Archive of Our Own

Tae remembers nothing. He is a twenty-year-old man, and he remembers nothing . His memories start when he was eight years old--anything before that is null. To his own (incomplete) name were the tattered clothes on his body and a broken binyeo. An incomplete name, inscribed on the pin--the words "Together in Japan, to my Tae--" on the gold stem, before the words are cut off, right where the pin is broken off. He cherishes it with his life .

The people of the orphanage said they had found him wandering around, barefoot and cold, and much too young to be on his own--a dead look in his eyes, mouth firm and pressed tightly, and a look wholly mature for someone his age.

" You wouldn't speak to us. You wouldn't eat and you wouldn't drink. You remembered nothing, yet you were always afraid. "--is what they had told him twelve years later, when he was desperate and grieving for reasons he did not know. They had retrieved a box from a hidden compartment beneath the floorboards, wooden and splintering, and had shown him the broken binyeo, carefully wrapped in a piece of cloth that looked far too expensive to be found in an old, withering orphanage. " This was clenched in your hand when we found you, but it was broken. That's where you got your name--Tae, our Taetae ." Hangyeol, the old man that cared for the orphans, had whispered gently, holding out the broken binyeo to him, and he'd taken it graciously, handling it with a care he never knew he possessed. His eyes flitted between his caretakers, Hangyeol and Bongcha, his wife, and then down to the cold pin warming up in his palm. This was something .

" You're twenty now, Tae-ah, and we don't want to keep you here if you don't want to. " Bongcha spoke slowly, as to not spook him, and she reached for her husband's hand, briefly glancing at him before looking back at Tae. " Go find your family. You deserve to know. "

Two days later, with a hastily-packed bag, and his binyeo tied up in leather and hanging from his neck, he finds himself at a crossroad. Go left, and he'd end up in Wonju, where Hangyeol had assured him he'd find a job--where he'd forever remain Tae, an orphan with no memories and nothing to his name. Go right--go to Hanseong, the capital... and he'd... Find answers? Find his family--where he belongs? Maybe even nothing at all, and he'd have wasted his time and would have to go back to Wonju for a job.

He's standing in front of a crossroad, and it'll take one step to either change his life forever, or go on about living as an orphan. A small decision with a larger than life weight.

"Oh god..." he sighs to himself as he drops his satchel to the snowy ground. He's been walking for hours, legs exhausted and lungs protesting from all the cold and harsh air, and now he's faced with this taxing decision to make. He'd tied his hair back some time ago, falling down to the base of his back having grown long from the many years of choosing to not cut it. Some strands have fallen loose to frame his face, and he blows an exasperated breath when they tickle his lips. Snow catches in his lashes, and he flutters them tiredly, as he drops unceremoniously onto the soft snow, not caring when the dampness seeps into his already-not-doing-much-to-combat-the-weather clothes--though Bongcha had chastised him and urged him to wear more layers because ' such a thin frame will do nothing to keep you warm ', he's grown accustomed to the cold after so many years of living in an old orphanage with at least ten other kids at a time, having to share clothes and blankets, and often days Tae would give his day's food and blankets to whoever needed them more.

His eyes flit around, taking in his surrounding--nothing but bare, black branches and powder-soft snow.  His hand goes up unconsciously to grasp the broken binyeo hanging from his neck, the gold cold and the encrusted jewels smooth and polished to a fine finish, and he wonders why something this valuable was ever in his possession. But he knew, whatever--or rather, whoever was in Japan would know, and he'd have the answers he never knew he would ever have to search for.

He looks down at his lap, the threadbare fabric of his durumagi, the fingerless gloves he fashioned himself, the less than pristine state of his baji, and thinks that a pin like this does not belong with someone like him. Something of such fine quality, he can't imagine having owned it, and he wonders what his life was like before he had forgotten everything. And someone had gifted this to him--that had to mean he was important to someone, loved by someone , and his heart aches and his eyes suddenly sting because life is cruel and he can't remember ever living. All he's ever known was poverty and struggle, and though the love of both Bongcha and Hangyeol and all the other orphans had warmed his heart these past twelve years, he still can't shake off this feeling that he's betraying whoever gave him this pin--forgetting whoever they are and whatever life he had with them when they so clearly cared about him.

