoon hummed, letting go of Yoongi’s face to wrap his arms completely around Yoongi’s waist. “It is only bested with the ways I can have you.”

“I take it back–” Yoongi closed his eyes, letting disbelief paint his features, but it meant he didn’t notice Namjoon’s devious smirk. “You don’t have a way with anything, and certainly not with m–” he definitely noticed when those arms slipped down to his thighs in a telling motion, one Yoongi had gotten far too familiar with, and his eyes shot open in a flash. “Wait–”

He could only sigh when Namjoon hoisted him up, legs automatically wrapping around Namjoon’s hips and arms braced around his shoulders. Yoongi let his head drop against the side of Namjoon’s, resigned. “You are abusing your privileges,” he muttered, the words vaguely muffled from where he’d pressed his mouth to Namjoon’s head as Namjoon walked them, Yoongi’s stomach rocking a little uncomfortably.

“What privileges?” Namjoon asked, looking genuinely befuddled even as he walked them over to the table at the side of Yoongi’s chambers. Yoongi blinked, having fully expected to be guided to the bed, but didn’t question it when Namjoon placed him atop it, still standing between the cradle of Yoongi’s legs.

“Abuse of your unnecessary muscles,” Yoongi absently said, and then blinked again when he realized what he’d let slip. He glanced at Namjoon and then quickly looked away again as amusement overtook Namjoon’s features, a large smile appearing on his face that was only seconds away from outright laughter. “Shut up,” he snapped, albeit without much heat. Even the swat he’d aimed at Namjoon’s chest was rendered pointless when he let his hand rest upon it, his previous words standing against himself when Yoongi gripped onto the rigid muscle there.

He narrowed his eyes when Namjoon purposefully clenched, flexing his pectorals. “You have no right to be built like this,” Yoongi said lowly, almost as if he was ranting to himself. “Seriously. You’re a first advisor, why do you have the body of a soldier?” He questioned, fervently trying to ignore how his own voice began to sound like a whine.

Namjoon chuckled, his mirth finally slipping free as he bent forward to place his hands on the table on either side of Yoongi, practically caging him. Yoongi could feel Namjoon’s breath against his lips as he spoke. “We all have to go through basic training,” Namjoon said, an explanation that was more white noise to Yoongi’s overwhelmed head than anything else. “I am one of the few in the court who tries to keep up with it. Sometimes a little bit of… physical exertion,” he leaned in closer, Namjoon’s lips almost brushing against Yoongi’s at this point, “helps clear the mind when I need some relief from all those words in my head.”

Inhaling sharply, Yoongi decided to forego rolling his eyes in favor of grabbing onto Namjoon’s jeogori, and yanked him. Their lips collided into a searing kiss from the start, teeth utilized more than lips as Yoongi bit at Namjoon’s lip and refused to let go. A form of retribution, if a strange one, but Namjoon gave as good as he got, his hands moving from the table to slip under Yoongi’s chima, rucking it up to slide his palms against Yoongi’s bare legs. Groaning into Namjoon’s mouth, Yoongi tightened his legs around Namjoon’s hips as those hands came up to his thighs, Yoongi’s heels digging into Namjoon’s hips as Namjoon brushed his thumbs against sensitive flesh, the frantic pace of their mouths a contradiction to the infinitesimally slow climb of his fingers to Yoongi’s center.

Extending an arm, Yoongi once again buried his hand in Namjoon’s hair, fingernails digging mercilessly into Namjoon’s scalp as he tore their mouths away, desperately needing to breathe. Still, he kept Namjoon close, guiding his lips to his neck instead, which he craned freely to bare the flesh to Namjoon’s hungry mouth. Namjoon lapped away at his neck, pressing kisses and licking at his skin, but never suckling like Yoongi wanted him to, still mindful to not leave a bruise despite it being what Yoongi yearned for him to do.

At least his hands didn’t stop in their progress of drawing closer and closer still, until Namjoon was finally fiddling with Yoongi’s dari sokgot. Pulling it free with nimble fingers, it slid to the floor, leaving Namjoon free to brush his fingers against Yoongi’s slickened cunt.

Yoongi’s mouth parted open with a sigh, head falling back. Hitching his knees up higher so that they pressed into Namjoon’s sides, he dug his heels into the cradle of Namjoon’s back, encouraging him to step closer, their fronts pressed flush together with only Yoongi’s belly creating the slightest distance between their abdomens. It probably made the angle of Namjoon’s wrist awkward as he nonetheless inserted two fingers inside Yoongi, yet he still crooked them and dragged them against that spot that had Yoongi’s vision whitening out, eyes falling closed.

Moaning, Yoongi’s hands scrambled downwards, tugging at Namjoon’s jeogori. He didn’t have the wherewithal to strip him completely, contenting himself with bare skin under his palm as Namjoon’s jeogori came free to reveal his chest, Yoongi digging his nails into the flesh soon afterwards. With Namjoon pulling his hand back only to push back in with three fingers this time, Yoongi brought a hand back up to Namjoon’s head, pulling him away from where he was still laving away at his neck, bringing their mouths together again.

“Enough,” he said against Namjoon’s lips, and it was. Though Namjoon hadn’t prepped him for long, his heightened sensitivity meant that Yoongi had been quicker to arouse, leaking enough slick for it to drip onto the table under him. “Inside me, now.”

Namjoon connected their lips again, thrusting his fingers a few more times and scissoring them. Yoongi’s patience was about to run out when Namjoon ultimately pulled his hand away, the wet and cooling drag of his digits against his bare thigh a shock to his heatened flesh. He shuddered, still trying in vain to keep up with Namjoon’s hurried kisses, the hand that had been in Yoongi frantically tugging his baji down enough for his hardened member to spring free. Namjoon only gave himself a few hasty pumps before he was stepping even closer than before, not a centimeter’s distance between their groins as he guided the tip of his cock to Yoongi’s entrance.

Pulling back, Yoongi dropped his head to Namjoon’s shoulder, breathing frenetic as he waited for Namjoon to enter him, only to squeak in surprise when Namjoon looped his other arm around Yoongi’s waist and yanked. Teetering, precariously balanced on the edge of the table, Yoongi’s legs clamped tight around Namjoon’s waist, arms around his shoulders as he expected Namjoon to lift him again – only to push in whilst Yoongi was still caught off guard.

A high pitched groan escaped Yoongi’s throat from surprise, a mangled deformation of Namjoon’s name slipping past his uncooperative lips. His fingers dug into Namjoon’s back, scrabbling for purchase against the slippery silk of the jeogori as Namjoon immediately began thrusting, chasing Yoongi’s warm heat enveloping his cock. Holding Yoongi tight against him with one warm, his other hand stayed under Yoongi’s chima, stroking his legs and slipping up higher to grab onto his bare hip, grip firm yet somehow, the touch of his fingers against the side of his belly contradictingly soft. The groan that left Namjoon’s mouth belied his wavering composure, however, even as the rest of his body moved in tandem, Yoongi arching his back while Namjoon’s lower body continued to piston away into him, attempting to stay close to Namjoon. It forced his belly to press further against the flat panes of Namjoon’s torso, and it didn’t feel like a coincidence when Namjoon moaned, pressing sloppy kisses to Yoongi’s cheek. He left behind a wet trail as he dragged his mouth up Yoongi’s jaw before the movement of his head came to a stop, mouthing slovenly at the spot behind Yoongi’s ear.

“Nam–Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi cried, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy as Namjoon drove into him in steady if hard motions. The table rocked under them, gently thudding against the wall in a repetitive rhythm, neither of them bothered with it, beyond their capabilities to sense it while they were too absorbed in each other. Yoongi cried out again as Namjoon twisted his hips, his hand falling free from Yoongi’s hip only to reach back, his large palm encasing what felt like most of Yoongi’s spine, before his hand dipped down.

Yoongi gasped, eyes shooting open as fingers nudged between his asscheeks, an incessant fingertip rubbing at his hole without hesitation. “Joon–”

Namjoon reared his head back, his thrusts decreasing to a now unhurried speed, but no less hard with the deep force of his hips pushing him in. Pressing their foreheads together, Namjoon pinned Yoongi with the intensity of his stare, the both of them unblinking as Namjoon dared to push the tip of his finger in.

Grunting aloud, Yoongi’s head tipped back for a second before he lunged forward to bite at Namjoon’s lips. He dug his nails into Namjoon’s back with renewed energy, sure that Namjoon could feel it even through the layer of his jeogori. “You-you’re a monster,” Yoongi gasped the words out between Namjoon’s unending thrusts, the bites to his own lip in retaliation. “An insatiable monster.” And still, he was kissing Namjoon back with equal ferocity, squeezing his legs tighter as his back straightened and curved, trying to find the right position for Namjoon’s finger to push further into him with unhindered ease, his hole practically aching to suck the digit in.

Namjoon chuckled into his mouth, a dark thing. “You love it,” he returned, before pulling his finger out.

Despite himself, Yoongi gasped, disappointment overwhelming him above all the other sensations battering his body. Tears began to prickle at the corner of his eyes as he pouted at Namjoon, heart wrenching at how empty he suddenly felt, wishing to be filled again. “No, why–”

Namjoon silenced him, kissing him again hard, leaving no room for Yoongi to speak, much less think of the aching emptiness. It in itself wouldn’t have distracted Yoongi for long, but when Namjoon pulled his cock out from Yoongi’s cunt entirely, Yoongi pulled back with a loud cry, so far gone to the point of being completely uncaring of the unrestrained volume of his protest. “Why would you–” he swatted ineffectively at Namjoon’s chest, but then Namjoon was swiping his fingers against his cunt, pushing into him and gathering the slick gushing out him, traces of Namjoon’s precum having mingled with his own arousal. Mind clouded with lust, his actions didn’t register in Yoongi’s mind, however. So it was a mercy when he felt Namjoon pull his hand back and sank his cock into him again, not letting Yoongi abuse his chest any longer even if Namjoon never once complained.

The fact that his ass was still empty no longer registered in Yoongi’s mind after Namjoon had pulled out, and he was so centered on having his cunt filled again that it took him several seconds before he realized Namjoon’s fingers were reaching behind him with renewed purpose once more. This time, Yoongi did nothing more than hiss when Namjoon pushed his finger all the way in, but then sighed in pleasure, head lolling. Eyes half lidded, he barely took note of Namjoon’s satisfied smirk donning his lips before Namjoon was ducking his head into the crook between Yoongi’s neck and shoulder again.

A hot tongue against equally hot skin, lapping up at the sweat that had started to collect, a long and thick cock ramming deep into Yoongi’s cunt, and one finger soon turning into two inside Yoongi’s asshole, and Yoongi was overcome with gleeful exhilaration. Head rolling back, he blearily blinked his eyes open, staring unseeingly at the ceiling with scrunched up eyes as tears blurred his vision, mouth circled into a pout even as his lips remained parted with the breath punched out of him with each buck of Namjoon’s hips, his fingers moving in an alternating synchrony so that he was never left empty any longer.

”Joonie.” Never in his life would Yoongi admit to the voice coming out of his own throat sounding akin to a mewl, but that was certainly what it was in the heat of the moment. Yoongi couldn’t even be ashamed then and there when it successfully pulled Namjoon away from his neck.

Namjoon’s eyes were dark, pupils dilated to the point that his irises were barely visible. The focus he bestowed upon Yoongi, even as his hips and fingers never faltered within Yoongi, was acute, but Yoongi couldn’t find it in himself to look away. With Namjoon studying him with unblinking attention, it was that, more than anything else, more than his cock carving a space for itself between Yoongi’s loosened walls or his fingers crooking and scissoring apart inside Yoongi’s ass, that had Yoongi’s guts tightening. He hadn’t even realized he’d been drawn steadily closer to the edge until he was hurtling over it, and still, he kept his eyes open even as the tears slipped free, cascading down his face. All the while, Yoongi gazed back at Namjoon. His heart was soft despite its accelerated beating at the warmth behind Namjoon’s stare even as his body thrashed and withered in Namjoon’s hold, cum splattering onto the inside of Yoongi's chima as his cock pulsed and spilled with his climax.

With Yoongi orgasming, his walls clenching erratically around Namjoon’s still thrusting cock, Namjoon groaned, a deep and guttural sound from the depths of his chest. “Yoongi-yah,” he moaned, and then Namjoon was cumming as well, spilling deep inside Yoongi. His cum was pushed further inside as Namjoon kept working his hips, devolving to an erratic pace as he came in fits and spurts, but certainly not for a short period of time.

His own orgasm was dragged out in the process, slick escaping Yoongi’s cunt in great bursts every time Namjoon reared back, although he didn’t pull out entirely. Whimpering from oversensitivity, Yoongi held Namjoon close regardless, stretching his stiffened fingers out and away from Namjoon’s back, loosely holding on instead while Namjoon’s hips slowed in its movements before ceasing with him still inside Yoongi.

The remnants of sparks still lingered at the edge of Yoongi’s every nerve, skin prickling uncomfortably as he began to grow cognizant of the sweat plastered against his body. He whimpered when Namjoon pulled his fingers out first, mindfully slow, before bracing his hand on Yoongi’s hip as he pulled his cock out next.

Shame threatened to burn his body with discomfort when he realized his muscles were left gaping, still open and clenching around open air even after Namjoon was no longer within him. His legs fell lifelessly to the table, and Yoongi had to lean back and brace himself against unsteady hands on the table, his arms refusing to move properly, as if his limbs no longer belonged to his own body. With his chima still rucked up, the air was particularly biting against his still warm flesh, colder still specifically against his still bared cunt, and Yoongi’s legs twitched with the need to clamp shut, yet unable to do so.

Namjoon dropped his gaze at the action, close enough to not miss the way Yoongi’s leg flinched against his side. His arm fell away from around Yoongi’s waist, Yoongi frowning at the loss of contact, but then blushing when Namjoon didn’t stop staring at his cunt.

He could feel the trickle of Namjoon’s cum spilling freely out of him, and his legs flinched again.

“God, you’re a vixen sent to drive me to insanity, aren’t you?” Namjoon muttered. It was low enough that he could’ve been speaking to himself, but in the sudden silence of the chambers now quiet after the sounds of their almost manic intercourse, Yoongi heard him all too clearly for his liking.

“Shut up.” Yoongi looked away, embarrassed. He was slowly regaining the feeling in his limbs, enough for Yoongi to knock his ankle against Namjoon’s leg, the only motion he had the energy for then. “Help me up.”

Stepping back, Namjoon was apparently unbothered that his spent cock still hung freely out of his baji. Rather, he concentrated on helping Yoongi down from the table, his chima slipping back down once he was on his own two legs – not for too long, however as they shook under him, and Namjoon was immediately swooping back in.

“Wh–Namjoon?!” Yoongi gasped, eyes wide in shock. For all the times Namjoon had lifted him before, never before had Namjoon carried him like he was doing now, with Yoongi in his arms as if he was Namjoon’s bride. Still, Yoongi looped his arms around Namjoon’s shoulders even as shock continued to course throughout him.

Namjoon placed a kiss on Yoongi's forehead even as he walked effortlessly to Yoongi’s bed, where they frankly could have avoided all of this had he taken Yoongi there in the first place.

Still. Anytime with Namjoon was well spent, no matter how. And really, Yoongi couldn’t deny that what they had just done now, at the table Yoongi had never given importance to before, had nonetheless brought its own new and unique thrills for Yoongi to experience.

Even this sweeter part afterward, with Namjoon carrying him like a true spouse would… ignoring the bittersweet pang of his heart at that, Yoongi chose to hide his face against Namjoon’s chest, as if doing so would also hide himself from his own thoughts. It didn’t last long, however, as with a few more strides Namjoon reached his bed and gently lowered Yoongi onto it, Yoongi reluctant to let go but doing so anyway.

“Do you want me to fetch Taehyung to get us a bath?” Namjoon questioned, still bent over him while he stood by the bed, carefully pushing Yoongi’s hair out of his sweaty face.

Yoongi shook his head, reaching back for Namjoon, tugging on his opened jeogori. “I’ll bathe in a bit,” he said. “Just. Clean me for the time being. I want to rest now. And I want you beside me,” he added.

Smiling, Namjoon kissed him again, this time on the lips but still a gentle peck, before moving away to fetch a random cloth to be sacrificed yet again for the greater good.

Not too long afterwards, they were finally in bed, Yoongi settled contentedly in the warmth of Namjoon’s embrace. With delicate fingers, Yoongi traced the faint scratches he’d left behind, not really able to bring himself to be properly remorseful when the sight of his marks on Namjoon’s skin brought him satisfaction instead. And Namjoon wasn’t complaining either, his face calm and serene as he closed his eyes, breathing deeply but not yet asleep.

Yoongi could feel the sleep tugging at his eyelids as well, so he relented, settling his head against Namjoon’s shoulder. Before he could completely give into slumber, however, a thought popped into his head. 

“How do you know Jungkook-ssi?” Yoongi asked, tone mild with his lack of desire to break the tentative serenity that had fallen over them. As if to match that, Namjoon didn’t open his eyes, but Yoongi knew he heard him when his arms shifted around Yoongi. 

“He was recruited at a young age,” Namjoon murmured, voice equally hushed, matching Yoongi’s tone. “Jin hyung was particularly taken with him, with his aptitude and the abilities he displayed even without proper training. He’d said he saw a lot of potential in Jungkook from the beginning,” Namjoon explained. “And due to his young age and Jin hyung’s soft spot for him, he was always trailing around behind Jin hyung, eager to learn. 

“When he discovered Jin hyung and I were close friends outside of the court, and that I spent a lot of my time around books, he began to look to me for literary knowledge as much as he stuck to Jin for battle lessons,” Namjoon let out a huff of air, sounding amused. “Granted, I wouldn’t say he was particularly interested in lessons from me, with an inclination towards practical lessons more so than studying books as I did. But he still soaked up whatever information he was offered with enthusiasm.”

Namjoon chuckled softly. “He always had these big, wide eyes even back then. I think it may be the one physical trait of his that hasn’t changed after all these years.”

Yoongi hummed.

“He’s friends with Taehyung,” Yoongi remarked, when it seemed like Namjoon was done talking. “He helped Taehyung get into painting many moon cycles back, and they’ve since bonded over it, I think.” It was taking him longer and longer to open his eyes between each blinks, and eventually, Yoongi gave up, letting his eyes stay closed.

“That’s good,” Namjoon said, voice a low rumble signifying how close he was to sleeping. “I’m glad he has friends here.”

Yoongi hummed again, but he didn’t fall asleep just yet, one last pressing thought in his mind keeping him conscious.

“I’m going to meet with Jimin later,” Yoongi said. Namjoon opened his eyes. “I know he asked for some time, but I wish to speak with him anyway.” He didn’t say anything else, wasn’t really sure what else to add regarding the matter, but Namjoon didn’t oppose him, merely watching him in silence for a few seconds.

“Okay,” he finally said. 

Yoongi nodded to himself, and deeming the conversation finished, with Yoongi offering nothing more to say with everything in his mind out in the open now, Namjoon closed his eyes.

And perhaps it really was – it really would be okay too, Yoongi mused, as he tucked his head under Namjoon’s chin, cuddling up closer against him. And though he hadn’t exactly planned for it, with how relaxed and comfortable he felt against Namjoon and within his hold, Yoongi drifted off to sleep within moments, lulled to slumber with Namjoon’s steady heartbeat under his ears, the steady and constant motions of his chest with each inhale and exhale under Yoongi’s hand.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Yoongi said immediately as he lowered himself opposite Jimin at the familiar low table in the concubine’s chambers. “I know you requested until just tomorrow, but I still couldn’t help but need to talk with you.”

Jimin offered him a feeble smile, and although it didn’t entirely reach his eyes, Yoongi was a little reassured by it regardless. “It’s okay,” he said. His eyes flickered to Yoongi’s belly before darting back up to meet his eyes again. “It was a little short notice, but I arranged for some tea,” he paused, hand still extended to where he was gesturing to the teapot, a sudden look of embarrassment overtaking his features. “I – I don’t know how far along you are, but I apologize for serving you makgeolli last time. I know some people don’t mind drinking a bit even when they’re pregnant, but–”

Yoongi shook his head, raising a hand as if to physically try and stop the words pouring from Jimin’s mouth. “It’s fine, Jimin-ah,” he said easily, unbothered. And then he smiled at the memory, casting a mirthful glance at Taehyung beside him. “Taehyung here might’ve had a bit more to drink that day than he was ready for, but he certainly didn’t complain too much about it either.”

“Oh,” Jimin colored, glancing at Taehyung, who rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mind,” he offered, and Jimin nodded his head, albeit slowly.

“So… tea then?”

They quietly watched as Jimin poured them the tea upon Yoongi’s easy acceptance, and soon, all three had a steaming cup of tea in front of them before the silence was broken.

“It’s been two moon cycles now,” Yoongi said, eyes on the cup as he latched onto it. “Or, well. That’s how far along I am.” He hid his face as best as he could in the small cup, bemoaning that of all things, that was the best he could come up with to initiate the conversation. Blessedly, Jimin reciprocated from there, swallowing the sip he’d taken before responding.

“And… how long have you and Namjoon hyung been–” he cut himself off, blushing as he dropped his gaze. “Not that you have to tell me–”

“I think it’s only fair for you to know, considering what was requested of you.” Yoongi cast him a wan smile. “Since,” he paused, thinking back, “autumn last year, I suppose,” Yoongi said.

Jimin’s eyebrows lifted as he gaped at Yoongi. “That soon?” He asked, and then blinked, a hand hastily pulling away from his cup to cover his mouth. “I mean, it makes sense, I guess? But also,” he frowned, seemingly more at himself than at Yoongi, “it doesn’t? I don’t know, I think I’m just having a bit of trouble thinking of Namjoon hyung like – like that,” Jimin brought his hand away from his mouth to wave it rather vaguely in the air, “more than anything else, really.”

Yoongi chuckled despite himself. While he personally never witnessed the Namjoon they spoke of, one that was apparently never interested in such relationships before, he supposed he could comprehend Jimin’s point. Still, “Namjoon and I weren’t immediately enamored with each other, for what it’s worth.” Yoongi said. “No matter what, we still had our initial reservations and, should I go further than that, even grievances. It took some time, but,” Yoongi paused to take a sip, reflecting back on their initial meetings. “Once he began willing to see me as a person rather than just an,” dragging his tongue along his teeth, Yoongi expelled the air between his teeth before going along with the word in his mind anyway, “enemy, we were able to bond from there.”

“That part I can understand,” Jimin said with a smile, albeit one with a somber note to it. “Namjoon is usually more inquisitive than spiteful. We joke about him spending so much time in his head, but it allowed for him to overcome the blind hatred many of Goryeo are still susceptible to against Yuan, enough to converse with you.” Jimin sipped from his tea before continuing. “I may have mentioned this before, but he did talk to me about you a little. Not in as much detail, and he certainly hadn’t told me that he’d been interacting with you on a regular basis. But what he’d said stuck with me enough to open my mind.” Jimin shrugged, a dull gesture had it not been for the small smile he still donned. “In hindsight, I should have known he was actively meeting with you to prompt the talks we had.”

Yoongi cocked his head, curiosity increased. “What exactly did he tell you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Jimin scrunched up his eyes, thinking. “The first time we spoke about you, it was mostly about how the hatred against you was undeserved, especially when we were trying to enter an era of peace.” He rolled his eyes, muttering, “or so I thought.” He kept talking, not giving Yoongi the opportunity to respond to the slight comment. “The next time he must’ve been talking about you – he never once mentioned your name, but I happened upon him during one of the times he was in his head, trying to make sense of it.”

They shared an amused smile before Jimin continued.

“He was in a state of disarray regarding the conflict between what his mind was saying and what his heart was telling him. For once, there seemed to be a discord which he struggled to deal with.” Jimin tilted his head, eyeing Yoongi with a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Although, I’m guessing it didn’t last long and he must’ve come to a desirable conclusion ultimately.”

Yoongi blinked, looking away as the back of his neck heated up a little. “Was it truly desirable,” he questioned, a tad cynical even if he had been trying to avoid being so, “considering all that is happening now?”

He looked back at Jimin. “He,” Yoongi hesitated, before going on anyway. “He always hinted to knowing of the Jeonha’s plans before telling me of it in its entirety. But even since the beginning, he began to promise me that he wouldn’t let me come to harm.” Eyes dropping to the cup, Yoongi sighed. “Perhaps, if we hadn’t gotten so involved, if we never chose to look past the prejudice and begin talking, Namjoon wouldn’t be so concerned now, and he wouldn’t have gotten everyone involved in such dangerous plans to go against his own king.”

Beside him, Taehyung stiffened, but stayed quiet. Jimin, meanwhile, leaned forward with widened eyes, shaking his head a little. “No, you can’t say that.” Catching Yoongi’s attention with his vehement denial, Yoongi could only stare as Jimin kept shaking his head. “Honestly, it wouldn’t be like Namjoon to not become invested. Even if you didn’t become friends, and even if he had chosen to remain silent and let the Jeonha’s plans proceed unhindered, his mind would eventually question the pointless bloodshed. He would live with regret and ‘what ifs.’”

Yoongi sighed again, but he didn’t refute Jimin. He knew he had a point.

“Besides,” Jimin went on, voice softening. “Though I am still in shock over the other information that has been told, and though the aspect of Namjoon being involved with – anyone, not necessarily you specifically. But in such an irreversible way and deeply so confounds me,” Jimin set his cup down, folding his hands as he regarded Yoongi. “I might not have seen him like this before, but I cannot deny that Namjoon truly does care for you.”

Yoongi ducked his head, cheeks coloring. For all that he’d exchanged confessions with Namjoon before, to hear someone else speak of it was unusual, something none other than Taehyung had done before. It made him feel embarrassed, for it to be so openly mentioned, even as his stomach tingled with pleasure at the recognition.

Jimin exhaled. “And realizing that, I think,” Jimin paused, staring down at the table. “I think I would regret it as well, if I didn’t help.”

Yoongi’s head shot back up as he looked at Jimin with widened eyes, heart racing. He hadn’t thought it would be so easy to hear Jimin hint at accepting their proposal, had honestly expected he’d need to talk to Jimin for longer and bare his heart more. It hadn’t brought him much pleasure, but he was ready to admit that he wasn’t above letting himself be vulnerable if only to ease things for Namjoon, at least, as thoughts of his still tense and drawn appearance had continued to sporadically flash in front of Yoongi’s eyes.

“I can’t – I am not exactly pleased with my level of involvement that is needed,” Jimin said, almost dashing Yoongi’s hopes right at the root. But then Jimin was meeting his eyes, something grim and borderline furious in them preventing Yoongi from looking away. “But if what Namjoon said of the Jeonha is true, then… I’m long overdue for a personal visit anyway. And, well. After that, we’ll see.”

Yoongi nodded, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth as he struggled to find an appropriate response after the rapid whiplash Jimin provided. Thankfully, Taehyung must have noticed his struggle, because he leaned forward, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the chambers.

“You said you’d give us a response by tomorrow,” Taehyung glanced out the window, where the sun was low in the sky. It was not yet sunset, but it would be soon, and his pointed action emphasized the decreasing time until their next meeting in the military commander’s chambers.

Jimin nodded. “And I will. But first, I will meet with the Jeonha. Tonight.” Yoongi raised his eyebrows, something Jimin clearly noticed as he hesitated, whatever confidence he’d uttered his previous words with slipping away just like the rigid set of his muscles melted as well. “It is short notice,” he admitted. “I mean – I’d already sent my servant to notify him. I just wish I had more time to prepare, but I know we’re working with a limited schedule already.” He glanced at Yoongi’s belly again, before turning his head away to look out the window again.

“I don’t know what to expect, truthfully speaking,” Jimin confessed, his voice quiet. “There’s a part of me that almost wishes Namjoon was merely exaggerating, and that I am given every right to refuse. But,” he smiled, yet there was nothing cheery about it as he bowed his head, eyes closing, “there is a part of me that already knows that whatever happens tonight … will only be what I am expecting.”

Chapter Text

The door opened as soon as Jimin’s servant announced his arrival. The king stood there, a large grin on his face, looking as if he’d hurried to get to the door himself. Jimin bowed his head, seeing from the corner of his eye as the king waved to his own servant. As the king made way for Jimin to enter, the king’s servant swiftly left the chambers, his own servant acknowledging the wordless command and following, leaving Jimin alone with the king.

“Jimin-ah,” the king finally greeted, fondness evident in both his tone and his expression as he merely stood in the middle of his chambers, taking in the sight of Jimin. “It is truly a pleasure to see you after so long.”

Jimin’s face remained impassive, not even cracking the slightest of smiles as he regarded the king. This new situation with Yoongi aside, he’d had his own reservations that had prevented him from seeing the king until now, and he still held his own anger for that.

Keeping that in mind, he dove right into it, not wanting to play around with any further pleasantries.

“Perhaps I would’ve been inclined to visit you beforehand had you not become a married man, Jeonha.” Jimin said, only just keep the acidity out of his voice.

The king’s smile dropped, and he sighed, looking tired all of a sudden. “Jimin-ah,” he took a step closer, stopping when Jimin stepped back in return to keep the distance between them. “I already explained to you,” he began to beseech, “it was for the kingdom’s sake.”

Jimin let out a short bark of laughter, entirely humorless. “The kingdom’s sake, or your own?” He snapped, crossing his arms. “The treaty was enough to cease the wars between Goryeo and Yuan. Why bring another person, then? From Yuan into Goryeo, and between us.” Jimin clenched his jaw, biting his tongue a little too late.

The king’s eyes turned knowing, the set of his face sympathetic. “You knew I would always have to marry one day. The courts would demand for a Mama only of royal blood, but that wouldn’t have meant anything to me. Wouldn’t have had to mean anything for us.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows, disbelieving. “And yet, I hear reports of how you’ve had no problems constantly bedding your new wife,” he hissed. “Is that what it means for us? That, should I avoid you for any period of time, you go off to lay with this other person that your court was, oh, so much happier to approve of?”

The king closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. “Jimin.” His voice was void of emotion, almost threatening in its own right, and one Jimin had never heard addressed to him. “I still had to carry my duties.”

“Multiple times?” Jimin cried out, unable to control himself despite the king’s visibly decreasing patience. The king had never snapped at him before, had always been sweet and kind – and granted, they’ve never had an argument as serious as this either. But Jimin felt too far gone to care now, almost manic enough to try and test the king’s patience to finally rupture and show his true colors. “Once or twice – hell, even three times I’d get. But multiple times over the past year? And with none of the official ceremonies – have you even consulted a priest after the marriage ceremony before you had summoned your wife to your chambers?”

The king’s eyes shot open, narrowing at Jimin. “I should have no need for such ceremonies,” he bit out. “Not for someone I don’t care to publicize such relations with, not for someone I don’t care for in general.”

Jimin huffed. “So you’d rather sneak about like clandestine lovers? Just as you treated me?” He pointed out. “Really, Jeonha, what even is the difference between him and I, then?”

And maybe that was enough to shatter the remnants of the king’s restraint, for he strode forward, latching onto Jimin’s arms before Jimin could back up further. Not that he could, with the door at his back already, so it was even further surprising when the king pushed him up against it. 

“The difference is,” the king said in a low, dark voice, practically glaring down at Jimin, “that I do not care for him an ounce,” he repeated in a hiss, “while I love you.”

Jimin stared into the king’s eyes, flickering between each enlarged pupil as he considered him. While the king’s breathing had grown erratic, Jimin felt the sail blown out of his winds, his own breathing calming now despite the uncomfortably close proximity with the man he was still furious with. “You only speak words,” Jimin said quietly. “While your actions say anything but.”

Lifting his hands, he shoved at the king’s shoulders, the king stepping back more out of surprise than from Jimin’s ineffective push. “If you truly loved me, then why didn’t you seek me out yourself, Jeonha?” He cocked his head, uttering the title almost mockingly, aware of the contradiction it set with the words preceding it. “Why wait for me to reach out first? Unless you deem it below yourself, to seek out the man you supposedly love.”

The king shook his head, frantic. “I was only giving you time,” he said. “I did not wish to bother you with my presence if you did not wish to see me.”

“That shouldn’t have mattered!” Jimin exclaimed with a wave of his arms, voice raising as anger ebbed in again. “If you claim to love me, then you should have sought me out! You should have persisted, bothered me by trying to placate me, appease me until you’ve gained my forgiveness!” He breathed deeply as his arms hung limply to his sides. “You said, Jeonha. You told me that despite all outward appearances, between the two of us, we are but two men who can be ordinary lovers. Two men where statuses need not apply, and we can be true to ourselves and with each other.”

Jimin shook his head faintly, shoulders drooping as the anger melted away with sadness overtaking it instead. “Was that mere claims? False utterances of the tongue to seduce me and keep me in your bed for as long as it satisfied you – and then nothing more, once I no longer held your interest?”

The king walked forward again, slowly and more cautious as he peered at Jimin warily. “It was not.” He said simply, and when Jimin didn’t rebuke him, he gathered Jimin in his arms.

Jimin closed his eyes, hating himself for how he melted into the hold even as his ire held strong. Yet the want to be in that familiar embrace overrode everything else for the moment, Jimin having missed it far more than he’d realized until now.

“Everything I said, everything I promised, none of it was a lie, Jimin-ah.” The king held Jimin closer as he rested his head atop Jimin’s head. “If anything, everything I’ve done – and still continue to do – is for you.”

Jimin’s eyes shot open at that, and he stumbled backwards. But the king didn’t let him go, still holding onto Jimin’s arms even if they were no longer hugging. At least Jimin was able to raise his head and meet the king’s eyes as he retorted. “Even marrying and repeatedly bedding another?” He asked, knowing he was just going in circles at this point yet unable to desist.

The king’s eyes hardened. “I married a man I care not for,” the king repeated in return. “And to be honest with you, as I always have been, I still harbor hatred for him. Rest assured, any nights of passion you thought I’d been indulging in were nothing but a farce – a duty to the court and a scapegoat for my anger over the situation I still had to walk into. Fortunately, it was with someone who had no power to retaliate, no matter how I treated him. So my decision of the person I wedded was ultimately my best choice, given our circumstances as well.”

Jimin stilled. 

When he didn’t respond right away, the king’s eyes melted into concern. “Jimin-ah?” He tried to step closer, but Jimin shook his head faintly, taking a step back, pressing himself against the door.

“I–” he stopped, blinking as his mind raced. He knew, technically, that there was no love lost between the king and Yoongi. But he’d had his moments of doubt, a seedling in his heart that took root and grew overtime any and every time his servants reported that Yoongi had visited the king’s chambers overnight. 

And yet, to hear the king speak of him so callously, hinting at something more vicious… it was only the vaguest of insinuations, really, but would it be as good of a confession as he was going to get? Would it be enough confirmation to the claims Namjoon had made back in Seokjin’s chambers? 

Jimin blinked. “A scapegoat,” he said under his breath.

“What was that?”

Jimin refocused his gaze on the king. “A scapegoat for what, exactly?” He pushed. It felt like he was treading on thin ground at this point, more than when he’d been outright yelling at the king’s face. “You never held anger over the prospect of marriage. Resignation, perhaps. But you have always been calm, even neutral about it.”

The king scoffed. “Had I married someone more deserving of it – less deserving of my wrath, then perhaps I would not use such words. But a northerner,” he spat out, “embedded with Yuan blood? Forgive me, Jimin-ah, but there will never be a day where I regard those from Yuan as anything less than the dirt under my shoes while I remain alive and breathing.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, momentarily taken aback by the absolute viciousness of his words. “Then what of the treaty?” He asked. “You had no qualms making peace–”

“For the sake of our own citizens!” The king exclaimed. He roughly raked his hands through his hair, incensed. “The battles needed to be stopped for the sake of Goryeo lives. Do not mistake it as my caring for the people of Yuan. The treaty was only in the interests of our people. I’ve told you this multiple times now.”

Ignoring the king’s disappointed look, as if Jimin was but a mere child with comprehensive troubles, even as it caused his heart to pang to be the subject of such an expression, Jimin went on. “So the treaty was for the people,” he summed, keeping his words measured. “And marrying Y–the Yuan heir was to satiate your ire against the Yuan’s continued existence?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I feel like the marriage could’ve been entirely avoided, Jeonha. It all sounds so pointless.”

The king hummed, eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Do not think so lowly of me, Jimin-ah. There is always a point to everything, especially when I have a hand in it.”

Jimin swallowed, staring at the king. By now, he knew that unless he came to outright ask it, there would be no way of knowing for certain – he wasn’t sure that even asking would have the king revealing the truth. And frankly, Jimin was too shaken up already to push further. 

It wasn’t that he’d thought Namjoon was lying, he doubted Namjoon had a reason to lie to him. Unlike the Jeonha, perhaps. But what had already been said… it was enough to have Jimin’s stomach sinking.

The king’s face softened again, and Jimin was starting to feel disoriented by the multiple times the king had so easily shifted between different temperaments. It didn’t really help the king’s case, should Jimin think about it further.

He couldn’t, not right now, not while he was still standing before the king himself.

“Jimin–”

“I have to go.” Jimin straightened, pushing his back away from the door. “I–” but he shook his head again, pressing his lips into a thin line before turning around, hand outstretched.

He paused when the king laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Did you come just to argue with me?” Despite his biting words, his voice was quiet, almost defeated.

Jimin took a deep breath, but didn’t turn around. He couldn’t bring himself to face the king as he uttered his next words. “I will return,” he promised. “Soon.”

Jimin didn’t get much sleep that night either. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts even when his servants got him ready the following day. His face was set to a practiced mask to prevent the turmoil within from spilling out onto it as they carefully covered up the dark circles with skilled hands.

And yet, the moment he entered Seokjin’s chambers, he’d barely waited for everyone to be seated and focus on him before the words spilled out, feeling like they left thorns in their wake on his tongue, the conclusion that sealed his fate doing nothing to ease his agitation.

“I’ll do it.” Taking a deep breath, Jimin tried not to let any signs of wavering show on his face as he met Hoseok’s eyes. “Tell me what I have to do.”

With Namjoon practically across him, even without Jimin facing him, he could still see the relieved sigh Namjoon let out. Beside him, Yoongi’s eyes closed, shoulders dropping in a sign of relief. And on Yoongi’s other side, Taehyung was smiling, nothing too large in respect to the otherwise somber situation, but his eyes still sparkled – with relief, gratitude, something else or a mix of those and others, Jimin didn’t know.

But it made something within Jimin quieten, the storm within him starting to silence.

That night, the knock on his door wasn’t entirely unexpected. The person standing on the other side, however, was.

“Taehyung,” Jimin greeted, blinking in surprise before he came to his senses and gestured at his servant to allow Taehyung in. “Come in.”

Taehyung bowed his head as he entered, tugging at the sleeves of his robes. “I know this is a little unexpected and quite late, but I had hoped to talk with you, Jimin-bin.”

Raising a knowing eyebrow at his formal tone, Jimin quickly dismissed his servants. Once they left, he guided Taehyung to the low table at the corner of his personal chambers.

“Your presence is not at all a bother, Taehyung-ah,” Jimin reassured, busying himself with pouring them makgeolli. He offered Taehyung a cup before taking one for himself, taking a small sip. Taehyung continued to cradle his own, not yet drinking. “Is there a problem?”

Taehyung shook his head. “Not exactly.” He pressed his lips into a flat line, taking a deep breath. “I just wanted to thank you personally. For helping us. And Yoongi hyung.”

Jimin sighed, shaking his head. “You really don’t have to,” he said with a grimace. “It’s the right thing to do.” His tone was unconvincing, though, as if he were trying to convince himself more than Taehyung.

Which clearly didn’t go unnoticed by Taehyung. He raised his eyebrows, before exhaling heavily again, setting his cup on the table. “Even still,” he insisted. “This means a lot to Yoongi hyung. More than you realize.” Taehyung’s face contorted as uf grappling with his own thoughts. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but this had been weighing heavily on hyung’s mind since he learned about… everything. From the beginning, there was a part of him that hadn’t been very optimistic about his lifespan when he came to Goryeo.”

Taehyung grabbed his cup again, taking a healthy mouthful before setting it down, a frown settling over his features. “And once Namjoon-ssi told him about what the Jeonha intended for him, it only deepened his despair, no matter how much he tried to hide it. And with the pregnancy,” trailing off, Taehyung's eyes narrowed as he took another large sip.

Jimin’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead when he saw the cup was already empty, but he kept quiet as he wordlessly refilled it. He had a feeling Taehyung was going to need it tonight.

As soon as Jimin nudged it back in front of him again, Taehyung grabbed the cup, but he didn’t put it to his mouth immediately, and perhaps even fortunately. At the rate he was going, Jimin feared he would have to employ his servants to escort a drunken Taehyung back to Yoongi. Yoongi probably wouldn’t be too upset with Jimin if that did happen, but it still wasn’t too pleasing of a thought to be responsible for Taehyung to reach such a state.

“And then the Jeonha ordered Namjoon-ssi to have me killed.”

Jimin froze, his expression going blank.

“Yoongi hyung – he’d had time to process and come to terms with his potential death, as much as I absolutely loathe to say that. When he became pregnant, however, I saw a spark in him for the first time, a need to live. Yet he was still battling with his despondency, even though Namjoon-ssi was doing his best to reassure him.

“But when Namjoon told Yoongi about the order for my execution, that’s what really ignited Yoongi’s resistance. For once, he no longer wishes to lay around and be passive while Namjoon-ssi tries to save him, and their child too now. Now, he wants to be actively involved, further motivated by the need to protect my life.”

Jimin stared, wide eyed. Seconds passed, and then he blinked. Taehyung’s face was beginning to twist in concern, when Jimin reached out, and emptied his cup in one go.

Ignoring Taehyung’s shock and awe for the time being, he poured himself another cup, but stared at the murky liquid without raising it to his mouth just yet. “I don’t even know what to say,” Jimin confessed, not looking up. “It’s still hard to reconcile the man I thought I knew with the man you’re describing now.” Jimin took a small sip, resisting the urge to down it like before. “If I could think of the Jeonha as a completely different person, separate from my past experiences with him, maybe I’d come to terms with this better.”

Taehyung’s gaze was far too knowing for Jimin’s comfort when Jimin peered at him over the rim of his cup. “It might,” Taehyung agreed, “but the past – our memories and our own histories, those aren’t as easily erased, are they? It makes perfect sense for you to still hold onto your personal experience with the Jeonha, especially when it clashes with such a different character now.”

Jimin set his cup down and stared at Taehyung, gathering his thoughts. “Be that as it may,” he said slowly, “someone once told me that being caught up on our past prevents us from paying attention to the present.” Jimin didn’t break eye contact even as his mind was already drifting. He pondered on how the circumstances were so different from what the original statement had intended to address, yet how it was still applicable even now; at a different time, for a different person. 

Absently, he found himself telling Taehyung just that. “Whatever memories I hold of the Jeonha, it means nothing if that is no longer the person he is.”

They were caught in a waiting game of sorts, and Yoongi hated it – not even for his own sake, but because Namjoon was becoming increasingly agitated. The frequent glances Namjoon cast towards Taehyung were impossible to ignore, and had Yoongi not been absolutely convinced that Namjoon wouldn’t do anything, then he would have started doubting Namjoon as well.

As it was, Namjoon had done well to put those concerns to rest, not that it took much for him to do so after everything Yoongi saw him doing – for them. They no longer needed to meet daily in the military commander’s chambers since Jimin had accepted his task. The rest of their actions were now pending on him. Hoseok had carefully given Jimin a bag of tea powder, emphasizing the precise dosage Jimin needed to serve without going under or over the limits.

And so Jimin had begun his meetings with the king.

For a week straight, it felt like they were all collectively waiting with bated breaths for the king to show the first signs of his symptoms. Through messages passed on from various members of their little group to Namjoon, Yoongi knew that Jimin had been diligently serving the tea as meticulously as Hoseok instructed him to. Whatever else went on between the king and Jimin, no one knew. Jimin’s perpetual scowl clearly indicated his lack of desire to speak of it.

Namjoon did mention he planned to talk to Jimin himself before Jimin blew up with all the pent up emotions no doubt accumulating within him. However, Namjoon admitted that he hadn’t yet approached Jimin because of his own concerns and stress making it difficult to remain clear headed as the situation would require.

A week later, and the news came; the king had begun to show his first symptoms. Yoongi wasn’t a direct witness to it himself, but Hoseok had informed them himself of how the king had summoned him, reporting a slight cough and a slight inability to sleep properly.

It didn’t sound like enough. Other than a cause for slight concern, the king’s health was otherwise fine. Meanwhile, time was ticking, and they were almost halfway through the moon cycle, less than three weeks left before they were expected to travel to Yuan.

The bandits hadn’t stopped either. Seokjin and Jungkook kept them updated on that front, reporting with dismay how the bandits had begun to move inwards – only in Yuan, however. Apart from the smaller scale damages to the villages on the outskirts, no one had dared to enter further into Goryeo’s territory.

But the king, according to Namjoon, hadn’t let that fact be advertised. The citizens of Goryeo remained oblivious, but those in Yuan were facing a different situation. Yoongi’s uncle hadn’t reached out yet, and neither had the Jeonha to Yuan’s court seeking the meeting he planned for. But even without an official appointment, they all knew that the death anniversary of the Jeonha’s parents was enough of an excuse for the Jeonha to make the trip to Yuan with Yoongi, even if under the guise of extended families now being included in part of the ceremonial rites.

Hoseok promised them that soon enough, the symptoms would increase quickly, and the trip wouldn’t happen as they had strategized. Yoongi had only just managed to stifle the response on the tip of his tongue, a dry retort on how Yoongi’s symptoms seemed to progress faster than the Jeonha’s.

He’d stayed his tongue, but the thought hadn’t left his mind. Because it was true, glaringly so to everyone around him now. His cheeks had begun to fill out – something Namjoon seemed to delight in, when they weren’t weighed down by the reminder of why that was – and Taehyung was having to adjust his hanbok looser than usual. It could have been waved off as winter weight that Yoongi had yet to shed. Sure, he was always one to gain weight too quickly and too easily, but he wasn’t unaware of how to drop the extra fat just as fast after all the sessions his tutors had put him through.

On the plus side, no one else other than their odd little group had seen him lately. On the downside, it was firmly due to Yoongi having isolated himself in his chambers when he wasn’t meeting with the others. Thoughts of the gayageum gathering dust attempted to rouse his body, and Taehyung increasingly invited him to paint alongside him with growing concern, but his soul was growing disheartened.

So, while the news of the king beginning to show signs of his ailment emboldened everyone else, Yoongi could only allow for a faint smile before leaving Hoseok’s office. It was a rarer place for them to meet, as it wasn’t as secure as the military commander’s personal chambers, but allowed for one on one meetings that didn’t take longer than a few minutes to relay the latest updates, enough time to be dismissed as a check in with the court physician. He retreated to his chambers, claiming his lethargy and subsequently abrupt departure due to his pregnancy, a convenient enough excuse. Whether or not the Hoseok believed him, Namjoon and Taehyung clearly didn’t, evidenced by the way they trailed after him to his chambers, refusing to leave him alone even as they exchanged hushed whispers behind his back. Yoongi didn’t care enough to try and overhear what they were saying, knowing they were probably talking about him anyway.

As soon as they entered his chambers, Yoongi sighed, the line of his shoulders slumping.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Taehyung abruptly announced, leaving just as they’d arrived. Yoongi didn’t even watch him go, only hearing the door closing behind him, before Namjoon was at his back, a hand on his shoulder.

“Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon called out quietly, but his voice tapered off, nothing more said as Yoongi continued to stand there. Staring off into the distance, absently rubbing circles at his belly, Yoongi’s mind felt cloudy. He paused when arms encircled him from behind, Namjoon resting his chin on his shoulder. “What’s going on in your head, hm?”

Yoongi sighed again, leaning back into the broad chest that easily took his weight. “Nothing,” he said. “Everything. I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, resuming the circular motions of his hand, his free hand raising to clutch at Namjoon’s arm. “Just. What we’re doing – will it be enough? Will things work out how they’re supposed to?” He let his head drop, chin tucked in. “What if we fail, Namjoon-ah? What would we do then? What are we even doing right now?” He felt helpless, mind running in circles like the hand on his belly, body weighed down with the burden of relentlessly cynical thoughts he could only keep at bay for so long.

The arms around him tightened by a margin, Namjoon drawing him closer. He didn’t have time to respond, however, to address and assuage any of Yoongi’s worries, when the door opened again. Namjoon stayed in place as Taehyung entered, lugging a bucket of water in each hand and carrying it over to the large tub at the far side of Yoongi’s chambers. As he began to fill it, Namjoon stepped back, though he kept his hands on Yoongi’s hips. “Let me help undress you.”

Frankly speaking, Yoongi wasn’t much in the mood for a bath. But left with the option to do nothing but allow himself to be cared for, Yoongi acquiesced with a simple nod. Right away, Namjoon’s deft fingers were fiddling with the goreum of his hanbok, slipping the fabric off his complacent body. By the time Namjoon had stripped him of his final layers, Taehyung had finished filling the tub with water, steam wafting from it as he stepped away, emptied buckets in hand.

“I’ll leave you to your privacy,” Taehyung said, walking around them to get to the door. Yoongi attempted to smile at his friend, but it didn’t quite work. In contrast, Namjoon managed to nod gratefully in acknowledgment to Taehyung.

While Taehyung shut the door behind them, Namjoon led Yoongi over to the bathtub, holding onto his hand as Yoongi stepped in. The hot water instantly worked wonders at soothing the muscles Yoongi hadn’t even realized were still tense, and he lowered himself with a groan, uncaring of the water lapping dangerously at the rim of the tub as he sat down on his knees. When he opened his eyes, unaware of when he’d even closed them, Namjoon was smiling at him, almost a smirk if his eyes hadn’t been too fond, making him appear more pleased instead. “Better?”

Casting his eyes away, feeling suddenly shy and ridiculous considering his earlier outburst, Yoongi blushed, refusing to answer. Namjoon took it in stride, humming as he leaned over to grab a washcloth, scrubbing delicately at Yoongi’s skin without prompting. “Taehyung mentioned something to me,” Namjoon began conversationally, eyes glancing between Yoongi and where he was dragging the cloth over Yoongi’s arm. He still held onto Yoongi’s outstretched hand with his own, their fingers interlaced even as Namjoon’s sleeve became wet with their proximity. “He said it is the anniversary of your birth today.”

Yoongi blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t even realized the date, too preoccupied with other matters. But now that Namjoon mentioned it, he found himself calculating, eyes widening in shock when he realized Namjoon was right.

Namjoon chuckled lightly, having read every morphing expression on Yoongi’s face like an open book. He dragged the cloth up higher, rubbing at Yoongi’s shoulder and neck.

“I guess it is,” Yoongi said in a marveling tone.

“Had I known earlier,” Namjoon said, bringing the cloth to the base of Yoongi’s throat. “I would have prepared something for you.” The cloth dropped down by inches as Namjoon brushed it down his chest, a caress more than a scrub by this point. “But with your permission, I suppose I could improvise.” His voice had dropped a pitch along with the trajectory of the cloth, now inching towards Yoongi’s sensitive chest. 

Yoongi found his breath hitching, a subconscious urge to arch his back held at bay only by part of Yoongi’s mind still aware and in control. As it was, he kept his eyes pinned on Namjoon, mouth salivating at the enlargened pupils he found himself looking into. “And what would you intend to do?” Yoongi asked, as if he hadn’t an idea with the way the cloth was now rubbing agonizingly slow circles around his pebbled nipple.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow. The sight of him, mere inches away from Yoongi, still managing to appear calm and collected despite the heady look of arousal darkening his eyes, had Yoongi’s breath catching in his throat, skin prickling in the cool air where he wasn’t submerged in the warm water. “I told you before that I would do anything to make you happy,” Namjoon said, tone almost thoughtful even as the cloth moved away from his nipple. Yoongi bit his lip to hold back a cry of protest, panting. He never moved his eyes away from Namjoon even as the cloth dipped lower, Namjoon entirely uncaring of how his sleeve became soaked as his arm disappeared under the water to brush the cloth against the side of Yoongi’s belly. “Bringing you pleasure,” Namjoon said, voice a husky whisper, “isn’t too far off from it.”

Swallowing what felt like an excessive amount of saliva in his mouth, Yoongi shifted, spreading his legs apart further in a wordless invitation. Still, he raised an eyebrow, unable to help himself from making a sardonic comment. “Is sex all you think about with me?”

Namjoon’s eyes flashed, the grip he still held on his hand tightening as he leaned forward. “No,” he denied, even as his mouth came scant inches away from Yoongi’s. Distracted by the abrupt closeness, Yoongi flinched when he felt the cloth at his thigh, startled. “But the sight of your face in ecstasy, your skin flushed the most vibrant pink, your pretty little mouth open to let out the most melodious sounds – all because of me,” each word Namjoon uttering leaving a hot pant of air against Yoongi’s predictably parted lips, and his tongue darted out to lick at the flesh, wishing and yearning for Namjoon’s mouth to stop talking and to press against his instead, “is far too addictive to stop thinking about.”

Yoongi groaned, free hand lashing out and searching for the rim of the tub, holding on when Namjoon dropped all pretenses along with the cloth underwater, and rubbed his fingers against Yoongi’s cunt. Surging forward, he connected their lips in a frenzied kiss, feeling deranged as he frantically sucked and nipped at Namjoon’s lips, both fighting for control with Namjoon biting back with equal ferocity. 

As Namjoon’s fingers continued to play with the labia of his cunt, Yoongi wrenched his hand away from Namjoon’s, grabbing onto the back of Namjoon’s head and pulling him away. Even as Namjoon swiftly inserted two fingers without preamble, Yoongi pushed his head down, finally arching his back like he’d wanted to, and guided Namjoon’s head to his nipple, feeling inordinately unequal with the slight teasing Namjoon had done to only one of them earlier.

Understanding his motivation, Namjoon latched onto his untouched nipple, suckling at it like a newborn babe searching for milk, but with a far more dexterous tongue that had cries falling from Yoongi’s mouth without restraint. His fingers spasmed around the rim of the tub as Namjoon thrusted his fingers in him, the sounds elicited lewd with the accompaniment of the sloshing water with their ministrations, Yoongi writhing under Namjoon’s touches rocking the water further.

It didn’t take long, between Namjoon’s hot mouth enclosed around his nipple and his fingers thrusting and scissoring inside Yoongi’s cunt, a thumb stroking at the underside of his little cock, before Yoongi came. Digging his nails into Namjoon’s scalp, his back bowed, pushing his chest out as Namjoon mouthed sloppily at the entirety of his swollen chest, a barely there breast only just starting to form. Muscles clenching erratically around Namjoon’s fingers, his cunt and cocklet gushed slick and cum, dispersed with the water, while Yoongi moaned from the depths of his throat, his other hand going pale with how tightly he held onto the tub as his body was wracked with shivers running down his spine and all the way to the very tips of his toes. 

Namjoon’s fingers ceased their movements, still held within the warmth of Yoongi’s cunt as he let Yoongi come down from his high, pulling his mouth away to press chaste kisses around his nipple. Yoongi was still breathing heavily through his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as one by one, his muscles untensed, before his fingers finally loosened their hold against the tub and Namjoon’s head respectively, cringing at the stiffness in his digits. 

Rising to his knees, Namjoon left a trail of kisses up Yoongi’s chest and throat, dragging his lips over Yoongi’s jaw before sweetly kissing Yoongi’s lips, a stark contrast to their earlier kisses. Smiling, Yoongi fully relaxed all the way, melting into it. His hands came to clutch at Namjoon’s wet jeogori, humming as Namjoon kept their pace chaste and unhurried before withdrawing after a long moment of exchanged kisses.

Yoongi sighed as Namjoon pulled back, leaning against the back of the tub himself. His limbs felt entirely boneless now after his orgasm, and he blinked, bleary eyed as Namjoon picked up the discarded cloth from between his legs, resuming washing Yoongi between his legs, mindful to keep the touch gentle as he dragged the cloth against Yoongi’s sensitive cunt. 

“What about you?” He murmured, eyes flicking down, but Namjoon shook his head, an ever present smile on his lips.

“I don’t need to,” Namjoon said. “I just wanted to please you.”

Yoongi pouted, put off, but Namjoon valiantly ignored it, keeping his eyes away from Yoongi’s face once he noticed what Yoongi was doing. With his stubborn adamance, Yoongi was resigned to letting Namjoon scrub the rest of his body clean without anymore distractions, until Namjoon deemed him done and helped him out of the tub.

Dressed in a fresh sokgot, and Namjoon stripping himself of his jeogori so that he was barechested instead, they huddled under Yoongi’s blankets, gathered close on his bed as Namjoon embraced Yoongi.

Before Yoongi could even think about drifting off to sleep, still pleasantly mellow in his afterglow, a finger under Yoongi’s chin tilted his head up until their eyes met. “Please, don’t forget what I said,” Namjoon said, eyes serious. “I really will do anything to make you happy. And that means ensuring that whatever happens, everything will turn out alright.”

It definitely wasn’t the first time Namjoon had said something along those lines, and it probably wouldn’t be the last either. But it still did its job in satiating a deeper part of Yoongi, one still bathed in agonized worries craving that constant reassurance.

Nodding, he closed his eyes, and tucked his head back under Namjoon’s chin, holding Namjoon close in return.

The moon cycle was slow to progress. Conversely, however, the king’s deteriorating health suddenly wasn’t. Within days, what had been a mere cough and shortness of breath progressed to dizzy spells and nausea, a conundrum of symptoms complicating the search for an accurate diagnosis. A search that would never result in a conclusive find, with Hoseok being the physician responsible for overseeing the king, and being completely aware and partially responsible for the cause of the ailment in the first place.

Despite his burgeoning illness, Jimin kept up with his visits, now under the guise of concerned check-ins. The pinch of his eyebrows had dissipated somewhat, giving an idea of how their meetings went, but his lines of his jaw were still terse, his countenance bothered. More resigned than dismayed, Namjoon knew he couldn’t put off talking to Jimin any longer, and arranged for them to meet.

The gardens weren’t as cold anymore, the final days of winter holding on with a tenuous grip that only strengthened in fits and bursts. The day Namjoon sat outside, waiting for Jimin to arrive, was one of the warmer days, even if it still required Namjoon to layer up. He was grateful he remembered to wear his po this time as he clutched it tighter around himself at a stray breeze nipping angrily at his cheeks, but it was gone as quick as it came, relenting to a more consistent chill that was easier to deal with.

Leaning back against the solid trunk of the camphor tree behind him, Namjoon didn’t have to wait long before Jimin appeared in his peripherals. He took his time to join Namjoon, stride unhasty, but eventually, he stood at Namjoon’s side, facing outwards so they could both watch the garden’s creek.

“You’re not at our usual spot,” Jimin commented lightly, breaking the silence first.

Namjoon hummed, shoulders raising in a shrug. “I was in the mood for a difference,” he said, and then tapped on Jimin’s arm. Jimin turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, watching Namjoon sit down. With a small sigh, Jimin followed suit, uncaring of the bare earth under them when protected by the adequately thick po they both donned. “How goes your visits with the Jeonha?” Namjoon said without preamble. “You appear so troubled, yet continue to visit him. You know you don’t have to anymore, with it being Hoseok’s turn to take over.”

Jimin scoffed, but it wasn’t with true heat. “Please,” he said, just a hint scathingly. “Should I stop visiting him now, it would only serve to arouse further suspicion.” He paused, eyes drifting around the garden rather aimlessly. “It’s terrible,” Jimin whispered after a moment, as if confessing a secret. “The first few times I went to go see him, it went no different from the usual reasons I would be summoned. And,” Jimin’s voice abruptly cut off, his mouth pursing into a thin line.

Namjoon waited, watching his friend attentively without disrupting.

“I don’t know how I felt about it, Namjoon-ah.” Jimin said, shoulders dropping. He looked so defeated, Namjoon was helpless in giving in to the urge to lay a placating hand on Jimin’s shoulder. A gesture he knew was appreciated when Jimin swayed into the touch, tilting towards him slightly. “My body rejoiced to be with his again even as my mind found his touches to be a travesty, knowing all he’s done and is still intending to do. When he first began to falter in his activities–”

Namjoon grimaced, an expression thankfully gone unnoticed with Jimin not looking at him. He knew his friend wouldn’t go into detail, but it still wasn’t like it was something Namjoon wanted to hear about in the first place, neither about his friend nor the Jeonha, despite the contrasting sentiments he held towards both men.