He lets the tears fall down his face, hot against his chilled cheeks, and if he lets out a pained sob, no one is there to hear. His lips--though tightly pressed to futilely suppress his sobs--quiver with the grief--the absolute anguish, because no matter how many years have passed, no matter how many people he's met and come to know, the days he spent with the younger orphans and the shopkeepers, he'll never get over the fact that he is--essentially and with all meaning of the word--alone. His hand clenches around the pin, thumb swiping over the delicate, carved leaf design at the base of it. He has to find whoever gave him this binyeo, and that won't ever happen if he's working in Wonju as a shopkeeper's assistant.

Mind made up, Tae springs from his position sitting on the snow and wipes away his tears, sniffling as he picks up his satchel, and with firm steps, goes right.

The capital is worlds different from his small village in Haeju. People walk in the streets dressed in fine silks--women decorated in glimmering jewels and glittering fabrics, carrying parasols to shade themselves from the sun, and men with their heads held high, scholars carrying scrolls with spectacles low on their noses. None of the people have dirt on their shoes or stains on their clothes, and Tae feels out of place among such people with fine titles, keeps his head hung low as he walks along the sides, closer to the merchants and their stalls. He gets this urge to tuck the binyeo beneath the neckline of his jeogori, and just as he does so, he's approached by a merchant, who looks at him with a curious look in his eyes.

"You're not from around here, are you boy?" The man has a friendly smile on his face, withered with time and tiresome labour, and he ushers Tae towards his stall, where he has fine jewels and decorative pins on display. Tae shuffles closer cautiously, his hands unconsciously clenching around the strap of his satchel resting against his side.

"How could you tell?" Tae eventually says, and he gives the merchant what he thinks is a nervous smile, all to appear friendly and unassuming.

"Your hair, for one," the merchant pauses for a moment, fiddling with his merchandise, and at his matter-of-fact tone, Tae pulls at his hair, bringing it over his shoulder. "I'd remember seeing a fellow like you with such hair--can't have long hair 'round here, the rich folk wouldn't like that." The merchant juts his chin at it and raises his eyebrows. "I'd put it away if I were you." And that's all it takes for Tae to hastily pull his hair into a haphazard topknot, the merchant laughing at his frantic behavior.

"Your staring was another--" the merchant continues, and he pulls Tae closer, his voice growing quiet and hushed, "all us common folk know not to stare at the nobility. If you'd been caught staring, they would have taken you in, thinking that you were gonna rob 'em." He gives him an unimpressed look and then points at a group of guards sitting in the sun and drinking without a care in the world, "they're watching us--all the fault of that Jungkook boy."

"Jungkook?" Tae tries to hide his interest, but the way the merchant looks at him with a teasing smile and a knowing look in his eyes tells him he's doing a bad job.

"Trouble maker, that boy. He's got this way with escaping the law--the people never know what he's up to, but they say that he can get you whatever you want."

At that, Tae perks up. Maybe he can get me to Japan . Tae can't contain his smile as he fervently takes the hand of the merchant into his own gloved hands. "Where can I find him?" He says all too eagerly.

The merchant is shocked for a grand total of two seconds before he lets out an amused chuckle, pats Tae's hands gently. "I see you're looking for something." He smiles at him before he moves past him hastily, looks around the street, and then walks back towards Tae. The merchant pulls him closer and cups his hand around Tae's ear. "You'll find him at the abandoned palace."

"Gyeongbokgung Palace?" Tae asks incredulously. He hadn't known the palace was still abandoned so many years after the attack on the royal family. He's heard the sole survivor of the royal family was the first Prince, Grand Prince Namjoon, but he lives abroad in a Japan estate with his first cousin, Prince Seokjin, and his uncle’s wife, Great Princess Kimiko. Maybe that's why no one lives there anymore, left alone and unattended. He guesses it didn’t matter anyway, now that the military took control of the country.

"Yes, but you didn't hear it from me."

It's a long way to the abandoned palace, and Tae's all too eager to throw himself onto the floor and sleep off his exhaustion. The steps that lead to the palace gates are cracked and in rumbles, and he treads carefully, hands holding his satchel securely. The pin is cold against his heated chest, and he pulls it out the minute he's in the palace grounds. It's oddly clean, no signs of the protests and the chaos of rioting people from over ten years ago. The trees are overgrown and the grass is tall, peeking from beneath the thin layering of snow.

One thing he realized, being in the capital, was that it was much warmer here. Though there is snow all around, the sun's heat is warm on his back, nothing like the cloudy days back in his village, and he finds himself slipping off his gloves, pulling off his durumagi, and discarding them mindlessly as he walks further into the palace grounds.