“–I was almost thankful, even as my body mourned. Because I knew he would no longer be able to keep going. Feigning the concern needed to tell him to stop, and to keep the farce up under the guise of that same concern when preventing him from making further advances upon our next few meetings, it wasn’t easy.”

When Jimin fell silent again for longer this time, Namjoon took it upon himself to try and fill the silence, hoping to assuage his friend. “But you still did it,” he said, squeezing Jimin’s shoulder reassuringly. “And considering there’s been no indication otherwise, you mustn’t have acted too suspiciously, for the Jeonha hasn’t said a word out against you to anyone. Neither to Hoseok, Jin hyung, or me.”

Jimin closed his eyes, sighing. “That’s not the problem… but now I’m worried about that too, thanks.”

Namjoon smiled sheepishly, even as he winced at the same time, surely contorting his face in an odd manner. “Sorry.” Jimin shook his head at the sight, but at least his lips quirked up in a barely there smile out of amusement.

“What bothers me is that I had to meet with him in the first place, and that I still must continue to do so, if only to keep up the appearances of a worried–” Jimin’s face twisted, “lover,” he spat out the word. “If I had harbored any thoughts that meeting with the Jeonha would provide me with a form of conclusion, it was all for naught. I rather wished I could have kept going as I had and never met with him again in the first place.”

Namjoon swallowed, carefully pulling his hand away from Jimin’s shoulder. “If it truly agonized you so,” he said carefully, “then you didn’t have to accept.” He licked his lips as he placed his hands on his lap. “It would have been difficult for us, yes, but we would have found another way to deliver the tea to the Jeonha.”

But Jimin shook his head, shifting around so that he was seated facing Namjoon directly now. “It would have bothered me a greater deal had I not accepted, Namjoon hyung,” Jimin replied. His eyes went wide, beseeching almost, as he reached out to place his own hand over Namjoon’s. “Whatever reservations I held, and still hold against the Jeonha… that was something for me to deal with. But what the Jeonha is to Yoongi hyung, that is far bigger than my internal conflict. And what Yoongi hyung is to you,” Jimin tilted his head, staring right into Namjoon’s eyes. “Is far more important to me.”

Namjoon frowned. “I…” he drifted off, unsure as to how to respond to that.

Jimin smiled, clasping Namjoon’s hands tighter in his smaller one. It was a comical sight, how he still did his best to encapsulate both of Namjoon’s significantly larger ones in one of his own. “I haven’t seen the two of you around each other much,” he offered, “but from what I have seen, I’ve noticed how completely besotted you are around him, and I think it’s safe to say that he is too.”

Namjoon felt himself heat up in the cold air, a telltale sign his cheeks were coloring, much to his dismay. “We barely did anything in front of you,” he tried to retort.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “It’s not necessarily about how you behave with each other directly. Not just that, anyway.” He patted Namjoon’s hands once before retreating, leaning back as if to appraise Namjoon better. “It’s also about how you speak of each other. How you’re impassioned like never before in the topic of saving his life. Unlike whenever the Jeonha made a decision, to which you’d submit to, you fight so fiercely for your demands for his life to be met. And when he speaks of you, or even when I talk about you and he listens?” Jimin’s smile returned, some parts sly, some parts fond… and some parts yearning, Namjoon could tell. “His eyes go so soft, he looks like an actual puppy.” Jimin giggled with delight at his own descriptor.

Namjoon blinked. That was the first he’d heard of that before.

“He’s always so reserved otherwise, more composed and put together,” Jimin explained, “so to see him so visibly melt just because your name is mentioned is rather refreshing, to be honest.”

Namjoon was still left speechless, even as Jimin’s words caused a warmth to bloom in his guts. He hadn’t witnessed it himself, how Yoongi reacted to his name in front of others. But he had seen how unguarded Yoongi allowed himself to be with him. Previously, Namjoon might have viewed Yoongi's acceptance as merely recognizing him as part of his inner circle, rather than seeing anything unique about himself. It felt more like Yoongi was presenting the same version of himself that Taehyung knew, perhaps. Namjoon understood that this dynamic was ultimately only a variation of how Yoongi interacted with others, such as the members of Goryeo’s court or the Jeonha, even though those actual interactions were rare.

But to hear Jimin state the difference so explicitly melted his insides at the same time as butterflies erupted within his gut. It was an odd sensation, but not unwelcome.

“I don’t think I’ve actually noticed that,” Namjoon was finally able to say, “but I’m not mad you pointed it out. Even though I think that’s all I’ll be looking out for whenever we’re together now,” he said truthfully.

Jimin snickered, looking entirely unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”

Namjoon smiled back at his friend, before the corners of his lips turned down as his mood became somber once again. “Is that really all it took, however? Watching Yoongi and me in love with each other?”

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re in love with each other?” He asked back instead, causing Namjoon to flush within a second. Before he could backtrack, though, Jimin was forging ahead of him. “That makes sense. I just don’t think I would have expected you to accept it so easily.”

“There were no hasty confessions spilled between us,” Namjoon muttered, feeling inordinately abashed. “But once we said it, we’ve exchanged the words quite often since then,” he said, eyes downcast as he was still unable to meet Jimin’s.

Jimin’s hand appeared in his vision, placed back atop Namjoon’s. “It’s not a bad thing,” Jimin assured, “it’s actually quite sweet and heartwarming.” The hand disappeared, but his words had effectively returned Namjoon’s courage to look at his friend just as Jimin bit his lip, looking off to the side himself. “If anything, that further cements that, yes, it is enough for me to see my part through in this. No matter how I feel…” Jimin turned back to meet Namjoon’s eyes, more steadfast now with barely any lingering remnants of hesitance. “At least you two are more certain about each other. And that is enough for me, hyung.”

They were more than halfway through the moon cycle, and everyone’s teeth were on edge. They’d reached the point where the king would call out for arrangements to be made for the trek to Yuan. Anxiety hung thick in the air as they waited for Hoseok to determine whether the king would be fit for the trip. Although everything had gone according to plan, lingering doubt gnawed at them. What if things had gone wrong and the king was truly well enough to travel regardless?

Namjoon wasn’t sure what he’d do if that were the case. It felt like their very lives hinged on this moment – literally so, for Yoongi.

So when an urgent summons came to rendezvous at Seokjin’s chambers, Namjoon didn’t know what to think as he made his way there. But seeing Hoseok wide eyed and rather pale certainly wasn’t it.

“What happened?” He said immediately, not even bothering to take his seat. Apart from Seokjin, seeing as it was his chambers, only Jungkook was there, the others yet to arrive. Namjoon held onto the back of his chair, still standing, unable to sit as he prepared himself for the worst.

When Hoseok shook his head, Namjoon felt his heart plummet to his stomach, but his next words did little to allay his fears. “We’re waiting on everyone else,” Hoseok said tersely. “It would be better if they’re all here.”

Gritting his teeth, Namjoon cast a desperate look at Seokjin. But he was no more forthcoming regarding the situation, even if Namjoon knew without a doubt that Seokjin had to know what was going on. Yet still, his hyung’s face was frustratingly blank, not a single twist on his features to emote something that would give Namjoon a hint.

Annoyed, but knowing that waiting was probably for the best anyway, Namjoon sat.

Yoongi and Taehyung were the next to arrive, their faces steadfastly blank even as they took in the tense atmosphere within the chambers. They said nothing as they took their respective seats, but Yoongi immediately glanced at Namjoon, to which he could only shake his head helplessly. The set of Yoongi’s shoulders slumped by a margin, hardly noticeable to the others, but it was still there even as he faced the center of the table. Under it, his hand stretched out, a fine tremor going through it as he latched onto Namjoon’s hand on his leg. Namjoon clutched it back just as tightly, interlacing their fingers and keeping them there as they waited for the final member of their group to appear.

Long minutes passed before Jimin came, his lateness not entirely uncharacteristic, but there was something on his face, the way he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he took his chair that ticked off Namjoon’s senses. 

When Hoseok instantly fixed Jimin with a long, hard look before Seokjin pointedly cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, Namjoon understood. Jimin knew what was going on, and should Namjoon speculate any further, even had a part in it.

It wasn’t Seokjin who spoke, though, but Hoseok, as if Seokjin had merely signaled for him to begin. “I will start without any preamble – the Jeonha is not fit to travel.”

Namjoon closed his eyes, feeling like all the air in his lungs were expelled in one go. Beside him, he could tell Yoongi had practically collapsed in his seat by the way his hand went slack in Namjoon’s. And all around them, the air lightened as news of their success settled upon them.

But there was still something off, and when Namjoon opened his eyes, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see that Jimin was still not looking up, his demeanor wary.

“However,” the tension was ramped back up a notch from where it had barely settled on calm, everyone’s focus honing back on Hoseok. “It is due to an unforeseen addition in the Jeonha’s symptoms.” Hoseok’s eyes flickered over to Jimin before going around the table. “Since last night, the Jeonha has begun to vomit blood.”

There was a steady pause as everyone processed Hoseok’s words.

“I’m,” Jungkook was the one to break the silence, tentative and uncertain as he peered at Hoseok with wide eyes, “guessing that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Hoseok’s face was grim, his mouth a thin line as he wordlessly shook his head.

Seokjin steepled his fingers under his chin, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “As the physician – not of the Jeonha, but in charge of the tea. What do you propose our options are, Hoseok?” Namjoon blinked at Seokjin. It sounded odd to hear Seokjin address Hoseok so formally, Seokjin never having reason to outright say the physician’s name as such before. But Namjoon supposed an endearment would have been more so out of place considering the seriousness of the situation.

Hoseok inhaled deeply, placing his arms on the armrests of his chair. “Either we stop giving him the tea, in which case the Jeonha would recover. It would still be a gradual recovery, but we risk the chance of him deciding he feels well enough to resume his plans.”

Namjoon cut in before he could continue. “There’s no way we’re doing that,” he said, maybe needlessly. “We’ve come this far, we can’t stop now.”

Rather than rebuking Namjoon for the interruption, Hoseok only nodded knowingly. “The other option is to keep giving him the tea. However, it comes with its own risks. We’d have to be even more careful now to ensure an overdose doesn’t happen. I’d need to figure out a new, correct dosage to adjust to the current predicament. It will be a fine line between keeping the Jeonha as he is, increasing the severity of his illness a little more… and outright murdering him.”

Namjoon’s mouth went dry as Hoseok’s words effectively silenced them all.

Except for Taehyung, who muttered something under his breath. It was low enough that Namjoon couldn’t hear him from where he was sitting. Sitting between them, though, Yoongi’s arm shot out, an elbow harshly jabbing into Taehyung’s ribs. 

Taehyung hissed, rubbing his side, but a single, scathing look from Yoongi had him ducking his head.

On Taehyung’s other side, however, Hoseok’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, clearly having heard him as well.

Namjoon raised his eyebrows at them. When no one said anything, looking between Yoongi and Taehyung – not having missed the tiny altercation – and Hoseok as well, obviously taking in his blatant reaction, Hoseok slowly looked at Seokjin.

“He has a point,” he began slowly. Seokjin cocked his head, an expectant look on his face prodding for an elaboration. Hoseok glanced around the rest of the table, before settling on Namjoon. “If we did happen to… accidentally mess up the dosage and give the Jeonha too much of the tea, it would do away with the temporary solution and provide us with something more…” his face contorted as if about to say something unpleasant, “permanent,” he finished.

Everyone’s eyes swung around to look at Namjoon, and with the weight of six pairs of eyes on him, Namjoon was unsettled. It didn’t take him long to comprehend what was happening; for some reason, they had collectively decided to let Namjoon make the call, leaving the weight of the Jeonha’s life on his shoulders.

Along with Yoongi, the ever present thought of that weighing even more heavily on his mind as he looked to his side, meeting Yoongi’s steady gaze. While everyone else may have appeared apprehensive, disquieted over whatever Namjoon might say even before he came to a decision, Yoongi’s eyes were calm, his expression open and trusting.

The burden of everyone else’s waiting stares melted away as Namjoon’s vision tunneled, only able to perceive Yoongi. Several inches below, his hanbok protruded, his sight extending to include the swell of Yoongi’s belly, where their child rested within, growing in its safe cocoon.

Safe for now, and perhaps for the next few weeks… but how much longer?

“Keep serving the Jeonha the tea at its adjusted dosage,” Namjoon instructed, even as his voice sounded far away to his own ears. “Let his illness progress. And if the tea is truly capable of fatal consequences, then alert the court of the Jeonha’s incurable sickness.” Namjoon broke his stare, looking at Hoseok and then at Seokjin. “The courts will begin preparations for a royal death, and it will be the last from unnatural causes.”

Yoongi’s hand squeezed his, and Namjoon moved his other hand to settle it atop their intertwined hands.

Jin regarded Namjoon for several long seconds before sitting back in his chair. He nodded once, a short and terse action. “There will be issues regarding the successor,” he informed.

Namjoon looked back at Yoongi again, gaze dropping down to the growing belly that was only becoming more noticeable with each passing week, and would become unmistakable with each passing moon cycle.

“The Mama carries Goryeo’s heir,” Namjoon declared. “The court would not be able to deny his authority to rule until the heir is born and of age to take reign. Especially not if the Jeonha’s first advisor and the military commander stand by his side.” Namjoon looked to Seokjin, who stared at Namjoon. His eyes flickered to Yoongi, and then down to his belly, before settling on Namjoon again.

He nodded. “The court would be discontent about it,” he surmised, “but under all technicalities, you aren’t wrong.” Seokjin looked at Yoongi. “The Mama would have no reason not to rule Goryeo.”

With everyone’s attention abruptly on Yoongi, Yoongi paled. But his expression was resolute as he nodded, either in acceptance or acknowledgment of what was to befall him. 

“Then it’s settled,” Seokjin concluded. “Hoseok will continue serving the Jeonha the tea – at its proper dosage, without decreasing or increasing it for the time being. But when the time comes…”

“It will appear as if the Jeonha succumbed to his illness,” Hoseok finished. He didn’t look entirely joyous about the decision, but Namjoon supposed it was too farfetched to ask anyone around the table to celebrate their outright murdering of the king now.

Their decision was made, and with no one else offering anything else, Hoseok was the first to take his leave. His mouth was still a flat line, but his eyes softened as he passed by Namjoon, patting his shoulder and resting it there for a second as he paused, glancing between Namjoon and Yoongi. He didn’t say anything, though, just patting Namjoon’s shoulder again before he left.

Jungkook was the next to go, looking rather shell shocked over the whole thing, but even he was able to pass Namjoon with a faint smile, one that didn’t entirely meet his eyes. Namjoon didn’t fault him, resolving to talk with him personally later, if Seokjin didn’t beat him to it first.

But when Jimin stood, so too did Namjoon, gently disentangling his hands from Yoongi’s, prompting Yoongi to stand as well. Jimin seemed to be in a rush even as he was clearly trying to make himself inconspicuous, leaving on Jungkook’s tail, but Namjoon was determined to speak with him.

Only, Seokjin calling his name out had Namjoon halting. “A word with you before you go, please.”

Namjoon looked between him and Jimin, who had taken the opportunity to slip out of the chambers. He sighed, glancing back at Yoongi and tilting his head at him. Yoongi glanced at Seokjin before turning back to Namjoon, offering him a small smile before allowing Taehyung to lead him out. And with their departure, it left just Namjoon and Seokjin in the chambers, Namjoon still standing.

Rather than telling Namjoon to sit back down, Seokjin got to his feet as well, walking over to his low table to seat himself there instead. As Namjoon watched, Seokjin poured himself a cup of tea, notably not taking out another cup. At Namjoon’s pointed stare, Seokjin snorted. “I know you want to talk to Jimin, so I don’t intend to keep you for long, don’t worry.”

Namjoon pursed his lips, feeling oddly scolded. Still, he made his way over and sat himself across Seokjin, as if to spite him on purpose.

Despite his words, Seokjin took his time taking a long sip of his tea before setting his cup on the table. When he looked at Namjoon once again, his gaze was far more analytical, his narrowed eyes searching Namjoon. “You’ve made a hefty choice,” Seokjin said, voice low. “Are you absolutely sure it’s the right one?”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched as he looked away, his thoughts spiraling back over the past weeks and even the past moon cycles. Most of his reflections inevitably circled back to Yoongi.

Still, he forced himself to give weight to Seokjin’s question, pushing his mind further into the past. He contemplated his entire life, one intricately woven around Goryeo’s palace, and especially the Jeonha – the man he had grown up with, the man he once would have dared to call a friend.

A lifetime of shared history dimmed in comparison to recent events, becoming colorless in his memory next to the vibrant moon cycles he’d spent with Yoongi.

Namjoon wondered if his emotions had truly rendered him blind to reality. When he tried to shift his thoughts toward the future, he saw only two clear paths, despite knowing countless variations existed. Both paths led to inevitable death, each stemming from betrayal and deception. The first death – Yoongi’s – was driven by selfish greed. But the other? Was killing the Jeonha truly for the greater good? Or could that too be a mask for Namjoon’s own greed?

He had discussed this before. Killing Yoongi, his uncle, and their unborn child felt like pointless bloodshed for land acquisition. The Jeonha had already harmed innocent lives in Yuan, lives that should have been safe after the treaty. Could Namjoon convince himself that if the Jeonha took Yuan, the killings would cease? That the Jeonha’s bloodlust would be sated, allowing the citizens to be treated as his own?

Doubt gnawed at him, leaving him neither fully optimistic nor cynical. In this uncertainty, he turned his thoughts to the future instead.

If the Jeonha died, Goryeo’s court would be in turmoil, especially once Yoongi ascended. Yet, with Namjoon and Seokjin to control and appease the court, further bloodshed could be avoided. And Yoongi—he had never shown true hatred for Goryeo’s civilians. True, he hadn’t ventured outside the palace, but he had no reason to. The thought of Yoongi unleashing a vendetta against Goryeo’s people seemed absurd, almost laughable.

The citizens wouldn’t be pleased with a Yuan heir ruling them after their beloved Jeonha’s death. Yet, it was the same man who had initiated the treaty. Namjoon could use that to his advantage, framing it so that if the Jeonha had no issue wedding someone from Yuan, then having that person rule Goryeo – acting in their best interests – wouldn’t be unfeasible.

This raised a troubling question: was he any better than the Jeonha? The only difference was that while the Jeonha sought to manipulate Yuan’s citizens, Namjoon would be manipulating his own. But for what? Could he achieve the same peace the Jeonha claimed, while keeping Goryeo and Yuan as separate entities?

Had Seokjin not been sitting across from him, awaiting an answer, Namjoon knew his mind would spiral unchecked. It had done so many times before, robbing him of sleep – except when he had Yoongi in his arms.

So he paused, taking a deep breath to anchor himself. As he exhaled, Namjoon focused on the present, considering everyone involved – from those who had been in this chamber moments ago to the Jeonha, resting from an illness they had collectively caused.

An illness born from the very arguments Namjoon had posed. They all recognized that the Jeonha’s actions were wrong. Even if they were merely supporting Namjoon, they had agreed on one thing: Yoongi didn’t deserve to die.

Namjoon opened his eyes, never having noticed that he’d closed them in the first place, and looked at Seokjin.

“Yes,” he finally said, voice low either from the long moment of disuse, or from how deeply his decision had settled within him. “I am.”

Jin, who’d been watching him the entire time, merely blinked. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side as he kept his eyes on Namjoon. “You really do care for him, don’t you?” He said, rather impromptu, but it wouldn’t have taken anyone with Namjoon’s brain to understand who he was talking about.

This time, the answer came more easily to Namjoon, slipping off his tongue like water. “I love him.”

Jin didn’t look surprised at all. If anything, he only leaned back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Then be at ease, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin said. “And worry not yourself over this any further, like I know you’ve been doing. We stand with you, and when the time comes, we will only continue to do so.”

Chapter Text

Jin’s words did much to reassure Namjoon, which he supposed was the original intent. As he made his way to Jimin’s chambers, his mind definitely did feel lightened somewhat. Not completely, and it wouldn’t be so until Yoongi’s safety was completely in the clear. But the turmoil over the actions he’d established himself lately was put to rest, leaving his footsteps lighter than they’d been in a while.

Knocking on Jimin’s chambers, it took a while before the door opened after he’d announced himself. He wasn’t surprised by the delay, nor by the servants in Jimin’s chambers immediately exiting the room, leaving him alone with Jimin.

Jimin, who was seated at his vanity, watching Namjoon approach through the mirror.

With no one around to maintain formality in front of, Namjoon unceremoniously deposited himself upon Jimin’s bed, facing Jimin even if Jimin adamantly refused to move, keeping his side to Namjoon. Namjoon didn’t mind – although he preferred the direct eye contact, he didn’t exactly need to look at his friend directly to get a read of what was going on in Jimin’s head.

“What’s going on, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin slumped forward. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he whispered to his lap.

Namjoon straightened. “What do you mean?”

“I–I poured too much of the powder.” Jimin’s head whipped up, his expression desperate. “I knew I shouldn’t have – but I,” he cut himself off, his shoulders dropping from their defensive stance. “Would you believe me if I said my hand slipped?” He peeked at Namjoon, the hope in his eyes pitiful, like he knew his own question was futile.

Namjoon didn’t refute him right away. “Is that what happened?” He said instead.

Jimin closed his eyes. “No,” he said, voice a faint whisper despite – or perhaps with the weight of – the honesty.

Namjoon leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Why did you do it?” Despite the accusatory words, he kept his voice soft, not intending to rile Jimin as much as he was aiming to encourage him to open up instead.

Jimin clicked his tongue. He eyed the array of objects on his vanity without actually seeing them, the furrow of his eyebrows visible to Namjoon even from the side as he contemplated. “It wasn’t… on purpose,” Jimin said. “But I guess it wasn’t entirely an accident either,” he said, clarifying nothing.

“I knew what I was supposed to do, how much I was supposed to stir in the water. And I know why I’m doing this. However, I couldn’t help but think of the Jeonha’s face more than yours or Yoongi hyung’s. And it aggravated me. The memory of his satisfaction, when he got to have me again, and how – how content he was to see me, when I was pretending to be all fretful and concerned over his worsening health.”

Jimin grimaced, disgust washing over his face as he probably envisioned what he was talking about.

“The reminder of his visage at such moments was enough to infuriate me, but with his added presence, my temper got the best of me,” Jimin finished, his voice dropping again, the heat in his eyes extinguished as shame overcame his features.

“So you added more tea powder than instructed knowingly?” Namjoon asked.

Jimin paused halfway through shaking his head, an aborted gesture as the discomfort grew. Still, he obligingly responded to Namjoon’s questions. “I regretted it as soon as the cup was done,” he said, looking rather confused with himself. “If I didn’t know better, I would rather say the spirits possessed me to give into my darker urges,” he said wryly.

Namjoon barely suppressed a scoff. Jimin knew that Namjoon had little faith in the ideas of possession or a definitive higher power, despite his facade of participating in the necessary ceremonies. While Namjoon held a neutral stance on spirits — neither confirming nor rejecting their existence — he respected Jimin’s own superstitions.

“What’s done is done,” Namjoon said eventually. “We could linger on the negative ramifications of your deeds if you want. But – at the risk of sounding heedless – don’t let it drag you down without solace. Because, for the first time and due to your actions, be it on purpose or a true accident, we now have a solution to save Yoongi’s life once and for all.”

Jimin peered at Namjoon from his peripherals, hope daring to dawn on his face, even if it was clouded by the knowledge that Yoongi’s life was still to be at the cost of the king’s.

It was similar to how Namjoon had felt for the longest time, so he wasn’t a stranger to how Jimin felt.

Rising to his feet, Namjoon laid a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, clutching it tight for a second before loosening his grip again, albeit not yet letting go completely. “It’s not wrong to feel regret or guilt over your past actions, Jimin-ah. If anything, that is a testament to your good nature,” Namjoon said. “But do know that I will forever be in your debt if all goes as we talked about,” Namjoon hesitated, before pressing on. “Yoongi and our child will be able to live in peace thanks to you.”

Jimin looked up with a sharp gasp at that, eyes wide and glistening as he craned his neck to meet Namjoon’s gaze head on. “Namjoon hyung, you can’t say such things,” he exclaimed, looking aghast, but Namjoon only cast him a weary smile.

“It’s the truth, though,” he countered. “And it means so much more to me than you can imagine.”

Jimin closed his eyes, bowing his head. “I think I have an idea,” he said faintly. “Which is the only reason I’ll be able to live with myself after this.”

Namjoon sighed. He bent down to embrace Jimin from behind, feeling awkward since Jimin was still seated, forcing him to lean forward to pull Jimin into the hug. Still, he rested his chin on Jimin’s head, searching for the right words to comfort him, despite knowing the impact of his message would not be instantaneous. “I think,” Namjoon began slowly, gazing into the mirror, “with time, the weight of our current decisions will fade in its severity, decreasing the burden they impose on us now.” Through the mirror, Namjoon met Jimin’s eyes, his gaze steady. “Time that the Jeonha might not have anymore, but many others will. Not just Yoongi and our unborn child, but many innocent civilians of Yuan and Goryeo combined. And the knowledge of the lives saved in comparison will be something we must hold onto closely, to avoid sinking under our despair so we are able to look back on today in the future, alive and well.”

That evening, Jimin was rather surprised when, instead of seeing Taehyung accompanying Yoongi as he’d expected upon hearing the servant’s voice, Taehyung walked through in front, Jungkook behind him.

Raising his eyebrows, Jimin stood from his desk, waving at his servants to leave them. Once the door shut behind his servants, he turned to Taehyung and Jungkook, the both of them awkwardly standing in the center of his chambers.

“What brings you two here?” He questioned, voice mild even as his mind raced with concern. “Is everything alright?”

Jungkook shrugged, leaving it to Taehyung to respond. “I thought we could spend some time painting,” he said, and it was then that Jimin took note of the basket in Jungkook’s hands, a satchel in Taehyung’s. “The past weeks have been rather intense, so I figured we should have some downtime to relax ourselves while there’s nothing else that requires our immediate attention.”

Although he wasn’t put off by the suggestion, Jimin did turn to Jungkook, raising an eyebrow at the knight. “Shouldn’t you be out on patrol?” They all winced at the word, the insinuation of the no longer innocent duty unable to be ignored. Still, Jungkook shook his head.

“Today’s rotation only extends to the villages within Goryeo’s borders. So Jin hyung said I could take the night off.”

Because there wouldn’t be anything serious to report, Jungkook didn’t say, but Jimin heard all the same. There would be no grievous injuries or casualties that would need urgent tending to, by someone Jin hyung would trust to be truly impartial despite the civilian status.

Nodding, Jimin stepped to the side, leading them to his low table and beginning to clear it of its contents as he glanced at Taehyung next. “And what about you?” He asked, tone far lighter now. “Did Yoongi hyung dismiss you already?” The sun was still visible over the horizon, albeit not for much longer. Still, even with Yoongi’s pregnancy, there was no way he’d have retired to bed already.

Taehyung grimaced, setting the satchel down and unearthing its contents onto the table as he responded. “Something like that,” he said, pulling out brushes upon brushes, causing Jimin to bemusedly wonder why anyone would need that many. “Namjoon-ssi dropped by for dinner with a belated anniversary present for Yoongi hyung, and I took my escape.”

“Anniversary present?” Jimin questioned, bewildered. He wondered what kind of anniversary they could have been celebrating, considering it hadn’t yet been a full year since Yoongi’s arrival at Goryeo.

Taehyung nodded. “The birth of Yoongi hyung’s anniversary,” he explained. “It passed by some days ago. Namjoon-ssi himself hadn’t known until I’d told him to try and distract Yoongi hyung, an attempt at some levity. I didn’t expect Namjoon-ssi to try celebrating it again, but the jewelry box I saw him holding was a nice change. Although I’ve long since learned it’s best to let them have their privacy anyway… just in case.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up his head, pressing his lips into a flat line to avoid the instant guffaw that had threatened to burst out. Taehyung looked so adorably disgruntled, even if there was no true bitterness in his eyes, that Jimin felt himself endeared to the sight.

Behind him, Jungkook didn’t seem to care as much about hiding his reaction, for he chuckled freely as he set down the basket in his hands. “It’s actually kind of sweet,” he said, at odds with the mirth shining in his eyes. He took the lid off the basket, pulling out scrolls to lay on the table beside the inkwells Taehyung was now depositing by the brushes, although with much more care. “The way they’re besotted with each other,” Jungkook went on, emptying the basket and sitting cross-legged, “Even though I’ve never directly witnessed them lavishing each other with vast amounts of attention, I still can’t remember seeing Namjoon hyung like this.”

“Enamored with someone, you mean?” Jimin asked wryly, joining the two on the floor, seated on thick cushions that were deceptively comfortable despite the elaborate embroidery on them.

Jungkook hummed his confirmation. “He’s very protective over the Mama,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen him so passionate about someone’s life and safety other than the Jeonha before.”

“He’s worried about your safety before,” Jimin argued. “You and Jin hyung, whenever you had to go out to battle.”

Jungkook only shrugged, however. “But it wasn’t like he actively fought for us to stay behind just so we’d be safe or anything.” Jungkook said lightly.

Jimin pursed his lips. Despite Jungkook’s lighthearted tone, it felt forced the longer they’d gone on, the mention of the king sufficiently sobering the air. With Jimin foregoing anymore responses, they were left in collective silence while Taehyung passed around scrolls and brushes. He checked to make sure they all had a set of their own painting supplies before they began, quiet still among them.

It may not have been how Jimin had foreseen his evening going, but he couldn’t deny it was an improvement from his previous plans of agonizing in bed with his thoughts for company instead. They painted without saying anything for a while, nothing more than the sounds of their brushes against the scrolls between them, before Jimin was unable to hold his tongue still any longer.

“Taehyung-ah,” Jimin had wanted to break the silence, but the sudden noise jarred his ears after the prolonged quiet. Still, he went on. “Why don’t you tell me something?”

Taehyung hummed questioningly, glancing up from his scroll, hand pausing mid stroke.

“You told me a bit about your and Yoongi hyung’s childhood,” Jimin said, “what about before that? Before you came to be his servant?”

Taehyung straightened, absently stretching his back with the brush still held between his fingers. “Before I became Yoongi hyung’s servant?” He asked, although his voice was absent, as if he was speaking more to himself as he pondered the question. “Well, I was raised by my grandparents on their farm for some of my earlier childhood years. Once I was a little older, I joined my parents at the palace. They were already servants at the palace, so I managed to get assigned to various chores here and there suited for my age.”

Jungkook cocked his head. “Your parents worked in the Yuan palace?” He questioned, glancing between Taehyung and his own scroll as he kept painting.

Taehyung hummed. “Eomeonim worked in the kitchens while abeonim was one of the gardeners. I think they hoped for me to study and take a job outside the palace instead, but I always enjoyed it when I was assigned to the kitchens with my eomma.” He smiled, visibly happy at the memories his words evoked. “And then Yoongi hyung came to the palace, and I’d been given a more permanent position as his servant, so there wasn’t really any chances of me leaving even if I wanted to. And Yoongi hyung wouldn’t have been able to help me much, either.” Despite his words, he didn’t seem too bothered by it, apparently entirely content with his position – and considering their previous conversations, Jimin thought it safe to say that Taehyung truly was satisfied as Yoongi’s servant, but more importantly, friend.

“What would your parents have wished for you to study?” Jimin asked, genuinely curious. “Would you have had many opportunities, despite your lack of noble blood?” He kept his voice light, careful to not offend, yet earnest in his desire to understand the differences between how Goryeo and Yuan treated those without royal blood.

Fortunately, Taehyung must have understood, because he showed no signs of ill content at Jimin’s questioning. “I guess it depends,” he said. “I could have easily taken mentorship from any working class citizen in the lower cities. But positions such as scholars or those more well educated in the literary sense would only be good for the lower and middle classes at most, I wouldn’t have been recognized or referred to by the royal courts or anything.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound too different from how things operate here,” he noted.

“Except those in the lower class can’t easily find access to literary positions,” Jungkook interjected, a frown on his face as he jabbed his brush on his scroll. “But if you do manage to get through all the hoops, then there is a chance you can gain access to tutelage at the royal courts itself here.”

Taehyung stopped from where he’d been painting a wide streak over his scroll, looking between Jungkook and Jimin. “So those born in the lower class could still end up in the royal courts?” He asked, a touch flabbergasted.

“Sure,” Jungkook responded. “I mean, I was born in the lower city myself, and while I didn’t try for the educational route, I was still accepted into the knights’ program. Although,” he frowned, whether to his painting or the conversation Jimin wasn’t too sure of, “it is easier to get a position in the military, so maybe it’s not the same.” He nodded to himself as he sat back, taking in his scroll before dipping his brush into a pot of water.

“It also hasn’t happened in a while,” Jimin pointed out. “I can’t remember the last time the Jeonha appointed someone new to the court – someone from the lower class, especially. Maybe Hoseok hyung?”

Taehyung blinked. “The physician?”

Jimin nodded. “Yes, he was born in the lower class but had an affinity towards the healing arts that the courts couldn’t deny. Although I am uncertain if getting a physician certificate differentiates from the literary scholars…” Jimin frowned in thought, absently tapping the stick of his brush against his chin, “I also cannot recall anyone else being welcomed into the royal courts from the lower class since Hoseok hyung.” 

Taehyung hummed, looking contemplative as his gaze dropped back to the scroll. He didn’t immediately resume painting however, so Jimin waited a few seconds to see if he would say anything else. When the silence dragged on, though, Jimin begrudgingly returned to his own scroll, blandly staring at the sole cherry blossom tree that was barely finished with nothing else decorating it.

“Do you think,” Taehyung’s voice was low, effectively gaining Jimin’s attention without startling him when Taehyung finally spoke, “if Goryeo was under a different ruler… I’d be able to attain a position in the courts?”

Jimin carefully set his brush down. Jungkook froze, his brush still held to the parchment and undoubtedly creating a large blot. “It depends,” Jimin said carefully. He didn’t ask what Taehyung meant, didn’t have to. “Is that what you’d want?”

Taehyung shrugged, not meeting either of their gazes as he kept his own studiously on his scroll, adamantly continuing to paint. “I think… Yoongi hyung would want me to do whatever I wished to, if he held the power to grant it.”

Jimin’s mouth felt dry. It was a vague insinuation of the future they were implementing, but to still talk of treason so boldly, no matter how reticent Taehyung appeared, had an unnatural chill wracking through Jimin’s body despite the ondol under them. 

And then Taehyung frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’d ever want to give up my position as his primary servant, though. I wouldn’t trust anyone else — to do as good of a job only I can do, after all these years.”

Even though Jimin didn’t know Taehyung as long as he’d known Jungkook, he was still able to read between the lines, hearing the words Taehyung didn’t say, with frightening clarity.

If – when – if Yoongi became the ruler of Goryeo, there would be a period of time where he wouldn’t be able to trust anyone to attend him without nefarious purposes, borne from general hatred or distaste. Moreover, Taehyung’s loyalty would only continue to be desired, should Yoongi attain Goryeo’s trust and overtake his responsibilities involving communications with other lands – lands that might still harbor grievances against Goryeo.

Probably not as problematic as the differences Goryeo held against Yuan, but Jimin wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of a peace treaty being made without at least one assassin involved.

After all, even Goryeo wasn’t absolved of the method, even if it hadn’t been put into action.

Yet. 

The summons from the king was not entirely unexpected, but Namjoon dreaded each footstep that took him closer to the king’s chambers regardless. He paused outside the door, ignoring the guards newly stationed beside it as he took a deep breath. Exhaling, he ensured his face was a placid mask, tinged with only a bit of concern. While the king’s ailing health was not yet publicized, it was reasonable for those close to the king to be informed of the matter, whether or not they’d personally visited the king yet.

Seokjin was one of those who was supposedly informed, but he’d already made a visit to the king. He’d later informed Namjoon that nothing of significance had been imparted, apart from being entrusted to personally handpick a selection of his own men to guard the king’s chambers on rotation since the onset of the king’s illness.

Namjoon was obviously supposed to be one of those informed, considering his closeness – much like Seokjin – to the king and – almost like Seokjin – Hoseok in general. So it was only after he was certain his carefully curated mask was in place that he knocked on the door, announcing himself and waiting for it to open.

One of the king’s servants opened the door, allowing him in while they kept their head bowed in deference as Namjoon strode past them and to the bed where the king sat. He casually nodded at Hoseok before dropping to a full bow to the king, waiting for the king’s acknowledgement before rising and taking a proper look.

While the king managed to stay seated, Namjoon didn’t miss the death grip of his hands on the sheets on either side of him, the way his head hung heavily between his shoulders as if the effort it took to keep his head upright was too much to bear. Frankly, it looked like the king would have been better off laying on his bed instead of forcing himself to remain seated on the edge of it, but Namjoon wasn’t going to address that just yet.

“Jeonha,” Namjoon greeted. “How fares your health?”

Beside them, Hoseok bent over the king’s bedside table, puttering away with the various satchels and vials atop it that made sense only to himself. With a low voice to avoid distracting them, he muttered something to the attentive servant, who nodded aptly at whatever instructions Hoseok was doling out regarding the king’s treatment.

The king grunted. “I have been better,” he said, his voice sounding wheezy. “I cannot say I’ve been worse.” Namjoon’s eyes twitched, but he managed to smoothen out his expression as the king raised his head, his eyes glassy. “Whatever sickness has befallen me, Hoseok has only managed to affirm that it is not contagious. He hasn’t been able to provide me with a useful prognosis, however.” The king managed a disdainful look at Hoseok, who promptly dropped into a bow.

“I am doing my best to accumulate the reports of your condition and cross reference it with various texts, Jeonha,” Hoseok said, still bowing. “Unfortunately, my search has proven fruitless, as the array of your symptoms match no conclusive diagnosis.” Caution evident on his features, Hoseok dared to straighten. “I assure you, Jeonha, the moment I discover the correct course of action, I will immediately begin to administer the proper treatments.”

The king rolled his eyes as he looked back at Namjoon. “Until then, he’s only been able to deliver me with various pain relievers of foul taste, and other concoctions ultimately likening me to a test mouse.” He waved a hand at Hoseok, dismissing him. “I feel terrible only knowing my servant has to undergo the same drinks first. At least he appears heartier than ever.”

Sure enough, a quick glance to the king’s personal servant, who was leading Hoseok out of the king’s chambers, showed no signs of sickness or weariness on his features upon immediate view. Even a sign of exhaustion in the pinch of eyebrows that never could be truly hidden once one knew what to look for, as Namjoon did, wasn’t visible to Namjoon’s eyes on the servant’s features when he came back to stand at the king’s side.

“I pray for your urgent recovery, Jeonha,” Namjoon murmured, ducking his head.

The king stood, stumbling on his feet as he rose. Instantly, the servant was beside him, Namjoon only a fraction of a second behind as they held onto the king from each side, supporting him as he stubbornly stayed on his feet even as he swayed despite the support. “Jeonha, perhaps you should lay down,” Namjoon suggested, staring wide eyed at the servant, who only kept his eyes dutifully cast on the ground.

The king grunted again, his face set in a way Namjoon knew only preceded an obstinate refusal. Except he began to cough, a harsh, guttural yank of air from the depths of his chest that forced him down anyway, aided to a smoother descent onto his bed with the help of Namjoon and his servant. With the king seated, Namjoon stepped back, uncertain. The servant at least was more familiar with what to do, as he swiftly retrieved a handkerchief from the table. The king immediately began to smother his coughs once he was handed it.

After a long moment of raucous coughing that had Namjoon shifting on his feet as he waited it out, it finally subsided into wheezy breaths. The king wiped his lips on the kerchief before pulling it away from his mouth, crumpling it up in a careless ball, but not before Namjoon noticed the specks of red staining it, the fainter streaks of red still left behind on the king’s mouth.

The servant took the discarded kerchief from the king, and with his newly freed hand, he dismissed the servant, waiting for him to leave the chambers – although, Namjoon knew the servant wouldn’t have gone far. He was probably innocuously loitering near the guards in fact, not wanting to leave the king alone for a second. Namjoon may have been with the king, but with the inexplicable illness, Namjoon knew that the king was now constantly monitored by at least one of his many servants at all times.

Even Jimin was no longer able to meet with the king in private, although that had been a much more recent event occurring in the past few days – since the king’s latest symptom, actually, courtesy of Jimin’s own doing.

“Namjoon,” the king said, regaining Namjoon’s attention. “What is your progress with the servant?”

Namjoon blinked, trying to comprehend the king’s words. When understanding dawned on him, it came with mounting dread. “You mean Taehyung-ssi?”

The king nodded, but the movement was slow. It could have been attributed to his sickness, had he not been staring at Namjoon with an shrewd look, unnervingly so when his eyes had been so glazed previously. “Yes, him. I haven’t heard of his death yet. Why is that?”

Keeping calm, Namjoon folded his hands behind his back. “Because I decided not to have him killed yet, Jeonha.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“I was thinking,” Namjoon began, voice easily slipping into the tone he was far more accustomed to using around the king, one that spoke of a mind that had analyzed a situation and logically deduced the best course of actions at their disposal, “would it not be better to save his death for later? Like you said, his death would drive the need for the meeting. But should it be closer to the time of, the more… impacted, the Yuan heir would be. Fresh from his friend’s death, he would still be grieving and highly emotional, which would make it easier to sway the Yuan ruler.”

The king contemplated this in silence for a while, before he nodded. “I see you’ve thought about this for a while,” he finally said, “considering you haven’t bothered to tell me of your decision beforehand.”

Namjoon forced his tongue to work despite the abrupt dryness of his mouth. “I would have met with you sooner,” he tried, hoping the words didn’t sound as weak as they did in his head, “but when I was informed of your sickness, I thought it best not to disturb you.”

The king regarded Namjoon skeptically. “So you thought you could, what, decide for me?”

Namjoon’s body froze, even as his head already began to shake in denial, but the king kept talking.

“And the servant – you address him so formally.” The king noted. “Even when I had ordered you to have him killed. Why is that?”

A droplet of sweat trickled down Namjoon’s spine, his mind positively racing to appear collected while also trying to formulate a feasible response.

“I have always been in the manner of addressing those I know with formality, Jeonha.” Namjoon said. His fingers twisted and tightened where they remained interlocked behind his back, fidgeting out of the king’s view. “And considering he is not one of our own, I’d seen him around quite a bit while he was running errands for the Yuan heir, so I made sure to familiarize myself with the new presence running around the palace.”

The king continued to stare at Namjoon with narrowed eyes. Long moments passed, Namjoon standing ramrod straight as he returned the king’s gaze without faltering, more droplets of sweat running down his back.

Finally, the king acquiesced, breaking the stare with a blink, his muscles sagging once again. “You always did take to our propriety and decorum lessons with remarkable ease,” the king muttered, seemingly more so to himself than to Namjoon.

Daringly allowing himself to relax, Namjoon let his shoulders drop from their rigid stance, a small smile on his face as he tilted his head to the side. “My father would not have accepted anything less, as you may remember.” It felt strange, casually remarking on their shared past. As if the king hadn’t transformed from the man Namjoon could have vocalized as a good friend despite their statuses.

As if Namjoon wasn’t plotting and aiding in the king’s death.

The king laughed, thick and wracking from his throat with a wet cough on its tail end. At least it was shorter this time, the king only needing to press the sleeve of his robe to it before it was gone as quickly as it came, no traces of it left behind this time. “I do,” the king agreed. “He was a good man, your father, but his expectations of you were higher than for myself.”

“I think that may have been because I was his son, and nothing against you personally.”

“That, and because he already thought I’d do well no matter what, you can’t deny that.”

“Well then, you were also set to higher standards which you had no trouble meeting, Jeonha.” Absently, Namjoon wondered what the king’s tutors would have said now. Would they have been disapproving of and admonishing the king’s current methodologies, or would they have been as sternly impressed as they had always been around the young king?

“We were bright kids together then, the both of us.” The king concluded. With difficulty, he swung his legs up on the bed, resting his back against the headboard with a lengthy exhale. “Alright,” he said with a sigh. “I trust your judgment in terms of the servant. You haven’t failed me yet.”

Namjoon dropped down into a bow, both to convey his gratitude at the king’s leniency – for he knew, had the king wished, the conversation would have gone in a very different way – and because he sensed his imminent dismissal. 

Apparently, he was wrong in regards to the latter. “But you’re going to have to change your course of actions with him, much as I must as well with my own undertaking.”

Namjoon rose, cocking his head curiously. “Jeonha?”

“The meeting I had set in my mind to occur with the Yuan ruler will have to be postponed. In case you haven’t noticed the lack of preparations already, Hoseok has deemed me unfit for traveling.” The king’s face was grim, his jaw clenched as he delivered the news.

Namjoon dithered with an appropriate response. Oddly enough, he was almost amused with himself for not having prepared something to say, despite knowing such a conversation was bound to inevitably occur at some point.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t entertained this scenario multiple times before. Rather, he always ended up at the same position as he found himself now – unable to have a rehearsed line at the ready and resorting to playing it by ear, much as he’d been doing for the majority of this conversation already.

Namjoon resorted to bowing again. “I express my deep remorse for the postponement, Jeonha.” His eyes were wide open, staring at the carpet as various emotions hurtled through him. Relief, for one, was the strongest. The imminent demise of Yoongi was deferred, and Namjoon could have yelled with joy at the success. But warring with it was a sense of foreboding deep in his gut, knowing that Yoongi wasn’t completely out of harm’s way yet.

“Do you intend to wait until your recovery, or do you wish to alter your plans?” He asked, keeping his face blank and tone even as he straightened.

The king’s gaze drifted away from Namjoon, the set of his eyes dark even as he considered Namjoon’s question. “It will merely be on pause for now,” the king eventually said. “But think not for a moment that I am not ruminating over other possibilities. My physical health may be weakened, but my mind is still strong. No matter how this sickness tries to threaten to overtake me, I am sure that soon, something will come to me.” The king grinned. Maybe he meant for it to come across as inspiriting, but to Namjoon, it looked nothing but sharp like in its predatory way. “Maybe this sickness is even a blessing in disguise, for I have already thought of the outcomes of having the meeting within Goryeo instead.”

Namjoon stilled. “Do you mean… you plan for the Yuan ruler to come here instead?”

The king’s grin didn’t lessen in its intensity – in fact, it grew wider, and had Namjoon been the one plagued by the illness, he would have wondered if it was possible to begin hallucinating the king’s teeth morphing into outright fangs, more befitting a demonic monster. “It may be harder to convince those concerned that the Yuan ruler would be assassinated not by one of Goryeo’s own when in our very lands. But his protection, no matter how secure when traveling, would be less impenetrable than if he were in his own home, hm?”

Namjoon’s brain began to work, already trying to analyze the flaws with the situation. “Would you be able to provide him with sufficient reason to make the trip?”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Are the bandit attacks on both our lands not enough?” He countered. “And besides, as you mentioned, we can hold the servant’s death as a trump card. The Yuan heir can personally write a letter to the ruler. That, combined with a letter signed by the Jeonha of Goryeo himself would leave him hard pressed to refuse an invitation. Especially when added with the fact that it would be improper for him to not visit a sick king – one that is wedded to his own blood as well.”

Namjoon felt faint, only just managing to stay on his feet without wavering where he stood. “You do raise a good point, Jeonha.”

“And while the initial plan was to have us travel to Yuan in a roundabout way of involving my spouse and his family in my parents’ death anniversary,” the king continued, distaste clear on his face and in the way he spat out the words, “I can add this to the invitation as well. All the more solid reasons for the Yuan ruler to come here, decreasing his ability to refuse.”

Namjoon ducked his head. “It does sound plausible, Jeonha,” he said, albeit internally begrudging. He wondered why the tea had no effect on the king’s mental fortitude, wondering further how far his own morals had strayed if he was pondering asking Hoseok if that was possible to rectify.

“I’m glad you think so.” The king said, sounding pleased.

“So,” Namjoon hesitated, unsure if his question would provoke the king into coming up with a solid answer if he hadn’t already, “do you have a certain time set in mind to send out these letters to the Yuan ruler?” He asked anyway.

The king hummed. “The end of the next moon cycle,” he declared. “That was when we were wedded, were we not? We can have it as the reason for his arrival to the public’s knowledge.”

“Of course, Jeonha,” Namjoon said, his brain having gone blank by this point. “I shall pray that you are recovered before then anyway.”

The king smiled. “I know you have no faith in the gods, Namjoon,” he said, not unkindly. “You might as well pester Hoseok to find a solution faster instead.”

“I think I’d only delay him if I did that.”

“Well then, you might as well join him in his search.” The king responded, unbothered.

“Maybe I will,” Namjoon said, his mind working again as he decided that he actually would be talking to Hoseok, as a matter of fact. “Maybe I will…” he repeated, quieter this time before he bowed, the king finally dismissing him.

His head was still preoccupied with the king’s newfound plans as he left the chambers. As expected, the king’s servant was loitering at the window opposite the door to the king’s chambers, appearing for all the world as if he was dusting the frame. Upon Namjoon’s exit, however, he ducked back into the king’s chambers, bowing courteously to Namjoon as he passed. Engrossed with his thoughts, Namjoon barely managed to return the gesture, not even paying the guards any heed as he rounded the corridor – and pulled up short when he bumped into Hoseok.

“Seok-ah?” Namjoon questioned, brows furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you,” Hoseok said, voice quiet. As if in shared agreement, they simultaneously glanced around them, a part of Namjoon’s brain finding the synchronization inordinately humorous. Deciding they were far too exposed to have a conversation Namjoon wasn’t sure of the specifics of but knew would be unwise to have in the open, they started walking away from the king’s chambers, their destination as of yet undetermined.

“Are there any changes to the Jeonha’s health?” Namjoon asked. His voice was still pitched low, but he deemed the question safe enough to be voiced even if they were overheard as they made their way through the corridor with lengthy strides.

“Nothing to report,” Hoseok said, matching his tone. He dropped it lower with his countering question. “Does there need to be?” He asked, side eyeing Namjoon even as they hastily rounded a turn. 

Namjoon didn’t answer right away. They’d entered the main areas of the palace, which meant more servants were bustling about as they walked through the corridor. They had to pull away from each other, hugging the walls as a servant came marching through the center, her vision obscured by a tall pile of laundry stacked in a basket. Hoseok cast a bemused glance at the servant’s disappearing back, noting the servant’s woefully oblivion to the many other individuals, some of higher standing, who were forced to step out of their way in favor of the servant practically bulldozing her way to her destination.

They were side by side soon enough, continuing their path to – Seokjin’s chambers, Namjoon realized. He must have been leading them there without conscious thought, but it wasn't like it was a wrong one.

“I’ll tell you in a bit.” Namjoon said, rather belatedly. It took Hoseok a second to remember what they’d been talking about, but then his expression cleared, and he nodded in understanding.

Seokjin wasn’t in his chambers, judging by how their knock on the door went unanswered. But that didn’t prevent Hoseok from walking in anyway, using a key he procured from the sleeve of his hanbok. He led them inside, moving to the low table to grab the pitcher of tea. Namjoon, meanwhile, settled into his usual spot at the higher table, resting his head on his hands with his elbows propped up on the surface.

The sound of the tea pouring from the pitcher into a cup was loud, but even the noise of the cup being pushed towards Namjoon wasn’t enough to have Namjoon lifting his head. Hoseok sat down, evident by the sound of a chair being pulled back before being tucked back in.

“So… are we waiting for Jin hyung or will you tell me now?”

Namjoon was forced to unearth his face at that, which he did so only with a gusty exhale. “Do you know if he’ll be back soon?”

Hoseok chuckled dryly. “As much as he tries to give us his time, he’s still the military commander, Namjoon. He has duties that even I can’t tear him away from right now.”

Namjoon sighed.

“Do you wish to wait for him? I can’t guarantee when he’ll be back, but I can send for you once he returns,” Hoseok offered. 

Namjoon shook his head. “I’ll trust you to let him know yourself – the Jeonha has changed his plans. Again.”

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his face becoming blank as he set his cup down on the table. “What do you mean?”

Grasping the cup Hoseok had offered him – and he’d been ignoring up until now – in both hands, Namjoon stared at the murky liquid. “He’s going to have Yoongi’s uncle come to Goryeo instead, under the guise of celebrating the wedding anniversary and including him in his parents’ death anniversary.”

Hoseok blinked. “And… what?” He asked. “He’s going to have the Yuan ruler killed here instead?”

Namjoon smiled wanly, eyes drifting to Hoseok before dropping back to his tea again. “That’s what he said.”

Hoseok exhaled, his mouth pressed in a flat line. “So the plan isn’t off the table entirely, after all.”

“Nope.”

“But we have more time,” Hoseok tried.

“By which Yoongi would definitely be showing signs of his pregnancy,” Namjoon was quick to rebuke.

“We could pass it off as the Mama having gained weight over the winter?”

“With spring well upon us already by that time?” Namjoon raised his eyebrows, skeptic. “I can admit that Yoongi’s been getting round not just in his belly–”

Hoseok’s face contorted in disgust, “please don’t describe his body to me–”

“I meant his face – haven’t you attended to him as the acting court physician?” Namjoon blinked, bewildered.

“I, well. Yes,” Hoseok admitted, but Namjoon shook his head, unwilling to be distracted.

“Anyway,” he said, with a pointed tone, “his pregnancy would be hard to deny. And with preparations for a feast that a neighboring ruler is invited to, Yoongi will have to be involved. Even if Taehyung-ssi tries to make sure he’s the only one tending to Yoongi personally, there will be other servants about to take measurements for robes and the like.

“Word will spread,” Namjoon said conclusively, letting go of his cup to press his hands flat on the table, “and the Jeonha will know of the pregnancy before Yoongi’s uncle has a chance to step foot out of Yuan. And who knows what he will do then?”

Hoseok slumped forward to rest his arm on the table, his chin propped up by a hand that partially obscured his face as he closed his eyes to think. “So what would you propose we do?” he said, peeking at Namjoon through the slits in his fingers.

Namjoon’s face was stony as he stared at Hoseok with resolution. “We proceed with our initial plans,” he allowed for a slight grimace for smoothening his features out again, “but we’re going to have to hurry it up.”

Hoseok dropped his hand from his face. “You still want to,” he drummed his fingers on the table, anxious yet forcing the words out, “have him dead?”

Namjoon took a deep breath, holding it as he cleared his mind of all things to touch base with himself. There wasn’t a cell of his body that found reason to war with his decision, so his exhale was equally controlled as he steadily met Hoseok’s gaze. “Yes, Hoseok. I do.”

Hoseok nodded, leaning back in his chair again. “Okay,” he drummed a beat before abruptly slamming his hand on the table, killing the beat as he stilled his hand. “I’ll begin to make adjustments to the dosages, in that case.” He nodded, as if to himself, then he looked back at Namjoon with clarity in his eyes. “I’ll inform Jin hyung, and he can update the others” he said, and Namjoon stood.

“Please,” he said, gratitude in his tone and in the way he bowed his head. “I’ll also be letting Yoongi know, who’ll probably inform Taehyung-ssi.”

“Then that’s covered, I suppose,” Hoseok stood as well. He eyed Namjoon’s full cup, Namjoon having never drank from it. “You don’t want to finish your tea?”

Namjoon choked out a laugh, though it wasn’t entirely humorous. “No offense, Hoseok-ah, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drink any kind of tea any time soon.”

Hoseok’s lips pressed into a flat line, as if to convey an amused smile, but the concern in his eyes ruined it. “You know what, I can’t blame you. That actually makes sense.”

With another bow of his head, Namjoon took his leave, leaving Hoseok behind to stare at his own cup with curiosity.

Namjoon didn’t appear until Yoongi was already asleep, which was odd, but not entirely unusual. Some nights Namjoon would manage to arrive in time for them to have dinner together, others when Taehyung was already preparing Yoongi for bed.

It was, however, the first time Namjoon snuck in long after Yoongi had drifted off, feeling alone and grumpy about it. At the shift of the bed and the embrace of familiar arms around him, however, Yoongi was quick to awaken, already having been on edge and having only slipped off into a restless slumber without Namjoon’s comforting presence.

As Namjoon settled behind him, Yoongi hardly waited for him to get comfortable before he was shifting and turning in his arms, the process admittedly a little more arduous than it once was with the added weight around Yoongi’s middle.

“Why are you so late tonight?” Yoongi muttered, his lips falling into a pout. He was already irked that he’d gone to bed alone, and while having Namjoon join him eventually was better than never, especially if Yoongi wanted to actually get some proper sleep, he was still disgruntled to having been awoken. 

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon laid flat on his back, an arm under Yoongi as he watched Yoongi lean over him. He raised a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Yoongi’s ear, delicately tracing the line of Yoongi’s jaw after – not that it was a formidable line as it once was, Yoongi was dismayed to have noticed. It had only been three moon cycles, and already, his face was starting to soften out, his edges becoming smoother, his jawline not as prominent. It would have been a fascinating discovery, an endearing process to watch, had Yoongi not been overtaken by rising fear every time he’d looked in the mirror.

“I would have gotten here sooner if I could, but my meeting with the Jeonha ran long, and I had to talk with Hoseok afterwards.”

Yoongi rested on his side, shifting and turning until his head was eventually on Namjoon’s chest, one arm slung over Namjoon while his right arm was under himself. He wouldn’t be able to sustain the position for long without his arm falling asleep, but for now, it was the most comfortable he could get.

“What did the Jeonha say?” He wasn’t dumb. He might play the part of a pretty face as far as Goryeo was concerned, but he was smart enough to know there must have been a reason for Namjoon’s meeting with the Jeonha to have run long.

Namjoon sighed, his eyes closing. “He’s going to send for your uncle to come here instead,” he said succinctly. “A myriad of reasons – his parents’ death anniversary, your wedding anniversary, and his ailing health – should provide sufficient reason for your uncle to be unable to refuse coming.”

Yoongi grit his teeth. “Were all our efforts in vain, then?” he asked. “The Jeonha will have my uncle dead anyway, but in his own land?”

Namjoon opened his eyes, raising his eyebrows at Yoongi. “No offense, love. But a bigger concern would be signs of your pregnancy by then.”

“So he’ll have me killed first, and welcome my uncle with my corpse?”

Namjoon wrapped his arms around Yoongi, hugging him close despite the barrier between them. “You know that won’t happen,” he promised. “I told you I spoke with Hoseok. He’s going to begin increasing the dosage of the tea. Even if the invitation is sent out, even if preparations are made, and even if your uncle does begin to make his way here, it will be the Jeonha who will be the one not alive to welcome your uncle.”

Yoongi exhaled, his temper extinguished as fast as it had been to alight. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face flat against Namjoon’s chest, hiding himself away as he tightened his own grip around Namjoon in return. “When did speaking of treason become so casual among us?” he couldn’t help but wonder, the words muffled from where his mouth was somewhat smothered by Namjoon’s jeogori.

Namjoon dragged a hand up Yoongi’s spine, stroking him in a soothing gesture. “When the man in question became a tyrant,” Namjoon responded, his voice firm if quiet. “And when your life became worthier in my eyes than his.”

Yoongi sighed, adjusting his face so it was out to the side and no longer suffocating himself. He didn’t say anything, didn’t see the need to, really. Instead, they laid there in silence, Namjoon continuing to stroke his back, until they eventually managed to fall asleep long hours later.

The moon cycle ended. The next one began with Hoseok reporting that the king had begun to – unknowingly – consume higher amounts of the tea. Subsequently, so too did the king’s symptoms increase. A rising temperature brought a constant fever to the king that no amount of cold cloths could abate. His servant was constantly sending out laundry, a mix of sweat damp sheets and bloodied rags from the unending coughing bouts the king was subjected to.

They had four weeks left before the king expected Yoongi’s uncle to arrive in Goryeo, and the king had become bed ridden for the most part.

The court was in disarray, Hoseok’s continuous reports bringing only progressively negative news sending the members of court into chaos. No one had dared to utter aloud word of the king’s potential death – a potential that was only becoming more certain by the day – but already, some members had begun uneasily whispering of a heir.

Witnessing the entire mayhem firsthand, Namjoon bided his time. No others knew of the king’s infertility, a successfully closely guarded secret. But the king was still lucid more often than he wasn’t, and Namjoon wasn’t ready to risk posing Yoongi’s pregnancy as a solution to the court just yet. Not when the king could hear of it and recover enough just to spite them as he ruined their plans before he went down – and he would go down one way or another, Namjoon ensured. Although Namjoon was hoping in the way that would prevent an all out war from breaking out in Goryeo’s palace.