He walks into what he assumes are ceremonial grounds, still decorated with lanterns and streamers, banquet tables lining the perimeter, all from those years back when the royal family was celebrating its century-long rule. He walks along the tables, fine porcelain plates covered in years worth of dust and a thin sheet of frost. He walks onto the raised walkway that goes along the perimeter of the grounds, and brushes his fingers along the wooden surfaces, silently marveling at the fine vases and glass works, and he can't help the feeling that all this seems familiar, like a memory from a lost dream.

Once Taehyung knows everyone had retired to their chambers and fallen asleep, he escapes his room and runs off to Namjoon's, his older brother, and they'd spend the moon hours out in the palace garden, playing in the grass and picking flowers to wove into wreaths. They'd share hushed secrets and Namjoon would tell his little brother stories that would pull merry laughter and joyous giggles from him. They dance and spin and climb the large and ancient ginkgo tree in the middle of the palace garden, though Taehyung always needs Namjoon's help climbing down.

They avoid playing by the pond after that one time he'd fallen in--he had woken up after that night with a high fever and an upset stomach, and Namjoon had looked at him with a guilt-ridden expression all while sitting by his bed, carding his fingers through his sweat-damp locks.

"Big brother!" Taehyung exclaims with a voice that drips too much admiration and hopeless love for a four-year-old, eyes sparkling as they're trained on his brother, who's scavenging for small rocks. "Is it true that you'll be emperor one day?"

At the blossoming age of seventeen, talk of Crown Prince Namjoon ascending the throne was not uncommon. Their father is growing tired--despite his young age, and with that, Namjoon's training to become his successor is put into action, and his time with Taehyung is few and far between, dwindling to the hours spent beneath the moonlight. "We must not talk about such things Tae-ah, it's not nice." Namjoon tries to say in a way that won't put Taehyung in a sour mood, and he turns around to face his little brother, the light of his life. He pulls him closer, sits him in his lap, and he tucks a flower into his long, silken hair.

"Do you not want to be emperor, big brother?" Taehyung looks at him through long, wispy lashes, his lower lip jutted out in confusion, and Namjoon's heart stutters at the sight, pulling his brother closer to his chest.

"It's not that little one. If people were to hear us speaking of such things, they might misunderstand us, and then we'd be in trouble." Namjoon says in a gentle tone, his hands rubbing comforting circles against Taehyung's small back.

There's a moment of silence, and Namjoon thinks Taehyung has fallen asleep on his lap, his breaths even and his body still, but then Taehyung's little hands are clenching at his nightshirt, an almost desperate gesture.

"I don't want us to be in trouble, big brother. I want us to stay happy." When Taehyung looks up at Namjoon, the moon shining in his eyes and his lashes glistening with tears, Namjoon vows to protect his darling younger brother with everything he has.

Jungkook has only known a life of having barely enough of anything at all times.

The cruel reality was that he was constantly surrounded by luxuries--polished and pristine and practically sparkling. Pampered pretty faces and high-held heads, people who looked at him down their snobby noses.

Look but do not touch , they had always said, when he was newly brought in to work in the kitchens of the palace.

One less boy on the streets , the kitchen staff had said, when they had seen him standing in front of the chief palace lady, Jeongja, by the kitchen entryway.

They'd taken him in and given him a bath, scrubbed his skin till it turned red, and combed through the tangles and knots in his shaggy-cut hair. The clothes they'd given him had belonged to a kitchen maid's son, who'd now grown old and was working in the palace stables.

" His name's Jimin. He's the only other boy working in this part of the palace--all the others chose to go into the soldier training program, but my Jimin chose to stay close to me. I'll introduce you two when he comes around for lunch. " She had whispered to him when she was helping him into his new clothes. " You look young. " She added after a moment of silence.

" I turn seven this fall, ajumeoni. "

The look she had given him could only have been described as resigned--children should be spending their time playing out in the sun and burrowing in dry, warm dirt looking for beetles and worms, not polishing pots and shining chopsticks. She had given him a sad smile as she fixed his collar. " My Jimin turns seventeen--this fall too, but I think you'll get along just well. "

Jimin was short--for his age at least. That was the first thing Jungkook had taken notice of.