At least he’d managed to address the issue of the bandits. While the specific group remained unknown to them, acting directly under the king’s orders, Namjoon and Seokjin had managed to draw up a plan to effectively wipe out the bandits once and for all. He’d just come from a meeting with Seokjin and Jungkook, implementing another one of his final measures, when Taehyung accosted him in the corridors. Namjoon patiently waited, albeit with eyebrows raised, as the servant bent over, hands on his knees as he panted for breath.

“The Jeonha,” Taehyung managed to get out between heavy breaths. “He sent for Yoongi hyung.”

Namjoon froze.

“He – what?” Namjoon practically gaped at Taehyung, mind boggled. The man was practically gasping for breath just trying to exist, and he summoned Yoongi – for what?

“Not – I don’t think to bed him,” Taehyung unwittingly answered Namjoon’s unvoiced question. He swallowed, straightening as his breathing calmed. “Yoongi hyung’s on his way over right now. I – I dressed him in his thickest hanbok to hide the – to keep things hidden, but I don’t know why–”

“Taehyung-ssi,” Namjoon forced his mind to calm, striding forward to clamp his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders. “Go to Jin hyung – Seokjin-ssi’s chambers, and tell him to assign Jungkook his new position from now. I will head over to the Jeonha’s chambers myself, and make sure nothing goes wrong. Don’t worry,” he tried for a smile, one he knew didn’t convince either of them, but he was in a hurry, and knew Taehyung could sense it too. “I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

“You summoned me, Jeonha.” Yoongi kept his eyes on the ground as he entered the king’s chambers. It was an instant change in the atmosphere, to enter a sick man’s chambers. The air was stuffy, and the overall mood somber as the king’s servant replaced a cloth on the king’s forehead for another one.

“Yes,” the king’s voice was thick and nasally, congested from the fever, but not at all weak like Yoongi would have expected it to sound. No, it was as if the king was determined to hold onto the last vestiges of his authority, imposing his will even through his voice still, while his body lay otherwise useless on his bed, in night clothes despite the sun still bright in the sky. “Come here,” the king gestured, when Yoongi had stopped after his first few steps in.

Reluctantly, and with growing unease as he fought to keep his hands still where they were folded in front of his belly without shifting the carefully layered fabrics, Yoongi stepped forward until he was beside the bed.

“Leave us,” the king ordered his servant. With a bow, the servant left, albeit not without piling several handkerchiefs within the king’s easy reach.

“Sit,” the Jeonha ordered. Yoongi refrained from casting the bed with a distasteful look. The king wasn’t contagious, he knew. But Yoongi still wasn’t too fond of the thought of having to sit down on a bed almost soaking wet from the king’s perspiration and whatever other bodily fluids the man emitted.

He sat down.

Prim and proper, he kept his hands where they were, eyes still trained on the floor. Yoongi grit his teeth when he realized his position. On the edge of the bed and adjacent to the king, only slightly tilted towards him without outright pulling his legs off the floor and onto the bed, he was giving the king a full view of his side, where his physiological changes were the most easily noticeable. Praying in gods he didn’t believe in that Taehyung’s work would hold true, Yoongi waited for the king to speak.

Blessedly, he didn’t take too long. “I will be sending for your uncle to come at the end of this moon cycle,” the king announced. Yoongi’s eyes flitted to the side before he forced his gaze back down. “Our wedding anniversary is upon us, and apart from that,” the king took a ragged exhale, “the death of my parents’ anniversary is in a few days.”

At first, Yoongi waited, thinking the king was regaining his breath to go on. When the king didn’t say anything for a while, however, Yoongi ducked his head in the king’s direction. “I shall pray that your parents' spirits rest in peace,” he said. 

The king harrumphed, and promptly started to cough. Fighting off a wince – and the urge to lean back and away from the king – Yoongi kept his face blank as the king fished around for one of the kerchiefs. At least he had the wherewithal to cover his cough, Yoongi mused blindly, eyeing the carpet’s embroidery at his feet while the king spat into the cloth.

He dropped it wearily onto his torso when he was done, chest heaving with ragged breath, the pull of each inhale sounding like it rattled his very lungs. “You know,” the king said slowly, pausing to take a long breath. “I had planned for us to do the ceremonies together, before visiting your uncle in Yuan instead.”

Yoongi blinked at the ground. While he knew of this, he wasn’t sure what to make of the king telling him this now. Did he expect an utterance of gratitude, when Yoongi also knew that it had only been a means for his and his uncle’s death?

He kept silent, which the king didn’t seem too bothered by, as he kept going. “Unfortunately, I am not fit for travel, as you can see for yourself,” the king waved a hand at his prone form, to which Yoongi ducked his head again, but didn’t respond.

“Hence, I will have your uncle come here. Perhaps the sight of family – extended as it may be, might even do well for my health.” Out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi saw a flash of teeth as the king grinned, but for his part, he was fighting to keep his breathing steady. The word ‘family’ seemed like a mockery to come from the king, but his overall words felt like a dangerous segue to Yoongi’s condition, one he knew that if the king should even hint at, Yoongi was done for.

His hand itched to reach for his hip, Namjoon’s dagger an ever constant presence, but he kept them firmly in place. Whatever his anxiety ridden thoughts might whisper, it was not certain the king had figured things out. Acting in haste would definitely ruin things, and a slit throat would be harder to explain away than passing from a sickness that had set in weeks before already.

“The ceremony for my parents’ anniversary will come to pass before then. We will both participate in it, no matter my health,” the king continued, woefully oblivious to Yoongi’s thoughts. “And when your uncle arrives, we will commemorate their passing, but celebrate a new era.”

Feeling like one of those porcelain dolls he’d played with as a child, the ones with a constantly bobbing head more fascinating than their painted faces and intricately designed hanboks for such a miniature figure, Yoongi bowed his head again. “I look forward to it, Jeonha,” Yoongi said evenly. “I pray that your health recovers before then. And I thank you for thinking to include my uncle,” he said, aware of the irony of his words considering his own thoughts a few mere moments ago.

The king scoffed, a smaller thing that thankfully triggered no coughing fit, even as he wiped at his nose with another kerchief from his side – the one on his torso apparently forgotten.

“What kind of husband would I be if I neglected my in-laws?” The king asked, and his tone was so genuine, Yoongi mentally did a double take at the king, wondering if the sickness had finally gotten to his head. To even insinuate the king as a caring and thoughtful husband was laughable at best – had Yoongi wanting to slap the man at worst. In the end, he could do neither, except to keep his head bowed in a show of gratitude he felt not even an ounce of.

“The palace will be arranging everything soon. I thought it best to inform you myself, especially as I haven’t seen you in quite a while now.” Without looking, Yoongi could feel the king’s eyes raking over his form. He stiffened where he sat, keeping his breathing steady and even despite every part of his body screaming for him to try and suck in his stomach – as if that would help. “I’m sure the servants will ready you for the ceremony. Ensure you are adequately educated on our customs. I do not want any cultural differences to offend my parents’ spirits during the ceremony.”

“Of course not, Jeonha.”

The king inhaled deeply, and then began to cough again. As yet another kerchief was used, the previous two apparently nonexistent despite being on the king’s very body, Yoongi waited, thrumming with restless energy wanting to propel him out of the chambers already.

The kerchief was discarded on the floor this time, and Yoongi regarded the specks of blood on the cloth near his feet with detached morbid interest.

“That is all.” The king’s excusal had Yoongi rocketing to his feet. Keeping himself bent at the waist, he backed out, trying his best to avoid tripping on anything until he reached the door. Turning, he let himself out, blinking at the servant dithering right outside. Stepping aside, the servant paid him no notice, swiftly entering the chambers he vacated and firmly shutting the door between them.

Shaking his head, Yoongi made to leave – halting when something, or rather, someone caught his vision.

There were two guards stationed at the doorway – a recent imposition, Yoongi was told – but Yoongi was pretty certain one of them had not been someone he recognized when he’d entered the chambers. Whoever it was before, Yoongi didn’t know, but now, Jungkook stood in their place, staring studiously ahead despite Yoongi’s obvious stare.

Recognizing that the other guard was still someone he didn’t know, however, Yoongi made to leave without fuss. He’d hardly rounded the corridor when he bumped into someone. Immediately, he stepped back, a hand flying to his chest, only for his heart rate to be forced back down as hands latched onto his arms, guiding him out of sight from the previous corridor and into a nearby alcove.

“Namjoon?” Yoongi’s voice came out a whisper before he consciously decided to, many moon cycles of their secret trysts having engrained the instinct of lowering his volume coming in handy now. “What are you doing here?”

“Taehyung told me the Jeonha had sent for you,” Namjoon said, still glancing out the alcove even as he answered. His hands stayed on Yoongi as his eyes finally shifted to Yoongi, taking him in from top to bottom. “He was unable to tell me why. I rushed here either way, not knowing what to expect…”

Yoongi shook his head, a small smile on his face as he patted Namjoon on the chest, leaving his hands there. “He just talked to me,” he reassured. “For some reason, he deemed it fit to inform me of his plans for once, rather than having someone else relay the message.”

Namjoon raised his eyebrows, and Yoongi explained without prompt, knowing Namjoon was most likely agonizing over the mystery of the king’s summons since he’d heard of Yoongi’s meeting with the king.

“He conveyed his intentions to have my uncle come to Goryeo in time for the wedding anniversary. And that we would be performing the ceremonial rites for the Jeonha’s parents before then. He didn’t talk about anything other than that. Well, except for a subtle threat to ensure I didn’t humiliate him during the ceremony,” Yoongi said, pursing his lips.

Namjoon blinked. “He what?”

But Yoongi shook his head, dismissive of the slight – as far as offenses went, it was definitely not the most hurtful encounter Yoongi had to face. “He basically insinuated that if there were any differences between how Goryeo honors the dead as compared to Yuan, then I should be versed in it. Nothing big,” Yoongi said.

Namjoon narrowed his eyes at that. “I’m still not happy that he would think you would do anything less than perform excellently,” he said, “but knowing that things could have been worse, I’ll have to pick my battles and all, and let it lay.”

“Oh, you’ll have to let it lay?” Yoongi teased, swaying forward into Namjoon’s space – not that there was much between them to begin with, as they so often found themselves when around each other with no one else around – and laced his hands behind Namjoon’s neck. “What, am I your damsel in distress, Namjoon-ah? Can’t defend my own honor without a gallant knight valiantly swooping in to save the day and take the glory?”

Namjoon’s eyes went wide, be it at the proximity, Yoongi’s tone, or his words, Yoongi wasn’t too bothered that he didn’t know. “I’m sure you can defend yourself,” Namjoon sputtered, “but I didn’t want you to be with the Jeonha alone in case something–”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “In case he attempted to bed me?” A flash of irritation sparked through him even as Namjoon winced. “He already has, several times.” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “It’s not like he has the strength to tear off his own clothes right now, much less mine. So, while I do appreciate it, it’s okay, Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon shot him a pained smile. “Is it?”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow. “Yes,” he asserted. “I’m telling you it is.”

“Mm,” Namjoon eyed him carefully. “In that case, would you mind digging your nails out from my neck, then, in a backhanded way to strangle me?”

Yoongi flushed. He hadn’t realized when he’d done so, but Namjoon was right. With a stammered apology, he pulled his fingers free from Namjoon’s nape, Namjoon emitting a low hiss only adding to his chagrin. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again, hands fluttering uselessly an inch away from Namjoon’s skin. “I didn’t realize…” biting his lip, he touched a hesitant hand, not willing to believe until he’d checked with his own eyes that there was no blood. Fortunately, there wasn’t, but the brush of his fingertips had been enough for Yoongi to know that there were probably finger shaped crescents littering the back of Namjoon’s neck still.

Namjoon grinned easily. “It’s no matter,” he said softly. “You’ve given me worse when we make love. I wouldn’t be surprised if you are just as easily able to draw blood when you’re vexed from anger as well.”

“Aish,” Yoongi muttered, swatting at Namjoon’s chest, although without any force behind the motion. “Maybe you should just stop talking,” he said, ducking his head to his chest.

Only, Namjoon didn’t allow him to hide, a finger under Yoongi’s chin guiding his head back up. “Well then, maybe you should stop me yourself,” Namjoon commented cheekily. Yoongi gaped at him.

“What’s gotten into you?” He questioned, even though he couldn’t deny a part of himself was pleased by this. Namjoon was always so serious lately, it was a nice change to see him acting like a child – a child pleading for a kiss that wouldn’t stay chaste, no doubt.

Yoongi frowned at his own thoughts, discomfited by the odd line of it.

Namjoon shrugged. Apparently satisfied that Yoongi wouldn’t hide his face away again, he wrapped both arms around Yoongi’s waist, pulling them in close with a suddenness that had Yoongi leaning back in reflex.

“Any moment with you is a moment well spent,” he said, “and to take it for granted feels foolish.”

Yoongi leaned back further, pressing his hands on Namjoon’s chest to create distance. “Why do you suddenly talk as if my death is certain?” he asked. “Weren’t you all about solemn optimism that you would have me survive, come what may?”

Namjoon shook his head. “I still stand by my oath to keep you alive,” he promised. “But to neglect the wonder of your existence because your impending death is no longer a fact would mark me a fool. I want you to live a long and healthy life, with me adoring you every second that I am graced with in your presence.”

For a second, Yoongi blinked, disbelieving of the words he’d heard. And then his brain resumed its functioning, and he groaned. “You’re such a sweet talker,” Yoongi bemoaned, hiding his face in Namjoon’s chest.

Namjoon chuckled. “You complain and whine,” he said, holding Yoongi close, “but why do I still feel that you secretly love it nonetheless?”

Yoongi harrumphed, turning his face so he was looking at the entry of their alcove. No one was around from what he could tell, and it really highlighted his feeling of being secluded away in their own little world. “It’s because you’re delusional,” he muttered, even as the corner of his lips quirked up in a faint smile, amused and content to play along. “Absolutely deranged, I’m telling you.”

“Only for you, my love.” Namjoon was quick to respond, just a millisecond after Yoongi realized the trap he’d set for himself. Rolling his eyes, he grumbled again, indecipherable little mumbles of complaint. His actions belied his vocalizations, however, as he snuggled deeper into Namjoon’s hold, his heart content to just stand there in Namjoon’s embrace for as long as they could.

Chapter Text

The moon cycle continued to pass. As requested, Hoseok had upped the dosage and the king was… more or less comatose. He had moments of consciousness, during which his servant did his best to have the king swallow some mouthfuls of food and some sips of water to stay alive.

Hoseok kept slipping the tea down his throat himself, regardless if the king was conscious or not.

He’d taken to his task with a remarkable lack of empathy that had admittedly concerned Namjoon. The king and Hoseok weren’t particularly close in friendship, yet after years of service, Hoseok had earned a place among the king’s trusted – a circle that otherwise really only consisted of Namjoon and Seokjin. 

It was ironic that the very few the king had trusted so much were now devising his murder. But Namjoon supposed their relation with the king had its limits, the king exceeding them with his diabolical intentions.

Maybe things could have been different, and Namjoon, along with Hoseok and Seokjin, would have felt ladened with more guilt over their doings. If the king hadn’t always maintained an air of superiority, if he had allowed genuine friendships to blossom without distancing himself by constantly reminding them of their different statuses. Maybe then they could have challenged his increasingly diabolical intentions without fear of drastic repercussions.

Or maybe Namjoon was just love blind, so enamored with Yoongi that he had no qualms killing the king – even though he’d long since admitted that wasn’t it at all. He’d come to terms with his reasons and actions, no longer allowing himself to feel remorse over killing someone he’d grown up with. But he felt regret that he’d roped his friends into it – yes, they were people he could actually call friends, knowing they’d do the same in return. But to have one of them be directly responsible for feeding the king a slow acting poison?

He resolved to speak with Hoseok himself, even though he knew Seokjin had likely already discussed the situation at length with Hoseok, sharing insights reflecting Namjoon’s own perspective.

He headed for the physician’s chambers first, hoping he wouldn’t have to begin making rounds of the palace just to find his friend. Fortunately, Hoseok was there, hunched over his workstation, grinding some sort of powder in a mortar, his wrist working the pestle in fluid movements.

Hoseok glanced at him under the fringe of his hair. The long strands that had come free from his half bun somehow didn’t obscure his vision completely as he raised an eyebrow at Namjoon’s appearance. “Namjoon?” He let the pestle rest within the mortar as he stood up straight, rolling out his shoulders. “Is everything alright?”

Namjoon didn’t usually have reason to step into the physician’s chambers – a few clumsy incidents aside – so Hoseok’s concern wasn’t uncharacteristic. He’d long since learned how best to dispel Hoseok’s concerns immediately if there wasn’t any real emergency. He could have fallen into the habit, if his own mind hadn’t been so burdened.

So he sat down on the bench at Hoseok’s workstation, opposite him, offering him a smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “I felt like I should have asked you that first.”

Hoseok frowned, placing his hands on his hips. “Why would you be?” he asked. “I’m up and about, aren’t I?” he waved his hand around him, Namjoon’s eyes drawn to the mess of herbs on the workstation that Hoseok must be busy doing … something with.

“I know you’re doing fine physically,” Namjoon said. “I meant more in the,” he tapped the side of his own head, “mental sense.”

If anything, Hoseok’s frown only grew deeper. “Why would I not be doing well mentally?” he rephrased.

Namjoon took a deep breath, eyes darting to the side to ensure he’d closed the door to Hoseok’s chambers fully behind him. He had, so he looked back to Hoseok. “Because of what I asked you to do. I know you say I’m constantly overrun with thoughts, but I’m not so distracted as to not realize the weight of the task you’ve undertaken, Seok-ah.”

Hoseok’s face smoothed out as understanding dawned on him. Wiping his hands on the apron at his waist, he sat down on the other side of his table, facing Namjoon. “I didn’t walk into this blindly, Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok said, his voice and face kind. “That’s why I had taken my time to give my answer at the very beginning of all of this. I had a feeling that in the worst case scenario, I’d have to prepare for someone’s death. Granted,” he grimaced, “I hadn’t initially thought I would be so directly involved myself. But I’ve talked to Jin hyung about it.”

Hoseok gave him a smile. “He’s our hyung for a reason. He told me some things that made me – not necessarily make peace that I’m murdering someone,” his voice dropped down to a whisper at the word, as if even his subconscious was aware of the risk it carried, “but it helped me decide that it was the lesser of evils that I will eventually be able to live with in comparison,” he finished, his voice closer to a normal volume.

Namjoon raised his eyebrows, impressed despite himself. He had no idea what Seokjin had been saying, and though he had faith in his hyung, he hadn’t expected Seokjin to work an entire miracle, considering how calm Hoseok appeared.

“What did he say?” Namjoon couldn’t help but ask.

Hoseok sighed, placing his interlaced hands on the table. “He pointed out the pros and cons of allowing the Jeonha to live and take over Yuan,” he said, “and then he compared it to the pros and cons of letting the Jeonha–” Hoseok blinked, stuttering over the words he clearly didn’t want to say outright – not that Namjoon could fault him for that, “you know. And the possibilities of what would happen then,” Hoseok continued. He rolled his eyes with a small scoff. “It was all very logistical and strategic, like the absolute military commander he is.” Hoseok shrugged. “I can’t say I didn’t expect it though.”

Suddenly, Hoseok cast him a sly smirk. “What I didn’t expect was when he turned the tables and brought the perspective of emotions, on the other hand.”

Namjoon’s face contorted into a variety of different expressions, none pleasing, he was sure, before settling into one of resigned exasperation, his eyes closing. Hoseok may have been caught off guard, but he had a feeling he knew what was coming, feeling a strange sense of deja vu to the conversation he’d had with Jimin not too long ago.

“He told me to look at the Mama,” Hoseok’s voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly gentle, no traces of the mockery Namjoon had been expecting. “Considering I’d treated him since the day of the wedding, almost an entire year by this point. Jin hyung asked me if I saw any differences in the Mama since the first few times I had to visit him, after he’d met with the Jeonha… versus now, whenever I see him during the meetings where he’d instantly seek out your side.”

Namjoon blinked his eyes open, staring at Hoseok. He may have heard something similar from Jimin, but he was curious to hear Hoseok’s view, wondering what he’d seen that made him decide he was fine with killing the king.

“Whenever I tended to the Mama after his nights with the Jeonha, he looked miserable,” Hoseok explained succinctly. “Like he’d hated the life he’d come into – which was understandable – but he was resigned to living the rest of his life like so if he had to.

“Since I’ve been seeing him around you, however, there’s a new spark in his eyes.”

“A love spark?” Namjoon interrupted, a mixture of skeptic disbelief at what he thought Hoseok was about to say.

Hoseok shot him a deadpan look. “A renewed spark for life, was what I was going for,” he said flatly. “But sure, yes. That too, if you want.”

Namjoon flattened his lips, appropriately abashed.

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “If you want me to go in that direction, then yes. He does look fond and happy around you. But most of what I’ve been witnessing in him was optimism. Hope – for the future, rather than resignation. As if he no longer dreads it, but has expectations he might actually be able to behold.”

Namjoon pursed his lips. “Was it really that bad?” he asked hesitantly. “At the beginning?”

Hoseok inhaled deeply. “I know many people do not care for him just because of his origin,” he said, a little randomly, “but I never felt that way. If anyone looked at the Mama without,” he fumbled for the word, which Namjoon was all too familiar with to provide.

“Prejudice?”

Hoseok raised a shoulder, humming affirmatively. “Then they also would have felt something amiss in the Jeonha’s treatment of him.”

Namjoon sighed, rubbing a hand over his weary face. “And isn’t that the root of all problems,” he said. “If the heart of Goryeo wasn’t so embedded in its blind hatred, then we wouldn’t find ourselves on the brink of an insurgency.”

“If that were so,” Hoseok countered, placing a hand on Namjoon’s arm, prompting him to uncover his face, “then maybe you wouldn’t have fallen in love with the Mama either.”

Namjoon shrugged. The concept was jarring, making him a little uneasy to think of a reality where he and Yoongi never existed within the same sphere as intimately as they have. A reality where Yoongi would have never had reason to carry Namjoon’s child as he were now, and Namjoon being the same as always, nose buried in books and tactical data to regurgitate to the king and Seokjin, mind free of anything else. A reality that never would’ve had Namjoon exposed to the version of passionate love he exchanged with Yoongi, even if – or maybe especially because of – it was done so in secret.

Maybe, in another reality, he would’ve died alone, too dedicated to his duties to seek a partner to live out his life with. Or maybe Namjoon would’ve found a wife, someone whose presence he found pleasant if nothing outstanding, however. He would’ve carried out his duties, doing his best to be an attentive husband and a caring father, but he would’ve given bigger importance to the Jeonha at the end of the day, unable to fathom anything else.

Now, he couldn’t comprehend the idea of putting anyone else above Yoongi and their unborn child, his friends only secondary after them. Even more, his mind scandalously whispered, Namjoon felt that if anything, he’d only gotten closer with his friends upon enkindling their treasonous act.

“Maybe,” Namjoon voiced out vaguely, leaving the tumultuous thoughts racing in his mind unsaid.

But Hoseok was looking at him with an all too knowing glint in his eyes.

“Would you have been fine with that?” he asked, staring hard into Namjoon’s eyes – as if he knew Namjoon had been sucked into his head with those very thoughts, although his expectations of Namjoon having come to a conclusive answer was a bit of a reach.

Not entirely impossible, though.

“Knowing what you do now,” Hoseok pushed, “If you had never fallen in love with the Mama because the Jeonha was a proper husband to him, would you be fine that the Jeonha gets to live if it means you wouldn’t have had reason to have him?”

“I don’t own Yoongi,” Namjoon grumbled. “And besides, it would be impossible for me to live a life knowing the versions of an alternate reality. What you’re proposing does not even sound feasible.”

Hoseok’s eyes went lifeless with exasperation, his head dropping as he stared at Namjoon. “Are you being willfully obstinate on purpose right now?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “The idea of living a different reality is impossible whether or not you know of alternate versions,” he shook his head, cutting himself off from his tangent.

“Just, go along with the scenario,” he said, pulling his hand away from Namjoon’s arm to wave it in a vague gesture.

Namjoon sighed, averting his gaze. “In the extremely unlikely scenario where I had to live a life watching Yoongi being in love with another after knowing what it’s like to have him in my arms,” he stated dutifully, albeit with a slight flush as the forthcoming honesty he was subjecting himself to caused embarrassment to heat his cheeks, “then,” he bit his lips, mulling over the answer he already knew he was going to give. “I wouldn’t want to live such a life.”

“Even at the cost of sparing the Jeonha’s life?” Hoseok pressed.

Namjoon clenched his jaw. “It’s not like that world exists, does it?” He responded instead. “We live in a world where the Jeonha is dying because of his misdeeds. What good does it do to contemplate a world where the Jeonha lives as a good man – when the fact of the matter is that he isn’t?”

Much to Namjoon’s disbelief, Hoseok smiled, leaning back with satisfaction painted over his features. “I apologize for causing you stress over a hypothetical situation, Namjoon-ah.”

“One where you essentially wished for me to choose between different lives?” Namjoon rebuked, his tone scathing, but Hoseok didn’t rise to the bait.

“But that was exactly my point.”

Namjoon blinked, feeling lost.

“Whether we like it or not, this is the reality we’re living in,” Hoseok kindly explained, “and in this reality, you, my friend, are madly in love with a wedded man, and that man is married to someone who used to be a good person, but has since become a tyrant.” Hoseok crossed his arms. “A tyrant who also holds the power over one kingdom already, and is thirsting for another he has no need for.

“If my reality is to murder one person to save the potential life of many others, then I’ll grit my teeth and do it.”

“You’re a physician,” Namjoon retorted weakly. “You’re supposed to look for the option to save everyone’s life.”

“Sometimes, Namjoon-ah, it is more merciful to put a dying man out of his misery than prolong his pain just so he can live longer,” Hoseok stated. “And over the course of my duties as a physician, I have had to do that many, many times now. Because even the family would agree that they would rather the wounded pass in peace, than struggle for a scant few seconds more with their loved one when every breath was torturous to take.”

Namjoon regarded Hoseok. “Are you saying you’re looking at the Jeonha like one of the wounded soldiers dying on your table?”

“I’m saying,” Hoseok said, “that I have enough faith in you and Jin hyung to delude myself into thinking whatever I must to get through the task you’ve entrusted me with.”

If anything, that response shattered whatever comfort Namjoon might’ve felt about Hoseok’s headspace. But Hoseok looked so calm and assured in his answer, that Namjoon felt it only wise to let the matter lay there without pressing further anymore.

The palace had wordlessly begun to prepare for a funeral, and a somber air had settled over Goryeo’s palace. Word had yet to spread outside of the king’s impending death. Although the citizens were notified of the king’s illness, nothing was said regarding the severity nor the deteriorating condition of the king. So far, Taehyung had told Yoongi – who had found out from his stealthy eavesdropping during his visits to the lower towns for painting supplies – that the citizens were concerned for the king, but otherwise cheerful in the belief that he would recover.

Within the palace, however, the court was in disarray. The ceremony had come and gone with the king in attendance, but he’d had to remain seated on a wooden chair throughout it, unable to actively participate. Under his watchful glare, Yoongi carried out the rites in his stead, sweat trickling down his spine under the multiple layers his hanbok consisted of with the awareness of many other court members presently subjecting him to their scrutiny as well.

The only blessed part of it, in Yoongi’s mind, was that it had gone without a hitch. Namjoon had sat him down for hours on end for a few days prior to the ceremony to personally instruct him on how the ceremony was expected to go. He’d often go off on tangents about related details that Yoongi never interrupted, still finding the information interesting if not useful. Granted, he also kept silent because they both felt the additional information necessary, on the off chance something derailed and Yoongi would need to alter his actions.

But he never needed it, completing the ceremony successfully and without offending any of the priests or court members, the Jeonha granting him a begrudgingly satisfied nod before he was whisked back to his chambers.

And then proceeded to return to a state of unconsciousness. Yoongi still had no idea how the king managed to awaken and stay conscious for the ceremony, but if he had to be honest, he might’ve said that spite could be a terribly effective motivator.

On the other hand, the king had somehow conveyed his wishes to invite Yoongi’s uncle to Goryeo, ostensibly to celebrate their wedding anniversary. However, even the court members expected Yoongi’s uncle to be present for a funeral instead. Ultimately, this meant further havoc upon the minds of the servants, who had the additional undertaking of preparing for a royal member of a neighboring land to arrive. Granted, it was a royal member from a land they might not have cared for, but traditions demanded a certain level of pretenses that they were apparently fine with conforming to. So, despite the heavy loads of duties, they began to prepare the palace, cleaning it from top to bottom with a fine-toothed comb, as if to show off the palace’s magnificence.

From his own visit, Yoongi found it rather amusing that, despite the ongoing preparations, the corridor leading to the music room remained untouched, even though a ceremony for a previous owner of the very room had just taken place.

In conclusion, the servants were running around like headless chickens, the court members were tearing their hair out at the multitude of upcoming events, and Yoongi sat in his chambers, undisturbed by it all. But he wasn’t entirely at peace. Because any day now, his own chambers would be overrun by servants and tailors preparing him for a new set of clothes, and it would become very evident what Yoongi had been hiding until now.

Before that could happen, Namjoon had decided; Hoseok would inform the court of the Mama’s pregnancy. The court members would assume it to be the Jeonha’s, and with the Jeonha having been unconscious since the ceremony, not a single moment of wakefulness reported since, he would be unable to hear of the news himself, and rouse to deny its credibility.

For all intents and purposes, Yoongi was safe. The plan was fool proof, especially with Hoseok having faithfully carried out his missions so perfectly thus far. Namjoon’s next step would be put into motion, a subtle manipulation prompting the court members who were so concerned about a lack of heir to instate Yoongi as the acting regent, at the very least.

And yet, on the day that Hoseok had announced Yoongi’s pregnancy, the court no doubt going into an uproar, Yoongi sat in his chambers, unable to bring himself to do anything but wait for someone – either Namjoon or Hoseok, hell, even the military commander – to come and update him on everything that had happened. His presence had been unneeded, a fact Yoongi was thankful for, as it had been for all the court meetings that had occurred thus far. After Hoseok’s news, however, Yoongi knew he’d be seeing a lot more of the court room than he’d want to, going onwards.

Hours passed, the sun low in the sky before there was a knock on the door, Namjoon letting himself in soon afterwards.

“It’s done,” he announced immediately, eyes seeking out Yoongi’s. Taehyung stood to the side, hands wringing as they both cast Namjoon with their unwavering attention. “The court has been informed. The suggestion to make you regent has been made, with your child as the heir to Goryeo.”

Taehyung deflated, while Yoongi inhaled. “Our child,” he corrected in a soft voice, hands fidgeting with the bedsheets under him.

Namjoon’s stance melted, the rigidity to his shoulders dropping as he strode forward to meet Yoongi at his bed.

He kneeled before him, placing his hands on Yoongi’s thighs. “This will always be our child,” Namjoon avowed. “No matter how the world sees him, if you wish, then he or she will always know me to be their father.”

“I do,” Yoongi nodded, eyes dropping to Namjoon’s hands. He moved his own hands, fidgeting with Namjoon’s fingers instead. “I’m just,” he hesitated, mind racing with thoughts for the future. A future he hadn’t admittedly allowed himself to think of before. Now, he couldn’t prevent the anxiety from seeping in, tainting any sort of optimism he tried to have.

“I don’t want the child to think the Jeonha is their father. Not when it’s you,” he said firmly, before he slumped again. “But I’m afraid a young child wouldn’t understand why they cannot allow themselves to accept you as their father in public.”

Namjoon sighed, head dropping. “We,” he bit his lip, looking off to the side. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes,” he said, eyes darting back to Yoongi. “For now, let us deal with the impending events and ensure everything occurs as it should first.”

His hands enveloped Yoongi’s, ceasing their relentless twitches, and Yoongi looked up, meeting Namjoon’s eyes. He found nothing but calm certainty in there, whether or not it was forced for Yoongi’s sake he didn’t care to scrutinize. Instead, he took the reassurance for what it was, hoping he’d eventually be able to internalize it.

Nodding, still looking into Namjoon’s eyes, Yoongi turned his hands, grasping onto Namjoon’s tightly.

A mere week before Yoongi’s uncle was set to arrive, hell broke loose.

He was sitting in his chambers, preparing himself for the day. Servants had come and gone over the past week, taking Yoongi’s measurements for new hanboks to be made for a variety of circumstances. They’d all gawked at his belly, a now prominent bulge, but had the wisdom to keep their mouths shut – perhaps doubly enforced by a steely faced Taehyung constantly at Yoongi’s side, as if daring them to try and say a word.

The court had decided the child to be the heir, but the matter of Yoongi becoming regent was still up in the air, the court dithering over making a concrete decision regarding the matter. In a way, Yoongi supposed he understood their hesitancy, but the limbo he’d been in for many moon cycles now was beginning to aggravate him.

He stilled his tongue, however, knowing the future would only test his patience further. So quiet moments such as these, growing fewer and rarer, were ones he knew to fully indulge himself in. Exactly a week before his uncle’s arrival, Yoongi had the morning to himself, allowed the leniency to ready himself for his first court appearance, the members of the court finally deciding they wished to see Yoongi with their own eyes, as if that would prompt a verdict sooner. Yoongi didn’t know why exactly they needed to see his rounded figure themselves to decide if he needed to be made regent, but he always knew his life would be dictated by strange traditions and practices, and the best he could do was go with the flow of the tide as opposed to trying to swim against it.

Taehyung was out fetching his newly made hanboks from the tailor, leaving Yoongi alone in his chambers. With careful hands, he’d taken the binyeo, norigae, and dagger from the jewelry box Namjoon had gifted him with as a belated anniversary present, a small smile on his lips at the mere sight of it. It was a silver thing, crystals embedded on the borders. It might not have been a traditional place to store the norigae, perhaps, but it seemed fitting in Yoongi’s mind, and brought him satisfaction to have all of Namjoon’s gifts in one place every night when he wasn’t wearing it. Each morning, on days he wasn’t subjected to the tailor’s poking and prodding as she had him dress and undress repeatedly in various garments, he’d take out the objects from the jewelry box with careful hands, adorning himself with them like his own tradition made anew.

It was a deeply satisfying ritual, one that had Yoongi’s mind cleared of all thoughts constantly buzzing in his head. On his white hanbok, the colors of the gems sparkled iridescently, a sparkle of colors highlighting his outfit, fascinating Yoongi as much as it would any other observer. So when his door slammed open, Yoongi jolted, wide eyes looking at the mirror’s reflection to see who’d come in.

His heart jumped to his throat when he took in the king barging in. He looked quite the sight, hair askew, eyes wide and bloodshot, his pale robes hanging off his lanky form. The muscles that had made for a formidable man had already disappeared, and he looked like a deranged lunatic that had somehow intruded into the palace, the crazed expression only causing him to appear more so like a stranger.

But his eyes were fixed on the back of Yoongi’s head with a lucidity unnatural for his supposedly incapacitated condition, and Yoongi stopped breathing even as the king neared him like a predator honed in on its prey.

“You,” the king’s gaze dropped down to Yoongi’s belly, clearly visible through the mirror’s reflection.

His blood ran cold. Limbs operating on instinct, Yoongi got to his feet, turning around to meet the king’s gaze head on even as he pressed himself back against the table, hands gripping onto the edges of it tightly.

“You’re pregnant,” the king snarled out, frenzied eyes flying back up to meet Yoongi’s widened ones. “And the court thinks it’s mine?” The king laughed, a short bark of laughter that had Yoongi flinching. “As if that’s possible? When you so clearly have been going around my back like a whore?”

Yoongi swallowed, a vain attempt to allay the sudden dryness of his mouth. “How exactly is it clear that I’ve been whoring myself out?” He returned, sounding stronger than he felt. “You have bedded me on multiple occasions, and now I am very obviously pregnant. How then, could you insinuate my disloyalty?” He jutted his chin up defiantly, trying to hide the trembling in his arms.

The king scoffed. “Don’t act as if you do not know of my inability to impregnate you or anyone else in this kingdom,” the king said matter-of-factly. Yoongi was taken aback by the uninhibited honesty. “And if not yourself, then the court physician is well familiar with it.”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, conveying more backbone than he felt. “The physician himself informed the court of my pregnancy. And I shall inform you that he made no mention of anyone else fathering this child.”

The king’s eyes positively bulged. He stalked forward, Yoongi leaning back as the king invaded his personal space, almost brushing against the swell of Yoongi’s belly. “Are you trying to make a fool of me?” the king hissed. “Have you seduced my physician and spread your legs for him, tricking him into protecting his own child? Is that what it is you’re doing?”

Yoongi’s eyes flashed dangerously, and even if it meant that he was pushing himself closer towards the king, he straightened, refusing to let himself cower under the king’s accusations. Especially when they were so blatantly false, making it easier for Yoongi to retaliate.

“I think your sickness has gotten to your head, Jeonha,” Yoongi sneered back, a distant part of his brain shocked at his own audacity. “You doubt the man who faithfully brought the court vital news? When your court members prayed for answers while their ruler lay dying, and he was just a messenger offering hope?” It was Yoongi’s turn to scoff, using the opportunity to slip away from between the king and his table while the king was distracted by his bold words.

“You leave the land with no heir and get struck with an illness that only strips away your abilities one by one. We’ve barely been wedded for a full year, and I am pregnant. Even a low born citizen would rejoice at the news that I am with child.” Moving to the center of the room, Yoongi turned around, more comfortable at meeting the king’s gaze with several feet between them.

“Are you comparing me to a low born citizen?” The king narrowed his eyes. “Or do you insinuate that you found the lower class more suited to your inferior taste?” He sneered, before scoffing.

“I’m sure it may have been easy for you to find anyone willing to succumb to your readily spread legs, but even those same ones of lesser education wouldn’t fail to comprehend your harlot ways was the cause of your pregnancy should they–”

“–know the Jeonha is incapable?” Yoongi cut in dryly, folding his arms. He refused to address the rest of the king’s words.

The king turned his head, letting out a muffled sound of distress and anger as he raked his hand through his already disheveled hair. “If you think making myself conscious of my own inefficiencies is more crucial than the crux of the matter here, you are sorely mistaken.”

He suddenly strode forward, Yoongi hastily taking steps backwards until he had nowhere left to go, pressed against the wall as the king towered over him, his height imposing even if his stature no longer was. “I will have the courts personally informed of your infidelity, and believe me. They will all watch as I tear the flesh out of you with my bare hands. But I will keep you alive, fret not,” the king smiled, a slow stretch of his lips that pulled at his sunken facial muscles, “for when your uncle arrives, I will have him pleading at your feet for mercy before I strike you down.

“And my sweet Mama,” the king slanted his head, pressing his mouth to Yoongi’s ear, the hot puff of his exhales making Yoongi’s skin crawl, “I appreciate your concern, but let me assure you. I have no plans of dying anytime soon.”

He pulled back, almost ruining the effect of his words with how he swayed in place as he fought to regain his balance, but that nauseating smile of his was still in his place. He looked so smug and self assured, as if there was no way anything other than what he’d decreed would occur. It stoked the fires in Yoongi’s guts, refusing to let him stay silent as the king threatened his child with such a blatant lack of fear for consequences.

“If you think I’ll let you lay a single finger on my child,” Yoongi said, his words slow and measured, his tone steady, “then you’ll find yourself missing an entire hand.”

The king’s eyes widened in momentary shock before he threw his head back and began to laugh. “You think you can do anything to me?” he asked, his words only broken by fits of coughing as he wheezed for breath. “You couldn’t stop me from strangling the life out of you, only my sheer will saving your life that day. Even if you so much as stepped towards me with malicious intent,” the king gradually stopped coughing, his breathing calming, “you’ll have to tear through an entire kingdom who would happily tear you apart limb from limb before you could get anywhere near me.”

The king stepped forward again, slower this time as the smile returned onto his face. “I could even kill you right this moment,” the king mused, his hand reaching up from his side. Yoongi’s eyes flew to it, his breathing shallow as nothing but the sight of that gaunt hand approaching his belly registered in his mind, “and not a single person would think to question it.”

The tips of the king’s fingers grazed his belly, and Yoongi’s vision went red.

It took Yoongi too long to come back to himself, for the ringing in his ears to fade – except, his ears were still thrumming, and he was still seeing red. Blinking rapidly, Yoongi shook his head, attempting to dispel the sudden fog that had come over it, only to realize that the sound he was hearing was the king roaring in pain, clutching the bloody stump of his arm, his fingers of his other hand wrapped around his fingerless hands.

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, Yoongi’s heart rate was skyrocketing. And yet, his body felt unlike his own, almost as if he was underwater as he ducked his head down, eyes falling on the king’s dismembered fingers laying in a bloody pool on the ground. 

His own fingers shook, and that’s when Yoongi noticed the dagger in his hand, its sheathe remaining at his hip.

“You barbarian!” The king yelled, clutching his hand close to his chest. “Are you out of your mind?”

Yoongi swallowed. Despite the bile in his throat at the sight of the already emaciated king’s mutilated hand, he felt strangely calm. “I already warned you,” he said evenly, “not to touch my child. If anything, it is a mercy your hand remains,” his eyes dropped to the mangled mess that still spouted thick gushes of dark red blood. “Be grateful you have your thumb and last finger left.”

“I will have you fed to the dogs,” the king snarled. He took a step back, turning his head. Too late, Yoongi realized what he intended to do, as the king shouted, as loud as when he’d yelled from pain. “ Guards!”

His throat gone dry, Yoongi’s hand made an aborted gesture upwards, a striking thought to just slit the king’s throat then and there. Before he could take a step forward, however, the door to his chambers slammed open again, and Yoongi’s heart sank to his stomach as a guard instantly rushed in. His mind screamed for action, urging him to kill the king anyway and face the consequences later, to trust that he and Namjoon could find a way out – claim it as self defense, that he had to protect his child from a king who had suddenly lost his mind, unable to recognize his own spouse. At the same time, his body trembled, ready to surrender and collapse to his knees.

And then he noticed who exactly it was that had run into his chambers.

Jungkook took one look at the sight before him; an enraged king holding a mutilated arm to his chest, and an undoubtedly pale faced Yoongi, with a bloody dagger held in his hand and speckles of red staining his own pristine hanbok, adding to his incrimination. Taking a step back, Jungkook removed his hand from where he’d had it at the ready on his still sheathed sword, and turned around.

He closed the door to Yoongi’s chambers and turned back around, resuming his position with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, – still sheathed, but ready and alert.

“What are you doing?” the king exclaimed, staring at Jungkook with widened eyes, jaw agape. “Why are you just standing there – arrest him!” He gestured his joined hands at Yoongi, head still aimed at Jungkook.

Jungkook, who merely glanced at Yoongi, and then gazed back at the king, as tranquil as a still pond. He said nothing, but his inaction spoke volumes. He was not going to obey the king.

Roaring with anger and frustration, the king advanced upon Jungkook. His eyes widened, fingers tightening on his sword, but then the king suddenly stopped. “Fine,” he said abruptly. “If you won’t do anything, then I’ll take care of this myself,” he hissed. And then he whirled around, and practically ran at Yoongi.

Shocked, Yoongi could only raise his dagger in the nick of time. Behind them, Jungkook unsheathed his sword, but stood helplessly, unable to intercept without the risk of harming Yoongi – for it was evident now, that whatever he meant to do with a sword, he had no intents on hurting Yoongi at the very least, considering Jungkook’s helpless glances at him.

All of that was only a fleeting thought through Yoongi’s mind, pushed to the very back as he fought with the unhinged king. The king blocked Yoongi’s frantic swipes with an adeptness that belied his weakened state. And yet, his frustration grew when he was clearly ill-equipped to battle against a man, albeit pregnant, but armed with a dagger, when he was already missing a few fingers and attempting to fight with a toiled body, no matter how his rage fueled him.

At first, Yoongi thought the king’s fury would only make him grow sloppy. Certainly, nicks and cuts were added to the king’s growing collection of wounds, the king’s own white jeogori amassing red lines as he blocked Yoongi’s dagger with his bare body and arms. 

But then, if anything, his fury only made him lash out further, as he kicked his legs out. Yoongi, having been focused on keeping the king’s arms away from his belly for the most part, saw the movement out of the corner of his eyes and tried to step back to avoid it. Only, he’d miscalculated how close he’d still been to the wall, and stumbled as he frantically tried to step away from the king’s legs.

Taking advantage, the king struck again while Yoongi fought for balance, trying to reorient himself. A single fist to Yoongi’s jaw had his head rearing back and colliding to the wall with a heavy thud, and Yoongi blinked, dazed.

Before he could regain his wits, Jungkook was interceding, sword sheathed as he charged ahead to stand behind the king before the king could properly register what was happening. Yoongi watched, hands splayed out on the wall behind him as he struggled to regain his breath, dagger pressed against the wall. The king tried to whirl around and fend Jungkook off, but it was too late, Jungkook grabbing the king’s arms and forcing them behind his back. He kicked the back of the king’s legs so they buckled, pushing him down to his knees.

The king yelled, and shot back up even as Jungkook tried to keep him down. In a flash, the king’s head collided with Jungkook’s face. Jungkook grunted, head thrown back and face scrunched up in pain – he still kept a hold on the king’s arms, which the king rectified, using Jungkook’s momentary shock to raise his leg, slamming his bare heel down on Jungkook’s shoe clad toes.

Jungkook hissed, tripping as he tried to move his feet back, but his grip on the king’s arms must have slackened, for he pulled himself free. Yoongi finally shook himself back into action, hurtling forward just as the king made for Jungkook’s sword, unsheathing it.

The sword never made it all the way out, Jungkook already grabbing for it, when the king dipped forward with a shout. Inhaling, Yoongi pulled the dagger out from the king’s shoulder, already stepping back nimbly to put himself out of the king’s reach. 

The king turned, abandoning the sword to hold onto his wounded shoulder with his opposite hand – the one missing a few fingers. His left hand extended, face contorted in pain and fury, but he couldn’t get far, as Jungkook pushed him back to his knees, the king crumpling under the force with little ability to resist.

“You may subdue me for the time being,” the king heaved, eyes scrunching up as his left hand rose, holding his still bleeding hand close to his punctured shoulder. Cautiously, Yoongi dared to step closer, although he still stopped with a little more than a foot’s distance between them.

After a second, the king peered at Yoongi through slitted eyes. “But how long do you think you’ll stay alive after leaving these chambers?” He questioned. “How long do you think it’ll take before my men – my actual men,” he cast a disdainful look to the side, unable to fully look at Jungkook, “come looking for me, and find evidence of an attempted regicide?”

Yoongi stared.

“Either way,” the king said confidently, even through his obvious discomfort as he continued to sag further in Jungkook’s hold. “You won’t live for long. And I’ll have everyone involved in this put to a dog’s death.” The king grinned, his teeth baring.

“I’ll even start with my physician and this guard first, so you can get a taste of what will come for you – but I swear to you. Even when I have their limbs pulled apart from opposite ends and they cry for mercy till the point your ears bleed, your death will be far more agonizing.”

Yoongi swallowed, nodding slowly. “You assume,” his voice cracked, his throat still parched after the exertion of his own bout against the king. But he pushed on after swallowing again, his face an impassive mask. “You assume that you’ll be alive for that.” He tilted his head, appraising the king. “You should be more concerned with the current moment, Jeonha,” his eyes raking the king up and down, Yoongi’s eyes found the king again, the king’s smile slowly dropping. “In the interest of full transparency, the chances of you making it alive out of here is growing questionable.”

“You aim to kill me?” The king laughed, hysteria seeping into its edges. He would have fallen over had Jungkook not yanked him back, forcing the king to remain upright with a merciless hand in the king’s hair. “You sign your own death sentence by even thinking so.”

“I think you’ll find, Jeonha,” Yoongi took a slow step forward, the king’s eyes pinned on his approach, “that in regards to thinking, I have someone on my side who excels in that area.”

Kneeling down with a hand on his belly, Yoongi brought himself to eye level with the king, his fingers subconsciously adjusting his grip on the dagger. “And as the true father of my child,” Yoongi whispered, “he’ll be far more inclined to ensure my survival, come what may.”

The king’s jaw clenched. “Who was it, then?” He spat out. “At least have the honor of confessing the truth now, if you’re so keen on seeing me dead.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, calmly wiping the king’s saliva off his face with the sleeve of his hanbok. When he was done, his hand returned to his belly, and he regarded the king with an even gaze for several seconds. All the while, the only sounds between them were of the king’s ragged breathing, interspaced with a wheeze on every other exhale. Even Jungkook, who still stood behind the king to hold him up, stayed quiet, merely watching over them without interruption.

“Forgive me, Jeonha,” Yoongi eventually whispered. “But despite your adamancy on my substandard ways,” he raised his hand, not a tremor in sight as he positioned the tip of it at the base of the king’s throat, Jungkook imperceptibly tilting the king’s head back.

“It actually was one of your own men who I’d fallen in love with – who loves me and our child in return. And I guarantee you, it was neither the physician, nor the guard who holds you now.”

The king’s eye twitched. “Who?” He pressed, increasingly agitated. “Who else of my men have you corrupted?”

Yoongi smiled, but it was a small thing, the corners of his lips barely lifting, and it was devoid of joy, leaving his face looking more somber than anything else. “I already told you who it was, Jeonha.”

The king seemed to hold his breath, awaiting the answer.

Yoongi swiped his hand to the side. Always as sharp as the day Namjoon presented it to him, the edge capable of splitting even a hair strand in two, the dagger in his hand left behind a fiery red trail as the king’s neck tore apart in its wake.

The king gagged and gurgled, eyes widened in shock. He bucked and writhed, hands scrambling – for his neck, for Jungkook who stood behind him, for Yoongi who knelt before him. But with the life rapidly draining out of him in thick gushes of blood, there was no strength behind his reduced fingers, and Yoongi calmly sat there with his eyes closed, enduring the king’s final moments of vain attempts for salvation. He could feel the blood staining his face, the initial spray of blood already darkening his hanbok, and he allowed himself to continue being dirtied, a blanket of fog descending upon his mind and keeping him in his position.

Finally, finally, the king took his last breaths, a wet and raspy heave, drops of blood staining his lips. Jungkook carefully lowered the lifeless body to the ground, sparing it a second’s glance before his mask slipped, worry bleeding onto his expression as he turned to Yoongi.

“Mama,” Jungkook got down on his knees, hands on Yoongi’s shoulders as he shook him lightly. “Mama!”

Yoongi swayed forward, and let his head fall onto Jungkook’s shoulder, his body giving out on him at last.

Namjoon had never been more grateful than when he’d assigned Jungkook to be positioned at the king’s door.

The moment the king had burst out of his chambers in an unnatural fit of lucidity, leaving behind his bewildered and frantic servant, Jungkook had been the only one on his heels, jogging behind the sprinting king with a calm look on his face, preventing anyone else from intercepting the king – and having the king reveal the truth.

Jungkook had dutifully guarded Yoongi’s door when the king had burst in, only choosing to make his appearance when things had seemed to go south and the king attempted to call for reinforcements, truly endangering Yoongi’s life then had Jungkook not been the one present. And he stayed back, allowing Yoongi to deal with the situation, not wanting things to escalate, but kept alert and stepped in only when the king seemed to gain an upper hand. Rather, he only intended to assist Yoongi, subduing the king and not preventing Yoongi one bit from doing anything he chose – even when he slit the king’s throat as Jungkook held him down.

Jungkook had personally informed Namjoon of all of this later, head bowed and hands gripping a cup of water with pale hands, gone white from their death grip onto it. He looked miserable where he sat at his usual spot in Seokjin’s chambers, mind no doubt in disarray over what he’d done, and shaken by the events unfolded with not just his passive observance, but aiding as well.

Namjoon had merely clasped a firm hand on his shoulder, dropping his forehead onto Jungkook’s head, uncaring of the sweat and grease, and thanked him with a quiet and tremulous voice, yet no less heartfelt for it.

He’d left Jungkook behind in Seokjin and Hoseok’s care, returning to his spot at Yoongi’s side. It had been mere hours since the incident. Taehyung had been the one to find Jungkook holding Yoongi up over the king’s corpse, a bundle of fabrics dropped at the entrance to Yoongi’s chambers as Taehyung’s hands flew to his mouth in a barely managed attempt to refrain from screaming aloud. Jungkook had only the words to convince Taehyung that Yoongi was alive, before Taehyung was running again, fetching Namjoon in hopes of a solution for everything.

Since then, he felt his soul being worn down to mere existence as Namjoon scrambled to gain control of the situation. And although it felt like he was going against every cell in his body that protested his decision, he’d ordered for guards to come and collect the king’s body, mind already spinning a convincing tale.

The guards had balked, eyes immediately flying to a still unconscious Yoongi cradled in Jungkook’s arms. But under Namjoon’s strictly shouted out orders, they ducked their heads and got to work without question.

Namjoon had made Jungkook carry Yoongi to his bed, entrusting Yoongi under Hoseok’s immediate care after having Taehyung fetch him. Ordering servants to clear up Yoongi’s chambers, Namjoon followed behind the guards as they carried the king back to his chambers, the servants they encountered on the way falling to their knees and crying out at the sight of the corpse as they marched through the halls.

The king had barely been deposited on his bed before the door was slammed open again, court members flooding in, headed by Seokjin himself.

Taking a deep breath, Namjoon began to lie through his teeth, yet speaking with utter conviction to the point that he allowed himself to believe his words as nothing but the mere fact.

“The Jeonha was consumed by his illness,” he informed the berserk members, “and attempted to murder the Mama and his own child due to a fit of insanity. His guard attempted to hold him back, but the Jeonha attacked until the Mama was forced to resort to drastic measures out of self-defense. Hoseok tends to the Mama now, and we must pray that at least one of them makes it alive.”

Namjoon swallowed, watching as Seokjin took control from there, even as his heart prayed with a passion. 

‘Please,’ he internally begged, even as his face remained impassive on the outside. ‘Please, let them be alive and well.’

Now, hours later, after practically heading to every corner of the palace to ensure things remained in control, if not completely calm, Namjoon retreated back to Yoongi’s chambers, kneeling by the bed whereupon Yoongi rested, oblivious to the rest of the world’s happenings.

Folding his hands in front of his face, Namjoon closed his eyes. “Please wake up,” he whispered, even though there was no one else in the chambers – Taehyung having stepped outside for a breather, and Hoseok tending to the corpse to prepare it for the funeral that was to happen after all, albeit sooner and with the king sustaining more external wounds that needed sealing than anyone had anticipated for.

“Please be okay.”

The sun had long since disappeared before Yoongi showed signs of waking, and Namjoon was instantly alert, hands dropping to the bed as he stared at Yoongi, his own body frozen, hardly daring to breathe.

“Hm.” Yoongi’s eyes cracked open, a small frown on his face as he stared at the canopy of his bed.

Namjoon leant forward. “Yoongi?”

Eyes sliding to the side until he found Namjoon, Yoongi blinked at him, eyebrows still furrowed. He smacked his lips and made to get up, Namjoon instantly rising to help Yoongi sit up until he was propped up on the bed.

While Namjoon felt his heart in his throat, waiting on Yoongi first, Yoongi didn’t say anything right away. His eyes roved around the rest of his chambers before landing on Namjoon again, the frown melting away as his face went blank. “I killed the Jeonha,” he whispered, his voice a dry rasp.

More bothered by the state of his voice, Namjoon leant to the side, filling a cup with water from the pitcher atop his bedside table. He helped Yoongi drink from it first, Yoongi allowing the help even as he stared at Namjoon the entire time. Their fingers brushed as they both held the cup with a hand each, Yoongi relenting easily when Namjoon took the cup back once it was emptied.

“You did,” he finally said. He fought against the urge to avert his eyes, knowing Yoongi needed to be assured more than anything else, and maintained eye contact despite the discomfort prickling at his shoulders at the mention of the now dead king.

“Does the rest of the palace know?”

Refraining from letting out a humorless chuckle, Namjoon silently nodded. “I made sure they did.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows, before tilting his head to the side. “And yet, I’m still alive, in my chambers, and not in the dungeons,” he stated. “What did you tell them?”

Namjoon set the cup back on the table, freeing his hands so he could envelop Yoongi’s in his own. “I told them the Jeonha attacked you in a fit of madness,” he said quietly. “And that you fought back to save yourself.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, quietly laughing to himself. He didn’t provide Namjoon with an explanation before he was asking another question, eyes on their interlocked hands. “And they accepted it?”

“They’re not entirely satisfied with it,” Namjoon said, “but they don’t see any flaws with the explanation.”

Yoongi nodded, taking a deep breath. “Now what?” His grip tightened on Namjoon’s hand, flinching closer to his belly. Namjoon dragged their hands to his belly anyway, resting their tangled appendages atop it.

“Now, we prepare for a funeral,” Namjoon responded. “And fight to make the court members accept you as the regent.”

Exhaling, Yoongi nodded again. He brought his free hand up to clasp Namjoon’s, both of them moving their hands in tandem until Namjoon’s hands were free to splay out on Yoongi’s belly, Yoongi’s hands resting above his.

“Okay.”

Three days passed before the king was cremated. Yoongi played the part of a grieving and traumatized widow. As in, there was nary a difference in his face from how he usually presented himself at Goryeo’s court as he watched the king’s body burn. 

The very next day, he was summoned to the court, the members temporarily disregarding the three year mourning period in favor of having him present. They’d already taken their fill of a visibly pregnant Yoongi, but his uncle was arriving in a few more days, and they had made their decision. Yoongi was to be declared as the appointed regent, not giving his uncle an opportunity to take advantage of a current lack of ruler and overtake Goryeo’s throne.

Yoongi was slightly amused at how the tables had turned. The king had planned to take Yuan for his own after leaving the land with no living ruler, but now, it was his land left without one, his court members scrambling to appoint someone before Goryeo could be overthrown.

For the first time since the wedding, not even counting the king’s birth anniversary the previous year, Yoongi found himself upon a singular throne in the courtroom. However, he wasn’t the only one seated. As he hadn’t been officially appointed yet, his throne was positioned at the head of a long table, all court members seated at it. His saving grace was the various familiar faces in the chambers, those Yoongi knew would ensure things would stay on the path they’d curated. To his immediate right was Namjoon, the military commander sitting at his left with Hoseok on his other side. Behind Yoongi, at his left shoulder stood Taehyung, ready to serve him with a pitcher of water in his hands, while at his right shoulder stood Jungkook, having been officially assigned as his personal guard by the military commander and Namjoon.

They – Taehyung and Jungkook – were as silent as Yoongi, watching the court events unfold with only Namjoon steering it. Yoongi knew his voice would go as heedless as the other two – if only for now. Later, the time would come when the court members would obey Yoongi’s every command. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, so he was adamantly refusing to think about it, forcing himself to stay rooted in the present.

Which currently involved a very red faced court member pushing himself up to his feet. “The citizens would never accept this!” he stared at the rest of the members with widened eyes. “The Mama may be carrying the Jeonha’s child, but the people will refuse to stand down and let a northerner dictate their lives.”

“Watch your words, Counselor Song,” Seokjin said blandly. “We’re trying to have a civil discussion here. There is no need for insults to be flying around like a tavern’s crowd.”

The Counselor inhaled sharply, his nose flaring, but he sat himself down anyway.

Yoongi wasn’t too bothered by the insult – Counselor Song was the first to outright say the word, but the past hour had consisted of thinly veiled insults that Namjoon or Seokjin hadn’t been able to directly address until now.

“He has a point,” another Counselor spoke up, glancing at Yoongi over the tip of his nose before focusing on Seokjin. “The people will riot if we announce the Mama has been made regent.”

Namjoon sighed. It was a small sound, one only Yoongi probably noticed with how most of his attention was on Namjoon. But the rest of his face was studiously blank as he turned towards the Counselor who’d just spoken. “He is carrying the Jeonha’s child,” he reiterated, as he’d been stating multiple times before already. “That makes him eligible for the position unlike any other. Who else would we be able to appoint that we could trust to have the proper training to look after Goryeo other than a prince and the heir of a throne in his own right?”

“That is precisely the problem, first advisor Kim,” the Counselor retorted pointedly. His name still escaped Yoongi’s mind, but it was an itch at the side of his brain, one that told Yoongi the name would come to him soon enough. “He isn’t just any regular heir – he is, or, was,” the Counselor frowned, before shrugging dismissively, as if he couldn’t bother to figure if Yoongi was still allowed to be the heir to Yuan despite belonging to Goryeo now.

Technically, Yoongi would have been, had Yoongi’s uncle not already appointed another heir upon Yoongi’s marriage. Perhaps, without that other heir, and had Yoongi not been concerned of a mutiny unlike the now dead king, he could have united both the lands with his dual rights now.

Maybe it was for the best that he no longer was the heir – not that he would be voicing that anytime soon – as regardless, unification of Goryeo and Yuan beyond a peace treaty was far too grandiose an objective.

“–Yuan’s heir,” the Counselor continued. “Counselor Song may have been a little,” he raised his eyes at the mentioned man, “brash with his words. But he utters no lie when he speaks of the people finding it problematic to have… someone from Yuan to take the throne now.”

“Goryeo has already made peace with Yuan,” Namjoon said, the subtlest of furrows between his eyebrows. “We’ve had a year now since the treaty was made. No more battles have been waged. No lives were lost. It has long since been the time to bury the hatchet and make away with all this animosity, Counselor Park.”

Ah, right, Yoongi mused blandly. Park Min-jun, that was his name.

“Do you think a year is enough time to forget all the lives that have been lost, advisor Kim?” another Counselor – Counselor Choi Si-woo, Yoongi remembered – spoke up, staring at Namjoon over the rim of his spectacles. His tone was milder though, as if he was genuinely addressing the issues with their dilemma without seeking any drama. “Maybe it is enough for some, but others will not be as forgiving. And we will do well to keep in mind that we do not just want the people’s support, we need it.”

“Then what do you propose we do, Counselor Choi?” Namjoon said. His hands were clenched into fists under the table, from what Yoongi could see the barest glimpse of. But his tone was still steady, his face calm.

Counselor Choi blinked, apparently unprepared to be asked pointblank for suggestions. “I can only provide you with insight on how the people may feel,” he said slowly, “and it is that they will be troubled, more so when the Mama should, by all technicalities, by undergoing his mourning period. If we were to find a way to appease them, however…”

“Again, how would we appease them?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Assuming, of course, we would need to do so by definitively electing the Mama as the regent,” he said pointedly.

“We could have someone the people would more readily accept to stand by the Mama?” another Counselor spoke up. Yoongi blinked at the man. From what he’d ascertained over the past hour, Kang Do-yun wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed, but he had good intentions. He was also remarkably younger than the other men, closer in age to Yoongi and Namjoon than the rest of the balding white heads around the table.

Perhaps, with age, the Counselor would gain a little more intelligence. It was either that, or he’d become as stubborn and wily as the rest of them.

If Yoongi did become regent, he’d do his best to avoid that from happening. He needed at least one Counselor that Yoongi could be on amicable terms with – a counselor from the original court that wouldn’t die anytime soon into Yoongi’s reign either.

Namjoon, however, was staring at Counselor Kang like he’d sprouted two heads. He wasn’t the only one, as a quick glance around the table showed the rest of the members staring at Kang with bewilderment as well.

“Stand by the Mama… how?” Namjoon asked slowly. “If you mean in support, then by all means, the court should already stand by a decision they’d collectively made in the first place,” he glanced at the rest of the members with purpose, to which Yoongi bit back a smile when Counselors Song and Park were the first to avert their gaze.

Counselor Ahn, the only one who had yet to speak this entire time, leaned forward in his chair, drawing everyone’s attention onto him. “He could marry again.”

The rest of the table stilled, while Yoongi straightened in his seat.

Counselor Song was the first to regain his wits. “That is preposterous,” he sputtered, “the Mama cannot marry anyone just like that. He must be in mourning for three years–”

“We do not have three years worth of time on our hands,” Counselor Ahn retorted calmly. “And as Counselor Choi said earlier, the mourning period is a technicality – one we can afford to overlook in favor of the greater need for a regent. One whose presence can placate the people, and whom we have faith will ensure the kingdom’s preservation and standing.”

Out of the corner of Yoongi’s eye, he noticed Hoseok shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He thoroughly sympathized with him considering his own inability to express his discomfort as the court members continued to speak of him as if he wasn’t even there. Yoongi hadn’t had a problem with it, but that was before they began to speak of marrying him off, like he was just another pawn in their plans.

To which, Yoongi supposed he was, just as much as they were pawns to Namjoon’s plans. Pawns that had gotten far too close to the king piece, ironically, Yoongi relying entirely on Namjoon to rectify this.

He pushed aside all thoughts of chess pieces from his momentarily distracted mind when, to Yoongi’s horror, Namjoon didn’t shut Counselor Ahn down right away. “Who would you propose for the Mama to even marry,” he asked, humoring Counselor Ahn, much to Yoongi’s indignation.

“Someone from the court itself would suffice, I would think,” Counselor Ahn said, stroking his thin beard that reached beyond his neck.

Yoongi eyed the abundance of white haired men around the table, before side eyeing Namjoon. ‘Get me married to a wrinkly grandfather,’ he thought, ‘and you will find myself becoming a widow again.’

For their part, the other Counselors glanced around the table. Their eyes skimmed over Hoseok and Seokjin; the couple’s steely glare was enough to fend them off from even contemplating breaking apart their already established relationship. As if on cue, the council members turned to Counselor Kang in tandem, as though collectively coming to a decision already.

With the elders’ eyes upon him, Counselor Kang’s eyes widened, rearing back in his chair as he brought his hands up. “I am already betrothed!” He exclaimed, palms out as if to physically ward the Counselors words before they could even open their mouths. “The alliance has been made by our parents. We are to marry within a few mere moon cycles,” he beseeched, looking imploringly around the table.

The elders slumped with resignation; Yoongi exhaled through his nostrils, trying to release the tension that had seeped into his muscles.

“What about advisor Kim himself?”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to Seokjin, who looked unfazed at the attention he’d brought onto himself. “He was closest to the Jeonha from a young age,” Seokjin listed, “everyone is familiar with him and his mental prowess when it came to leading Goryeo to victory on various occasions. They would trust his capabilities, and as the court has mentioned, the people would be assured to have one of their own beside the Mama. And,” Seokjin glanced at Namjoon and Yoongi before turning back to the rest of the table, “he has no prior engagements with anyone else.”

Yoongi’s eyes darted over to Namjoon, who was finally appearing as shocked as Yoongi felt by the turn of events. Honestly, Yoongi could have spoken up at that moment just to thank the military commander, Seokjin potentially turning the tide in their favor by suggesting something that wasn’t absolutely ludicrous.

They’d never talked of marriage, but Yoongi’s mind was already racing, foreseeing the future and the opportunities such a situation would allow for.

It seemed Namjoon felt the same, for he momentarily narrowed his eyes at Seokjin shrewdly before his face was overtaken by his usual impassive mask.

He turned to face the rest of the members, but kept silent, wordlessly awaiting for them to speak first on the matter.

“It would work,” Counselor Ahn agreed. He looked to Counselor Choi, a seat away from him with Counselor Kang between them.

Counselor Choi also nodded, “I see no reason why the people would argue against advisor Kim. His standing as a Goryeo citizen is indisputable, and as commander Kim stated, the Jeonha trusted him the most regarding matters of the land – in various aspects.”

Counselor Song crossed his arms. “The people may have no problems with the Mama marrying advisor Kim, but they would definitely scorn the marriage when the Mama should be mourning.”

Yoongi held back an eye roll, a motion as circular as this man’s words every time he spoke. 

As if to defend him, Counselor Park – the brains to Counselor Song’s stupid hostility – hurried to speak, leaning forward in his chair. “Which, the court understands the necessity for haste. But are we willing to let the people know the full extent of our precarious plight in order to gain their absolute favor?”

Namjoon narrowed his eyes at Counselor Park, the expression completely settled on his face without concealment. “We have no reason to hide the truth from our citizens should they demand an explanation,” he said. “And if it is mandatory to appease them, then we shall divulge the need for the marriage without hesitation.”

“Does that mean you agree to marrying the Mama, advisor Kim?” Counselor Choi asked, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “You have no objections to tying your own life with his?”

Namjoon paused, fully turning towards Yoongi for the first time since they’d sat down. Their eyes meeting, Yoongi tried to convey everything he couldn’t say, his face otherwise placid to the rest of the court members. 

Namjoon stared at him for several seconds, the courtroom descending into silence as they all waited for him to speak.

“Yes,” he finally said, not looking away from Yoongi. “I agree to marrying the Mama.”

The corners of Yoongi’s lips twitched upwards, the first and only sign of an expression appearing if only fleetingly on his face.

Chapter Text

They resolved to announce the marriage to Yoongi’s uncle first, in a more intimate setting with only the court members and Yoongi himself – not counting, but obviously including, Taehyung and Jungkook, perpetually shadowing Yoongi as they were – before making a public declaration at the final feast before Yoongi’s uncle left for Yuan.

The servants had already been preparing for Yoongi’s uncle's arrival. With the news of an impending marriage not yet public, Yoongi was mostly left to his own devices for the time being.

Namjoon wasn’t as fortunate. When he wasn’t meeting with Seokjin to ensure the last of the bandits hired by the king were eliminated by whatever means necessary, he was stuck in ‘private meetings’ with the court members. While the meetings were supposedly focusing on ensuring he was ready to marry Yoongi, in reality, it mostly consisted of underhanded jabs that Namjoon struggled to resist countering against, as he confided to Yoongi one night. However, Counselor Ahn proved himself to be more dependable, sharing his own experiences with the king to give Namjoon a different perspective on the deceased ruler. While Namjoon was already well-acquainted with the late king, Counselor Ahn’s knowledge and wisdom would certainly prove fruitful in the future; his easy acceptance of the situation served as both a boon and a potential closer ally.

So while Namjoon was busy throughout the days leading up to Yoongi’s uncle arriving, Yoongi himself was left with nothing much to do. He’d already spent time resuming his infrequent painting sessions with Taehyung, but it seemed Taehyung was quite content to paint with his new partner, their previous instructor all but forgotten as Jungkook had eagerly taken up the role.

Instead, Yoongi spent his own time with the gayageum, a new melody in his mind that he’d been playing around with. But his growing belly meant it wasn’t as easy to let himself get lost in the music for hours, the stationary position causing knots in his muscles to form. He would have ignored it had he not been concerned for his child, and relented on the longer hours.

Jimin came as an unlikely savior, a willing participant to spending time with Yoongi. His position as a concubine had become redundant, but no one questioned his presence in the palace.

“It’s a big enough place,” Jimin said, the day before Yoongi’s uncle was set to arrive. Yoongi had never said it, but he was more than grateful for Jimin’s assent to spending some time together. Conversations with Jimin had been light hearted so far, the both of them absently playing a game of Yut Nori as they talked, and it had done wonders to ease some of the burdens in Yoongi’s mind already.

“It’s not like they need my chambers for anything else right now. This wing in the palace was always for the concubines, no matter that there isn’t a king currently.” Jimin shrugged, looking entirely unbothered as he flipped his sticks, scoring a do. He playfully frowned at it, but moved his piece a space forward on their board. “You’re already the Mama, so at least I don’t have to worry about suddenly ruling Goryeo.”

Yoongi flattened his lips, hesitating to make his move as he stared intently at the board, unable to meet Jimin’s eyes. “About that,” he muttered.

“Hm?” Jimin’s eyes were wide open with curiosity, unaware of the swirling emotions coursing through Yoongi at that moment.

“The court members hadn’t easily accepted the idea of making me regent,” Yoongi began to explain. Because while Jimin was informed of those plans, no one had updated him as of yet about the recent developments. It fell to Yoongi to reveal the news himself, not wanting Jimin to learn it alongside the rest of Goryeo, as if it weren’t crucial for him to find out personally after everything he’d done for them. Namjoon barely had time to help, and the others were preoccupied with their own duties. While Yoongi had initially accepted this responsibility without hesitation, he now found himself faltering to say the words outright, the uncertainty of Jimin’s reaction leaving a leaden weight on his tongue.

“But they eventually did, didn’t they?” Jimin asked, glancing between him and the sticks.

“They did,” Yoongi allowed. He traced the sticks with his finger, but didn’t make his move just yet. “Under a stipulation.”

Jimin leaned back, giving his full focus to Yoongi now. “What was it?” he asked with a frown, concern etched on his face.

Yoongi swallowed. “They said that in order for the people to fully accept me as regent, I would need someone alongside me, someone who actually represented Goryeo. That way the people would not cause an uproar at having me, with my Yuan blood, rule them.”

“I suppose it makes sense,” Jimin said slowly. The frown didn’t disappear from his face, however. “What do you mean by standing alongside you?” Jimin blanched. “Don’t tell me…”

Deeming it unwise to keep it from Jimin any longer, Yoongi finally uttered the words. “They decided to have me wed.” Before he could continue to say who exactly it was he was to marry, Jimin was already cutting in, eyes widened with disbelief.

“That’s outlandish!” he exclaimed. “They think they can control your life just like that – when you’ve just been freed from-from someone you already had no fulfillment with? Besides that, you’ve just been widowed!” Jimin agonized, “nevermind all we had to undergo, at the very least, you should be granted your mourning period before worrying over making your relationship with Namjoon become recognized.” He abruptly clamped his mouth shut, blinking. “I mean, assuming that was something you had in mind for the future.”

Yoongi gaped at him, silently processing all Jimin had ranted, before regaining his composure. “I should be indisposed with the mourning period,” he agreed, “however, the court members decided Goryeo’s need for a ruler and harmony amongst the people overrides it. It would have been a matter of dissent,” Yoongi pushed on, seeing Jimin open his mouth to retort again. “Had the military commander not steered their advances towards a more desirable path.”

The frown was back on Jimin’s face. “What did Jin hyung do?”

And now, Yoongi was averting his gaze again, fingers fidgeting as he felt uncharacteristically shy of the next words to come out of his mouth. “He proposed I marry Namjoon.”

There was silence within the chambers following his words, prolonging to the point that Yoongi hazarded a glance up. He took in the sight of Jimin blinking, his body otherwise frozen, while his face was slowly but surely melting into a wide grin. “Oh, but that – that’s wonderful news!” Jimin clapped his hands, back straightening. “That would be a perfect solution, is it not?” he asked, halting with trepidation that Yoongi might say otherwise.

But Yoongi had nothing negative to say about it at all, and with Jimin’s increasing enthusiasm, he allowed himself to smile, his shoulders dropping from their defensive stance he must have subconsciously taken at some point. “It is,” he said softly. “It really is.”

Jimin emitted a happy noise, a mixture of a laugh and a groan of delight as he leaned backwards, head aimed at the ceiling. “Ah, that does make me happy,” Jimin said, tilting forward again as he calmed himself. 

Relaxing now, Yoongi tossed his sticks, but kept an eye on Jimin to see if he had anything else to say while he landed a back do. He shrugged, letting Jimin take the sticks back for his turn.

“It might not have been something we expected, but as it is far from an undesirable outcome, I think it is safe to say that I’m glad things are looking brighter for you,” Jimin said, landing yet another do. As Jimin moved his piece another space forward, Yoongi took the sticks, flipping them even as he responded.

“I’m not sure how bright it will be,” he said, and despite the grim words, his tone was light. “While I may have been taught the ways of ruling a land, I never thought I would actually rule one – especially not one I wasn’t raised in. I lack a deep and intrinsic understanding of its culture and community, unlike my own, and I fear it will be my shortcoming.” He landed a yut, and obligingly moved his piece ahead of Jimin’s, although without any fanfare.

Jimin didn’t even respond to Yoongi’s move, bringing him to the lead, more focused on Yoongi’s concern.

“You may not be aware of the grittier details of Goryeo, but I doubt that would prevent you from making the right decisions to lead them,” Jimin mollified. “If the details of the people’s lives are what concerns you, then you have Namjoon and the rest of us for that. We will always be happy to offer our assistance where you may need it.” 

Yoongi smiled, heartened by the offer. “You’re very generous.” He nudged his chin in the direction of their board, prompting Jimin to make his move. “You shouldn’t have to be, after all you’ve done for me already,” he trailed off, watching Jimin land a back do while a trickle of guilt not at all related to their game caused him to shift in discomfort.

But Jimin didn’t move his piece just yet, looking back at Yoongi and away from the sticks. “It was the right thing to do,” he responded, but his face held no clear emotion, his tone disclosing nothing else either.

“Was it?” Yoongi asked, voice hushed. “The blood of the Jeonha’s is on my hands, and prior plans to have him pass regardless, I still dealt the killing blow,” he said. He cast Jimin with a despondent smile, “I would think, you of all people, would not find that entirely unproblematic.”

Jimin’s eyebrows raised in understanding. He slowly leaned back from the table, resting his hands on his lap. “I do not begrudge you for killing the Jeonha,” Jimin said. “I had already come to terms with his actions and who he’d become. And,” he hesitated, but only for a second, “what we decided to do. The fact that his death came a little sooner than expected, and by your hand with a blade rather than Hoseok’s with a poison – it doesn’t change anything as to how I feel.”

“And how do you feel, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi couldn’t resist asking. “I’m sorry I keep pushing, but… I find it hard to believe you to be at utter ease with the Jeonha no longer of existence.”

Jimin sighed, slumping. “It is hard only in that I know I won’t see his face again. I know I can no longer go on, hoping I will see a change in him, as if that was a vain desire in the first place.” Jimin peered at Yoongi, offering his own brittle smile in return. “I feel I have been given a rather abrupt closure, but it is one I can deal with, and one I can learn to move beyond, hyung.” His smile grew wider, even if Yoongi was faintly alarmed to see the glassy quality in Jimin's eyes. “You needn’t worry for me.”

“How could I not, when you cry before me?” Although he was uncertain if it would be welcomed, Yoongi leaned forward, reaching over the table to grasp Jimin’s hands within his own. It was an awkward position that caused his lower back to stretch painfully, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it for longer than a minute, but he was desperate to provide Jimin with some form of comfort when the man appeared to be in such a state.

Jimin sniffed, even as he shook his head. But his hands still tightened their grip on Yoongi’s momentarily before he was gently tugging his hands free. “Ah, I’m only crying from the frustration of this game!” Jimin waved his hands in the air. Yoongi slowly leant back, still regarding Jimin with wariness even as his muscles relaxed with gratitude as Yoongi sat down on his cushion again.

But Jimin was moving his piece a space before tilting his head back, blinking at the ceiling, as if to dispel the tears without actively wiping them away. “Aish, I feel like we’ve been playing this game for an eternity.” He lowered his head again, and impossibly, his eyes were already clear, staring at the board with newfound determination. “Let’s end this already!” he announced, gathering and shaking the sticks vigorously at Yoongi.

Yoongi spared him one last look, but with Jimin meeting his gaze, an adamant expression on his face, Yoongi acquiesced, and silently took his turn.

Jimin’s shout of indignation when Yoongi landed a mo echoed throughout the chambers, and despite himself, Yoongi cracked a smile.

Yoongi’s uncle was welcomed to Goryeo with great fanfare, if only as a means of showing off their extravagance. The court members were all stiff as they greeted Yoongi’s uncle. Their disinterest yet adherence to tradition caused for a stance not far off from Yoongi’s own polite greeting, enacted more out of duty than want as he was all too aware of the stare set on his protruding belly, the table they sat at doing nothing to hide it.

“I express my remorse over the Jeonha’s passing,” Min Yun-Seo said briskly. His eyes flitted over to the court members before he was focusing on Yoongi once again. “It seems like his letter left a few topics untouched, however.”

“Yes, the Jeonha… never got around to properly processing the Mama’s pregnancy,” Counselor Choi said. “Due to which he was unable to include it in his letter to you, Wang Min,” Counselor Choi bowed his head in apology before lifting his head back up, pushing his spectacles up as he did so. “With your presence, however, we wished to directly address a few matters with you ourselves, before we have the news announced to the general public.”

Yun-Seo’s eyes slid back to Yoongi, even as he addressed the table at large. “Is that so?”

“As you may know, your invitation was initially to celebrate the wedding anniversary of the Jeonha and your nephew, the Mama.” Counselor Song spoke up. “Due to the Jeonha’s passing, however, celebrations for the anniversary has become…” he glanced at Yoongi, appearing uneasy before he turned back to Yun-Seo, “redundant.”

“The funeral rites have already passed, have they not?” Yun-Seo cocked an eyebrow. “Had I been informed, I could have made it in time to partake in the ceremonies, alongside being present for my grieving nephew.”

Yoongi held back a scoff. He doubted his uncle actually wished he’d been there to comfort Yoongi for his loss. Not that he needed any comforting in the first place. The relationships he’d fostered here were the first ones to show compassion and empathy for Yoongi in a long while now, apart from Taehyung.

But the court was always a place of formal speech, dictated by traditions and decorum. Yoongi would soon have to become accustomed to navigating such false platitudes, as his future would involve many such interactions.

“We were unable to send a letter out in time,” Counselor Park said. “We do not mean to offend you, but the timing of your arrival worked for the best, as we were able to straighten some crucial affairs beforehand.”

Yun-Seo finally took his eyes off of Yoongi to look at Yoongi. While he outwardly remained the same, Yoongi couldn’t deny that the lack of attention was still a relief.

“Will I be informed of what exactly it is that has happened, or will I remain in suspense for longer while you continue to speak mysteriously?”

Counselor Park appeared taken aback, eyes going wide. Yoongi bit back a wry smile. It had never been pleasant to be on the receiving side of his uncle’s brusque nature, but he’d learned early on how to deal with it. For those unused to it, however, it was quite entertaining for Yoongi to witness how it played out without being involved.

It also helped that he held no fond feelings for Counselor Park.

When Counselor Park didn’t immediately reply, it was Counselor Ahn who metaphorically stepped forward to take over. Yoongi knew the only reason Namjoon hadn’t spoken yet himself was due to his own involvement with the subject they were trying to broach, otherwise he would’ve taken reins of the conversation long ago now. And until he was made regent, two specific court members – more importantly, his own uncle – wouldn’t be pleased to hear Yoongi speak. 

Actually, Yoongi wasn’t sure if being made regent would change that.

“The Jeonha’s abrupt passing left the court concerned regarding matters of an acting regent. The Mama is an obvious candidate,” Counselor Ahn explained, “however, we feared the Mama would have difficulty being accepted among the people as an individual not born and raised within Goryeo taking control. As such, after lengthy discussions, the first advisor has agreed to marry the Mama to help solidify his ruling.”

Slowly, Yun-Seo’s eyebrows raised. Ever so slowly, he turned to Yoongi, and adjacent to where he sat, Namjoon.

“You wish for my nephew to marry again,” he said, words painstakingly measured, face studiously blank, “so soon after he has just been widowed? Without adhering to the mourning period?”

“Waiting three years would leave Goryeo defenseless,” Counselor Ahn retaliated calmly. “A regent is more urgently needed. And the Mama is also pregnant with the Jeonha’s child–”

He’d never flinched at the statement before, but Yoongi abruptly found it hard not to react with his uncle’s eyes scrutinizing him with intensity.

“–so it would be unreasonable to have anyone else appointed as the regent before then.”

Yun-Seo turned back to Counselor Ahn. For a while, he didn’t say anything, but Ahn didn’t seem fazed with the unrelenting eye contact, merely returning it without being disconcerted by the duration of it.

“It seems like you are all quite adamant on your decision,” Yun-Seo finally said. “Very well then. When will the marriage take place?”

Imperceptibly, Yoongi finally released the death grip he’d taken, knowing it would be hidden under the table, on the arm rests of his throne. Quietly, he let out a long exhale through his nose, keeping his face blank even as the court members moved onto the logistics of the marriage.

Without looking at him, Namjoon smiled, only the corner of one side of his lips quirking up so none else but Yoongi – and maybe Jungkook from behind Yoongi and the military commander, who sat opposite Namjoon – could see it. He wasn’t able to return it, but he felt lightened all the same.

Barely two moon cycles later, Yoongi found himself on a dais, about to be wedded once again. It was barely enough time to prepare for a wedding, the servants thrown into an absolute frenzy rushing to prepare for it. The time had flown for all parties involved, and finally, the day had come akin to a blunt weapon to the head.

Yoongi felt no pain or remorse regarding the situation or its haste however. Because beside him stood the man he was marrying, and unlike the first time, Yoongi had not just the luck to be claimed to marry twice, but the good fortune to marry a man whom he loved this time around.

They stood before the same man who’d wedded Yoongi to the Jeonha a little over a year ago. Despite the raised eyebrow the master of ceremonies directed at Yoongi, everyone present were decked in resplendent robes regardless, but Yoongi wasn’t didn’t care for those details. He was more interested in the fact that Namjoon was standing beside him, close enough for their hands to brush as they took their vows. Unlike the first time, a small smile played on Yoongi’s lips, one he couldn’t bring himself to hide. And out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Namjoon doing the same, which only lightened his spirits further, as if he wasn’t already internally soaring in the skies.

The vows done, they sipped their drinks, Yoongi seeking out Namjoon’s eyes over the gourd. They kept smiling at each other, even when Namjoon took a step back, handing the gourd back to the master of ceremonies. The man bowed as he took the gourd, stepping away as Counselor Ahn took his place.

Multiple traditions had already been carried out, the people made aware of Yoongi’s appointment as regent, the rituals, and the presentation ceremony – that coincided with his entrance for the marriage in tandem. Now, Counselor Ahn led Yoongi through his oaths, Yoongi dutifully following and repeating what he must, before Counselor Ahn gave him a small smile, signifying the end of the process.

Yoongi turned around, facing the rest of the crowd, with Counselor Ahn right at his shoulder.

“Goryeo celebrates its new regent,” Counselor Ahn declared, his voice easily carrying through the large chambers with everyone in silent captivation. “Long live the Mama!”

The chambers burst into noise as everyone shouted its repetition, keeping up the chant whether or not they were full-heartedly embracing the decision.

But the proclamation had been made, and everything was done now. 

The Jeonha was dead, and Yoongi was regent. Yoongi was pregnant with Namjoon’s child, and they were now married.

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to care if not everyone in the chambers were happy. Because as the crowd kept their shouts going, Namjoon took a tiny step closer to him, and clasped their hands together.

Yoongi let his lips stretch into a wider smile.

The celebrations lasted well into the night, and Yoongi was finally allowing himself to be swept away with the stark contrast from his first marriage’s ceremonies.

The first time, he’d sat woodenly alongside the Jeonha, the Jeonha pleasantly interacting with the crowd whilst Yoongi sat in silence, not wishing to engage with anyone as much as no one wished to speak to him beyond the respectful greeting. But he knew that the Jeonha had been wearing a mask as much as Yoongi was, neither pleased with being wedded to each other, even if Yoongi hadn’t realized the depths of the Jeonha’s distaste back then.

Now, however…

Now, Namjoon and Yoongi pushed their cushions closer together, their arms clasped the entire time with the desire for contact. It would have made it harder for Yoongi to eat, had Namjoon not been enthusiastic about feeding him. He’d flushed, aware of many eyes on them with the two at the spotlight and head of the room, but he’d acquiesced, shyly accepting the bites Namjoon had been more focused on serving Yoongi than himself.

Now, they were both shyly smiling at each other, even as people surrounded them, talking to them both. To Namjoon’s right sat the military commander and Hoseok, and when they weren’t able to keep Namjoon’s attention for long moments at a time, they’d carry the conversation among themselves instead, unbothered with Namjoon’s lack of focus.

To Yoongi’s left, Taehyung was ever present, but he wasn’t too far behind him, and neither was he rigidly attentive. Rather, he’d broken protocol to lean against Yoongi’s shoulder while a pitcher of water was precariously balanced on his lap for Yoongi. But he had a plate in his hands that took his focus, and Yoongi didn’t care for tradition when his friend was happily eating, conversing with Jungkook who sat beside him, adjacent and closest to Yoongi. On Jungkook’s other side sat Jimin, his presence garnering quite a few glances, but their group by and large ignored it, especially when Jimin was smiling brightly, included in the conversation between Taehyung and Jungkook.

“–said this before,” Yoongi glanced to his right, where the military commander was staring between Namjoon and Yoongi, before his eyes settled on Namjoon, “but I’m happy for you, Namjoon-ah.” The Seokjin smiled.

“Ah, hyung.” Namjoon ducked his head, looking abashed, but Yoongi didn’t miss the pleased smile on his face. 

“Really,” Seokjin insisted. “This… isn’t the right place for me to speak in depth,” he glanced around at the rest of the chambers still full of people, including the rest of the Counselors who sat not too far away. Even if it had momentarily felt like the rest of the hubbub had fallen away and left them in their bubble, Yoongi was far too aware of potentially listening ears.

“But,” Seokjin went on anyway, “while I had my moments of questioning your principles,” Seokjin looked at Yoongi, his eyes falling to Yoongi’s belly that had only grown larger in size over the past couple of moon cycles, “I cannot bring myself to be anything but content that you have found your family.”

Namjoon swallowed, his hand tightening his hold on Yoongi’s. “I did,” he agreed, his voice suspiciously thick. “But you do know that – my family also includes you as well, hyung,” Namjoon glanced at the other side of the table, where the three on Yoongi’s left had fallen silent, listening to the conversation. “All of you.” He glanced at them in turn, from Jimin, to Jungkook, and even Taehyung before his eyes fell on Yoongi and stayed there.

Yoongi ducked his head, breaking the gaze and attempting to hide the large smile that broke his face. He knew it was in vain, however, as Taehyung cooed and leaned harder against Yoongi’s shoulder, voice soft so that no one else could hear it.

They probably didn’t, anyway, as Jimin chose that moment to throw himself forward against the table, stealing everyone’s attention. “Aw, hyung!” His cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, and eyes wide with adoration as he stared at Namjoon. When he cupped his face in his hands, elbows resting on the table, Yoongi faintly wondered how much he’d had to drink, as he giggled, a sound Yoongi didn’t think he’d ever heard from Jimin before. “I always knew you loved me.”

Namjoon looked pained. “I wouldn’t go that far..”

Junkook blinked, lips subconsciously pouting as he leaned forward as well, albeit having the grace to not mirror Jimin’s rather undignified pose for the public setting. “So you don’t love us?” he asked, his bottom lip jutted out and voice wavering.

Yoongi was rather taken aback at the uncharacteristic show of emotion — was this normal behavior for them when they weren’t burdened by the issue of a tyrannical king, or had the two downed an entire pitch of ihwa-ju each? — even as he felt the need to deny the question on Namjoon’s behalf.

Drunkenly genuine or not, Jungkook’s ploy worked as Namjoon shook his head, “I didn’t say that…”

Jungkook immediately straightened, beaming wide as he abruptly appeared far more sober than he had seconds prior. “So you do love us!” Beside him, Jimin grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that had Yoongi suspecting the two of secretly conspiring in collaboration.

Namjoon sighed. “Fine, yes. I do.” Even if he hadn’t said the words, it proved sufficient for Jimin and Jungkook, who turned to each other and clapped their hands together. As Yoongi kept an eye on them, he watched how their hands stayed interlaced even as it disappeared under the table. He also noted how steadfast Taehyung’s stare was upon them.

He cocked an eyebrow at his friend, but didn’t speak as his attention was diverted by Seokjin once again.

“Wow,” Seokjin was saying, eyebrows raised at Namjoon. “I never thought I’d hear you confess to such a thing.”

“Oh, let the man be, Jin hyung,” Hoseok swatted at Seokjin’s arm, mockingly rebuking. “He just got married and the couple are so clearly shining with joy. He can be allowed to say whatever he wishes, declarations of his love for us included.”

Even as Namjoon sputtered, Seokjin cocked his head. “I thought that was just the pregnancy glow.”

Hoseok cast him with a deadpan stare. “On both of them?”

Seokjin threw his hands up, and it was only then that Yoongi noticed how his ears were growing slowly but to a furious shade of red. Yoongi stared with a detached fascination at his first witnessing of the man’s slip of demeanor even as he kept listening to Seokjin’s retort, the pitch of his voice increasing to an interestingly higher pitch.

“Well, you tell me if I’m wrong if I don’t know, then,” he exclaimed. “Neither have I been around a pregnant person before, nor have I seen Namjoon like this either.”

“Of course you haven’t seen Namjoon like this before,” Hoseok retaliated, eyebrows raising higher and higher. “He just got married!”

The two devolved into bickering only just kept at an acceptable volume, Yoongi watching them with an amused smile. It seemed like everyone had taken the day to indulge in the alcohol, and Yoongi couldn’t fault them for it after how far they’d come.

He sighed, tilting his head to rest it upon Namjoon’s shoulder, the touch turning Namjoon’s focus onto him. “Tired, love?” he whispered. He turned his head so he could press his mouth to Yoongi’s hair, Yoongi uncaring that the meticulous style Taehyung had spent ages on his hair for becoming mussed, Namjoon uncaring of the stray strands being pushed into his mouth.

Yoongi hummed, before lifting his head. The close proximity meant their faces were centimeters away, Yoongi glancing to the side to see if anyone was watching and unable to make contact when Namjoon was so close. Definitely not in public. “No,” he whispered, eyes settling on Namjoon’s mouth, those luscious lips parting under Yoongi’s gaze. “But I wouldn’t mind if we retired to our chambers now.”

He raised his eyes in time to see Namjoon’s eyes darkening, and Yoongi smirked.

Yoongi threw his head back onto the pillow with a gasp. His fists clenched onto the sheets under him, pulling it off the corners of the bed with the force of his pull. His chest heaved, a moan growing from the depths of his throat, building and waiting for his jaw to slacken and lips to part to be released. Namjoon kept sucking at his neck, his hands roving all over Yoongi’s body, rucking up his skirts before abandoning their plan and gripping Yoongi’s belly, as if he couldn’t get enough of him, didn’t know where to put his hands. 

Married and no longer needing to hide their relationship, it seemed like Namjoon’s desire to claim Yoongi as his with his own marks was brought to life like a raging wildfire. He’d been sucking relentlessly at Yoongi’s jaw, Yoongi’s neck, leaving bruise after bruise to bloom on Yoongi’s pale skin, before moving down to his chest, as if intent on covering every inch of Yoongi’s skin with his mouth before moving elsewhere.

And Yoongi was in love with it, helpless but to splay his body on the bed and leave him open to Namjoon’s plundering mouth. He wanted nothing more than for everyone to see the vibrant array of colors on his skin tomorrow, knowing that it was made by a man he loved, created from a night of passion rather than abuse.

Namjoon tugged Yoongi’s sokjeoksam open, Yoongi’s body cradled in a swath of fabric as his hanbok pooled under him, neither of them bothering to toss it away. They could only keep their hands on each other, Yoongi’s hands flying away from the sheets to dig into Namjoon’s back as soon his arms were freed from his sleeves.

Mouthing sloppily at Yoongi’s breast, Namjoon took his nipple in his mouth. The entire areola was covered with a layer of saliva despite its enlarged size, Namjoon’s famished tongue laving over it with frantic and desperate actions. Yoongi cried out as Namjoon’s lips closed around Yoongi’s nipple, sucking it into his mouth, tongue swirling around the nub, flicking at the tip of it. His voice was unrestrained as he practically sobbed at the ceiling, hands clasping at Namjoon’s scalp, legs writhing by Namjoon’s hips where he lay between them.

His pregnancy hadn’t diminished his arousal, only heightened his senses in fact, and it hadn’t faded in the days since. They’d often laid together when they found the time, rushed encounters with hands under clothes as they got each other off. But with the marriage ceremony over with, and with the ability to dedicate time to each other, Namjoon’s hands had yet to stray to where Yoongi desperately needed it, consciously holding himself above Yoongi’s body without pushing him down into the mattress like Yoongi wished he could have.

Even still, Yoongi could feel himself already leaking slick, his dari sokgot no doubt damp with his growing arousal. Wrapping his legs around Namjoon’s waist, he held Namjoon’s head to his nipple whilst cries and whimpers escaped mouth, and bucked his hips up, desperately seeking friction.

Namjoon groaned into his chest, feeling Yoongi’s movements, but with his belly in the way, his hips strained, unable to make contact. Namjoon adjusted his hands on the mattress, planting one beside Yoongi’s hip, the other slipping under his back and allowing Yoongi to arch, pushing his chest further into Namjoon’s ever sucking mouth, the hot and wet heat of it making Yoongi’s own mouth water at the sensation encasing his nipple.

Namjoon shifted his knees, and rocked his hips forward.

Yoongi’s head tossed to the side, almost digging his face into his pillow as he felt Namjoon’s clothed cock come into contact with Yoongi’s cunt. He felt empty, gapingly so even if he had yet to be stretched out. He wanted – needed – Namjoon to touch him, with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. Now that they could be together, Yoongi wanted him everywhere, anywhere. Faint memories of Namjoon filling his ass flashed through his mind, and Yoongi moaned at the visual, suddenly craving to be filled there as well.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi cried, neck straining as he dug his head into the pillow. Namjoon hummed, Yoongi gasping at the vibrations it sent through his chest, before crying out a protest when Namjoon pulled off – which immediately cut off with the sound still halfway in his throat as Namjoon latched onto his other nipple instead. “Namjoon-ah, please.” Tears pooled in his eyes, already feeling over sensitized, his chest aching with aggravation at the continuous assault, but refusing to have Namjoon pull away from his chest just yet all the same.

So when Namjoon let Yoongi’s nipple slip free from his mouth with a pop, moving on to lick at the underside of his breasts – and he very much had breasts by this point of his pregnancy, it was hard to deny – Yoongi didn’t know if he wanted to cry from relief or complaint.

“Hush.” Namjoon’s lips curled upwards into a sly smile, even as he mouthed at Yoongi’s belly. Yoongi watched with hooded eyes as Namjoon placed a peck at the peak of his swell. “I’ll take care of you, Yoongi-yah.” And then his head was hidden as he ducked below it, leaving a trail of kisses as he descended Yoongi’s belly.

Yoongi hitched his legs up higher, feet planted on the mattress as he widened the splay of his legs as Namjoon’s mouth grew closer to where he throbbed. Infuriatingly, as if he knew what Yoongi wanted and subsequently intending to tease him further first, Namjoon veered off to the side, mouthing at the vee of his legs before biting and nipping at the delicate flesh of Yoongi’s inner thighs.

Yoongi groaned to the ceiling, hands scrambling around the sheets again. With his belly between them, he couldn’t reach Namjoon’s head to drag him where he wanted, but with Namjoon sucking fresh bruises on his legs, he could only toss his head back and forth, toes flexing as Namjoon continued to paint with him with his colors.

“Please, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi gasped as Namjoon dug his teeth in harder in response, his entire leg trembling, unable to keep still despite Namjoon’s teeth embedding into his flesh to the point of pain.

But oh, it was so glorious, the hurt that thrummed through his nerves only making his cunt grow wetter, sloppier, not diminishing his arousal in the slightest. “Namjoon-ah, please, I need you,” Yoongi frantically whispered, his voice broken, tears sliding down the sides of his face as he faced the ceiling.

Namjoon swept his tongue one last time over the fresh bruise he’d created before resting his face against Yoongi’s leg, face still out of sight. “You have me,” Namjoon responded. “I swear, you’ll have me.” And then he went back to kissing a path down Yoongi’s legs. He was no longer biting, however, his pace increasing as if he could no longer keep away either, but was still adamant on covering every inch of Yoongi’s skin with kisses.

He placed a kiss on Yoongi’s knees, his calves, his ankles, brushing his lips over the thin skin over the bone before swooping back up. Hands holding himself up, he captured Yoongi’s lips in his, Yoongi opening his mouth without a thought as he responded eagerly to the kiss. His own hands latched onto Namjoon’s back, sweeping over the muscles he felt flexing under his touch. 

After a while of letting himself get swept away in the swipes of Namjoon’s tongue against his, nips of their teeth on each other’s lips, Yoongi braced his hands on Namjoon’s shoulders and forced him back, Namjoon reluctantly allowing to be pushed even as he tried to keep their lips connected for as long as possible.

Breathing labored, Yoongi took a moment to take in the sight of Namjoon above him. Pupils dilated, hair freed from its top knot and falling in waves at their sides, and mouth parted as he breathed heavily, he looked like he’d been devoured as much as Namjoon had devoured Yoongi, and Yoongi couldn’t wait to see how much more wrecked they’d appear by the time they were actually done.

But he wanted Namjoon to actually be inside him first and foremost, their obliterated sights an afterthought.

It seemed he didn’t have to say anything, because the sharp edges of Namjoon’s eyes faded away, even as he smirked. He leant down again, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, licking and coaxing his mouth open. Perhaps Yoongi would have rebuked him for kissing him again instead of making a move, but Namjoon’s hand was obediently moving, Namjoon shifting as he balanced himself on one hand and reached down with the other.

Yoongi’s mouth fell slack, allowing Namjoon to plunder it even as he lay there, unresponsive. He was too far gone on the feel of Namjoon’s fingers finally tracing a line up his cock, digging a finger into the slit. Yoongi keened, eyes rolling in his head, but then wanted to sob when Namjoon’s hand disappeared. Only, it reappeared at his cunt, gathering slick from his outer lips and lubricating his fingers before he steadily pushed in with two from the start.

Yoongi moaned with pleasure, feeling his muscles accept the stretch easily. It may have been a while since Yoongi had Namjoon’s cock in him, but his walls didn’t forget the size of mere fingers, it would seem, for they parted easily, Namjoon soon inserting a third.

Spreading his legs apart as far as they could go, Yoongi let his hand join Namjoon’s, barely managing to reach between his legs beyond his belly. As Namjoon pumped away within his cunt, Yoongi gathered the slick that had been pushed out with every insertion of Namjoon’s fingers, rubbing it on his own fingers before trailing further down, only just managing to graze the pads of his fingers against his ass.

It didn’t take Namjoon long to recognize what Yoongi was aiming to wordlessly convey, and he groaned against Yoongi’s mouth before tearing himself away from Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi bit his lip as Namjoon braced his hands on Yoongi’s knees, Namjoon’s staring at him with dark eyes before lowering himself down the bed, allowing his face to be level with Yoongi’s cunt. As Namjoon’s mouth descended onto him without any stalling, Yoongi’s legs jolted when Namjoon pushed his hand away, replacing it with his own and boldly rubbing at his ass.

“Yes,” Yoongi moaned again, satisfaction thrumming through his veins as Namjoon tended to both his holes, his tongue sneaking into Yoongi’s cunt while his fingers gently began to nudge their way into his ass. “Yes, Namjoon,” his voice died off into a neverending wordless moan as Namjoon brought his other hand into play as well, filling his cunt and ass with two fingers each. Using the slick from his cunt as lubrication, Namjoon built his way up to three, and then curled the fingers in Yoongi’s cunt upwards.

“Ah!” Bucking upwards, Yoongi was actually able to latch onto Namjoon’s head, fingers scrabbling at his scalp while Namjoon continued to stroke that sensitive spot within him, keeping him upright even as his hips absently flared their disapproval. Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to pay it any heed, finding his orgasm beginning to crest within him, but he didn’t want to cum yet, knowing he’d be far too sensitive to cum again with his pregnancy wearing him out after a mere singular orgasm, intense as it may be.

“Joonie, I can’t, please, no more, just – in me, in me now,” Yoongi blabbered. His head rolled back on his shoulders, his back going weak even as he stubbornly held onto Namjoon’s head. But Namjoon was wrenching his fingers free and rising on his knees instead anyway, Yoongi getting a glimpse of Namjoon’s wet chin before Namjoon was slamming their mouths together again.

“I will, I will, I am,” Namjoon promised against his mouth, before kissing him again. The pace of his kiss was frantic and merciless even as Namjoon gently eased Yoongi onto his right side, slotting himself behind him, pressing his bare chest against Yoongi’s equally undressed back. Yoongi gasped into his mouth, desperate to keep their lips attached even if he had to crane his neck at an awkward angle, Namjoon reclining on his right arm to kiss him over his shoulder. His free hand wrapped around Yoongi’s left thigh, once upon a time his fingers meeting but at present digging into the voluptuous flesh with the pounds added to various parts of Yoongi’s body with his pregnancy. Yoongi never had to be conscious of it, not when Namjoon had so often expressed his utter adoration and desire for the extra amounts of Yoongi for him to devote his love to.

Even now, his fingers dug into Yoongi’s thigh with unnecessary force as he guided Yoongi’s leg behind and hooked it over both of his. Yoongi knew Namjoon was only taken by the soft give of his flesh, warmth blooming in Yoongi’s chest at the reminder of how much Namjoon couldn’t resist his body, how Namjoon was free to express his love wherever and however.

“Where do you want me?” Namjoon asked, his voice husky and deep, the vibrations of the air he huffed right against Yoongi’s ear running all the way down Yoongi’s spine. “In your cunt,” a finger plunged into the aforementioned place, tickling at his inner walls before immediately withdrawing, barely a second spent within teasing Yoongi into eliciting a whine from him, “or here?” The same finger traced a circle around the rim of his ass before pushing in, Yoongi groaning as he kept a shallow rhythm of his finger, refusing to let his finger stay stagnant while awaiting Yoongi’s decision.

“Won’t you – can’t you give me both?” Yoongi retorted, voice breathless, only just pitched at an insolent whine to refrain from voicing it as a plea, immodest with the craving to be spoiled.

Namjoon chuckled, nosing at the skin behind Yoongi’s ear; Yoongi shuddered. “It’s harder in this position, love,” he took his finger out of Yoongi’s ass, Yoongi mewling at the loss and prompting Namjoon to kiss the spot his nose had been up against, distracting Yoongi. “You can have my cock in your ass while I finger your cunt, if you want?”

Yoongi bit his lip, contemplating, even if his body had already made the decision for him long ago. A few brief seconds had only just passed before he was already nodding, tugging at Namjoon’s arm. He urged Namjoon’s hand back higher up to cup his cunt, his thumb hitting the base of Yoongi’s cock, small enough that the mere width of Namjoon’s thumb was large enough to hit the head of it.

 “Get in me already,” Yoongi said, breathless, “now!”

Namjoon laughed under his breath but obliged. Hitching his hips forward, he tugged his hand free to guide himself, his cockhead nudging at Yoongi’s entrance.

“Breathe, love,” Namjoon reminded, and just as Yoongi did, he pushed in.

“Ah,” Yoongi threw his head back against Namjoon’s shoulder. His back arched, but he pushed his groin back anyway to meet Namjoon’s thrust as Namjoon seated himself to the hilt in one go. His fingers digging into Namjoon’s arm, he had half a mind to remember what he wanted, the gaping of his pulsating cunt prompting Yoongi to shove Namjoon’s arm down even as he heaved for breath as his ass was stretched in a way it hadn’t been in a long while now.

“Is this good for you?” Namjoon whispered, breathing hot against Yoongi’s ear. He sheathed his fingers back in Yoongi’s cunt, three fingers making their home within Yoongi’s walls. “Is this enough?”

Yoongi stifled a moan, his lips pressed together as he turned his head to the left, seeking Namjoon’s mouth against his. It wasn’t until Namjoon complied, their lips pressed against each other’s that Yoongi responded, letting their mouths brush against each other. “So good,” he said, his voice airy. “So good for me, Namjoon-ah,” his voice pitched into a keen as Namjoon reared his hips back, his fingers and cock thrusting into Yoongi in equal tandem.

His head fell to the pillow as Namjoon kept thrusting into him, his pace measured and too agonizingly slow for Yoongi’s taste. But the drag of Namjoon’s cock against the walls of his ass, his fingers squelching with every push into his cunt, slick forced to come out in abundant gushes as he scissored his fingers and carved a larger space for himself within Yoongi – that satiated a deep itch within Yoongi, one he hadn’t realized had been growing over the moon cycles they’d been unable to properly unite in the frenzy of other arrangements.

His cunt grew sloppy, his ass slick with Namjoon’s precum, dripping so much Yoongi would have wondered if he hadn’t come already. It caused for a sound Yoongi had become long familiar with, one that would have him blushing at any other moment, but now, it was only an addition to all his other senses, sensations attacking Yoongi from every standpoint. The feel of Namjoon plastered to his back, their sweaty skin flush against each other, Namjoon inside him, the cloying smell of their musky arousal, the squelching sound of each thrust, the slap of skin against skin each time Namjoon pushed inside…

But it didn’t keep him satisfied for long.

His orgasm grew within him, like the steady waves lapping against a shore, each thrust within his holes akin to a tide bringing him a step closer to tumbling over. But at the very edge he remained, teetering without balance yet somehow still in place, refusing and unable to fall.

Yoongi cried in frustration, slamming himself face first into the pillow under his head.

“Hm?” Namjoon enquired, his wordless hum revealing his own desperation with how strained he sounded.

“Stop–” Yoongi gasped as Namjoon rutted into him, but then groaned when Namjoon immediately ceased his movements, pelvis snug against Yoongi’s tailbone. “No – shibal – Namjoon! Don’t stop! Move faster!”

Namjoon burst into laughter, one he wisely muffled into Yoongi’s neck. But he resumed moving again – slowly at first, before his thrusts began to pick up speed. “You know I can’t go too fast,” he said, and he was moving faster already, yes, but not as fast as Yoongi knew him capable of doing. “And I can’t go too hard,” the drag of Namjoon’s cock was slow as he pulled out, but when he slammed back in, it was with more force than he’d been using prior, even if not at full strength. “But I can try a little bit of both.”

Namjoon was beginning to sound far too collected for Yoongi’s liking, using more words than Yoongi cared to process. But Namjoon had picked up the pace, was ramming into him with more vigor, and it was enough to have Yoongi sway closer and closer to the edge.

While he kept one hand on Namjoon’s arm, his right hand lashed out. He grabbed onto the sheet, as if in a desperate attempt to keep himself grounded even when he knew plummeting over the edge really felt like he would soar into the skies first before falling and crashing back to reality.

But Namjoon would always be there to catch him with open arms, taking responsibility for having Yoongi ascend to such great heights in the first place.

And it felt like it — felt like Namjoon was already ready to hold him close, as he shifted so that he was no longer holding himself up with his hand. Freeing his hand, Namjoon kept pressing kisses to the skin behind Yoongi’s ear, even as his right hand snaked under Yoongi, both his arms encircling Yoongi now. His hand grazed against his ribs, palming at the side of his breast before catching his nipple between his fingers. 

“Hah—” Yoongi gritted his teeth and hissed through them. Namjoon was rolling the nub between his forefinger and his thumb, and Yoongi’s nipple had already felt raw from Namjoon’s earlier ministrations. With Namjoon tracing his areola and pinching at his nipple, Yoongi had to stifle a sob at the sparks that shot through his entire breast, his chest aching with delightful pain.

All the while, Namjoon never stopped rocking into Yoongi steadily, his motions hard and deep, never faltering. Yoongi’s breathing grew shallow, his eyes pinching closed, fingers white as he dug into the sheets. “Yes,” Yoongi’s voice hitched, his face pressing into his extended arm instead, his slackened mouth allowing the excessive drool pooling in his mouth to slip out and smear over his bicep. “So close,” he groaned against his own arm.

“Yeah?” Namjoon asked, and oh, there was the slip of his composure, the formality of his words finally falling away as he spoke candidly into Yoongi’s ear. “You’re going to cum for me?”

Yoongi nodded helplessly, saliva all over his arm and face, hair strands getting caught in the crossfire and sticking to Yoongi’s face. He was unable to respond, eyes still shut tight as he teetered, back and forth, closer and closer to toppling entirely.

“Then cum for me, love,” Namjoon whispered, and his thumb, that had still sat snug against the base of his cock, moved. “Cum for me.” A stroke up the length of it, his thumb extending completely to dig into the slit at the head even as his fingers curled upwards, his cock pressed as far in as it could go, and Yoongi shouted, deep and guttural, the air being punched out of his lungs as he hunched inwards as he came.

Namjoon followed him with the motion, not letting their bodies part an inch as he curled over Yoongi’s back as well as drawing his own knees up behind Yoongi’s, keeping them close. His hips kept rocking despite the awkward position, rutting into Yoongi’s ass even while Yoongi did his best to resemble a curled up shrimp. Namjoon’s cock was hard and throbbing within him, precum slicking his walls but Namjoon didn’t cum yet. Focused on Yoongi, he kept grazing at that spot inside Yoongi’s cunt with his fingers, drawing out his orgasm as slick gushed out of his cunt beside Namjoon’s fingers, cum spurting out of his twitching cocklet and wetting Namjoon’s thumb. Namjoon’s fingers kept twisting and pinching Yoongi’s nipple, tugging it outwards before pressing the pads of his fingers harder into the extra flesh of Yoongi’s breast, dimpling the skin and reddening it.

The onslaught of Namjoon’s relentless attacks throughout various spots of his body had Yoongi wailing into the sheets, forehead pressed to the crook of his elbow. His orgasm seemed to draw on for an eternity, stars exploding into a supernova behind Yoongi’s closed eyelids. He cried out as he kept spilling from his cunt and cocklet, Yoongi’s hanbok still below them thoroughly ruined at this point. His muscles quivered and clenched, tightening around Namjoon, whilst his cock like it was being wrung dry, Namjoon rubbing along the base of it in gentle strokes with the pad of his thumb.

“Nam–Joon—ah,” Yoongi sighed as he came down. It felt like his soul was drifting to the earths from the highest level of the sky, waves of pleasure cascading throughout his body in pulses as his body calmed. One by one, his muscles relaxed, his fist relenting its death grip on the sheets, his nails pulling out of where they’d been embedded into Namjoon’s arm. His body slumped into a boneless puddle on the bed within the cradle of Namjoon’s arms, only his holes still weakly pulsing around Namjoon before that too died down.

As he came back to his body, Yoongi became aware of the throbbing length still buried in his ass, a hard and heavy weight remaining unmoving. His body internally protested at the thought of moving, yet Yoongi refused to lay still and ignore Namjoon any longer. He peeled his head off his arm to peer over his shoulder at where Namjoon was taking measured breaths, mouth pressed to the back of Yoongi's neck with his eyes closed.

“You–” his voice sounded hoarse and dry, as if he’d spent hours screaming and ran his throat ragged. Swallowing, Yoongi tried again to get the words out, even if at a husky whisper. “You didn’t cum yet,” he managed to get out.

Namjoon hummed, neither opening his eyes nor pulling his face away from where he was almost hiding against Yoongi’s skin.

Mouth working uselessly, Yoongi clenched his ass instead. With his face turned towards him, he had a close view of the miniscule frown causing a furrow between Namjoon’s eyebrows as he squeezed around Namjoon’s cock. “Keep going, Namjoon,” Yoongi said, and that had Namjoon opening an eye to stare at him with concern. “I can take it.”

Both eyes open, he stared at Yoongi. When Yoongi only met his gaze evenly and with steady reassurance, Namjoon began to rock his hips, their eyes locked. A few thrusts in, though, and Namjoon gained confidence and picked up the pace, and Yoongi’s head was falling back onto the pillow, his eyes falling to half mast.

Namjoon bent over him, pressing his mouth to Yoongi’s jaw this time with Yoongi still facing the ceiling. He would get a crick in his neck with his current position for sure; body facing one way with his head turned to the side. But the sensation of Namjoon laving sloppily at Yoongi’s jawline was – while lewd and kind of gross – was perfect in the moment, Yoongi humming low in his throat with satisfaction while Namjoon thrusted into him repeatedly.

Slipping his hand down Namjoon’s arm, he tugged Namjoon’s hand out of his cunt, biting his lip as his cunt was emptied and cock was freed. Uncaring of the wet mess of Namjoon’s hand, he interlaced their fingers below his belly. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, Namjoon’s encroaching mouth nipping at it. He let his mouth open, inviting Namjoon’s tongue in, and let their tongues rub against each other briefly before he tilted his head a centimeter to the side, freeing his mouth.

“Are you close, Namjoon-ah?” He asked. Yoongi didn’t intend to hurry him. Rather, he pitched his voice to be more airy, knowing the breathy quality of it interspersed with hitches between the words prompted by Namjoon’s thrusts wouldn’t be without effect.

Combined with Yoongi making the conscious effort to squeeze his tired muscles, clenching down on Namjoon’s cock, he was gratified to hear a pained groan tearing its way from Namjoon’s throat.

“Yeah,” Namjoon grunted. He pressed his forehead to Yoongi’s cheek as his hips bucked forward, driving into Yoongi’s ass repeatedly. “I – I’m gonna–”

Yoongi lifted his free hand, reaching over his face to pat at Namjoon’s cheek. He rested his hand there, his fingertips brushing against Namjoon’s hair. “You can cum, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi encouraged. “Cum inside me.”

Namjoon groaned – almost a yell, really. His hips sped up, the slightest bit faster than he said he would, earlier. His neck craned, face sliding against Yoongi’s, as his hips lost his rhythm. Seconds later, Namjoon pressed his hips against Yoongi’s one last time, and froze, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside Yoongi’s ass as he flooded his insides with his hot seed.

Yoongi groaned at the liquid heat, quieter than Namjoon, but his fingers still went stiff over Namjoon’s cheek, his mouth salivating.

Namjoon let out a small whine as Yoongi’s ass wrung out the last spurts of cum from his cock. His body was ramrod stiff before he absolutely melted, dropping like a leaden weight. His arm was almost pinning Yoongi’s waist to the bed.

Yoongi sighed, stroking Namjoon’s cheek as Namjoon panted against his skin. Wiggling around, Namjoon’s arm weakly loosened their hold enough for Yoongi to roll onto his back. Removing his left hand from Namjoon’s, he slipped his arm under Namjoon’s neck. Replacing the grasp they’d held with his right hand instead, he held Namjoon close as Namjoon tucked his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck.

“I missed this,” Yoongi said, a perpetual smile on his lips as he stared at the ceiling. His left hand played with Namjoon’s hair, unbothered by the sweaty mess as he dragged his fingers through the tangled strands.

Namjoon squeezed his hand. His other arm was trapped between Yoongi and the mattress, but he didn’t seem to mind, letting his fingers dance over the skin of Yoongi’s belly from the side. “I did too. But,” he pressed a kiss to Yoongi’s neck, where his mouth already was, “I liked this better.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon nuzzled his neck. “I get to actually touch you and mark you as mine,” he responded simply. “I don’t have to hold back anymore.”

His cheeks heated even as Yoongi’s smile grew into a grin. “I recall you saying otherwise a few minutes ago,” he said instead. “You refused to move like you used to. I remember being left a lot more sore than how you dealt with me now.”

“That’s different,” Namjoon retaliated, but his tone was still mild, voice weary and body relaxed. “You weren’t so fecund then.”

“So you like me better when I’m pregnant and you can’t exert yourself as strenuously as I know you’re capable of?”

“Well, I certainly like you pregnant with my child.”

Yoongi freed his hand to swat at Namjoon’s side, Namjoon turning his head to chuckle into his shoulder.

“Are you going to keep me constantly swollen with your children?” Yoongi bemoaned. “Do I only appeal to you better when I’m round from your virility?”

Namjoon hummed. Yoongi could feel his lips stretching into a coy smile against his shoulder. “That’s definitely a delightful visual,” he said. Before Yoongi could swat him again, Namjoon was tilting his head up, staring at Yoongi with far more sincerity than Yoongi was expecting.

“You always appeal to me, Yoongi,” Namjoon said. Yoongi’s breath was caught as their gazes locked, not allowing Yoongi to look away.

“Even before you began to fill out with the signs of a new life within you. It is not just your physical appearance but your mental fortitude, your resilience and spirit. Glimpses of your character a mere year ago now had been enough to draw me to you like a moth to a flame. And I am happy to have perished in your radiance.”

Yoongi softened, his previously rebuking hand turning gentle as he cupped Namjoon’s cheek instead. “Has it been a full year already?” He contemplated to himself, before his eyes focused on Namjoon again. “You should never have to sacrifice yourself for me, Namjoon-ah.”

“It would be the most honorable way for me to go,” Namjoon said simply, truthfully.

“And yet, I’d rather have you alive and well, by my side,” Yoongi returned. “What good is a light without one to admire and have use for it?”

“You are not incapable without me,” Namjoon said, leaning into Yoongi’s hand. “Your brilliance can enrapture anyone in its vicinity.”

“Be that as it may, I’d rather have you than not. I’m better with you,” Yoongi put plainly. “It is only with you that I found love, that I see children – however many – in my future, that I feel safety and stability with. I found a home with you, Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon sighed, closing his eyes. “And the same for me,” he breathed out. “I may have been living all these years. But you give me life, Yoongi.” He pressed a kiss to Yoongi’s palm, the touch tickling his skin.

“Then consider it a reason to keep living,” Yoongi whispered, “just as you have done for me.”

Capturing Yoongi’s hand in his, Namjoon held on to it as he leaned down, pressing a chaste yet long kiss to his lips.

“For you, Yoongi-yah,” Namjoon whispered against Yoongi’s lips, “I shall do anything, love.”

Yoongi smiled, wide and free.