His hair was short too: trimmed right to his nape. Jungkook assumed it was to keep from getting too hot working all day under the blistering sun of the capital.

His eyes were narrow, his cheeks round, and his lips full. When Jimin had first looked at him, he had looked confused, then amused, and then sad. And then he smiled at him, eyes squinting and cheeks pinching upwards, wide and bright and inviting. He had a chipped tooth.

" You must be Jungkook. " His voice was dulcet, quiet and calming, and he had reached out a hand. His hands were small too. Dirty and rough, but gentle and warm.

Jungkook had liked Jimin. 

Jimin had sat with him on the warm grass outside the kitchens and had eaten lunch with him, and told him stories about the royals--about the kind yet bratty first Princess of the emperor’s second wife, and how she often went about her day red-cheeked and pouty-lipped from one too many lectures from her brothers, about the rumors he’d heard about the emperor wanting another wife, about the quiet and gentle Crown Prince who often visits the stables to feed and groom the horses, and about the Crown Prince’s shadow . 

The Crown Prince’s younger and only full-blood sibling, Prince Taehyung. The only children of the emperor’s first and late wife. The young Prince followed his brother everywhere, Jimin had told him, and that he was the youngest among his six siblings. 

Jungkook had listened to him with wide eyes and cheeks stuffed with steamed rice and root vegetables as Jimin listed off the royals that he had to get acquainted to--

“ Emperor Sanghoon, who you won’t see much, if ever. His late first wife, Empress Ahnjong, who died within a few days of Prince Taehyung’s birth. Grand Prince Junghoon is emperor Sanghoon’s elder brother, but he had relinquished the throne after falling in love with a Japanese performer. He and his wife Great Princess Kimiko live in Japan with their only child Prince Seokjin. He’s the eldest of the brothers’ children--he turns twenty this winter. ” He paused to chew on whatever pickled vegetables they could spare. “ Crown Prince Namjoon is the eldest of his siblings--he turns eighteen this fall. Then came Princess Chaeyoung, born of the emperor’s second wife, Yon, is the emperor’s eldest daughter, who turned seventeen three moons ago. The twins, Prince Youngmin and Kwangmin. Troublemakers those two, they recently turned thirteen. They’re nice enough--they greet me well when they come to ride their horses and always offer to help groom them afterwards. ” Jimin leaned in with a teasing smile on his lips. “ They always go about thinking I can’t tell them apart, and they always pretend to be the other, but I can always tell. ” Jungkook couldn’t help the way he smiled slightly, picking at a grain of rice stuck to the line of his lips. They were both done with their food, but they were hidden enough from the other kitchen staff to have a few more minutes to themselves. 

Jimin continued. “ The second Princess, Jayoon, isn’t seen much around the palace. She often spends her time by the edge of the forest with her little brother Gongmyeong, the fourth Prince. They’re turning eleven and ten respectively a few days from now. ” He smiled slightly as he made to pick up their empty plates. “ And then there’s little Taehyung, the fifth Prince, who’s turning five this winter. The emperor calls him his snow flower--his beloved youngest child. Losing the first empress only made him treasure the Prince even more. The palace staff love him, and he’s much too young to care for class differences, so he loves them just the same. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch sight of him in the palace garden--it’s the only time he’s not trailing after his brother. ”

He didn’t see much of Jimin after that, only meeting up for lunch every few days right when the sun set, but he had kept an eye out for the young Prince who people only seem to wax poetic about. 

Jimin’s mother, Kwan, had sent him out of the kitchen when he had grown whiny and tired one day, a bone-deep exhaustion making him inefficient, and she had told him to go spend some time in the sun, and it was there that he met the young Prince. 

One of the many differences between him and the young Prince was his long obsidian locks, falling to the base of his back, nothing like his own closely trimmed brown tufts. His clothes were fine, gold thread woven into pretty patterns and delicate outlines, and he now understood why people seemed to be so enamored by the young Prince. 

He was gentle, careful, as he plucked flowers delicately, actions much too deliberate for someone who hadn't turned five yet. He was sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him, feet surprisingly bare, and his small hands were fiddling with a cluster of flowers. Jungkook saw that his magoja was tossed off to the side, carelessly thrown in the overgrown grass, and that the edges of the Prince’s jokki were blemished with the sun-warmed soil, dirt speckled across the otherwise pristine fabric.

Pink cheek-ed and freckly nose-d and sparkly eye-d, Jungkook understood .

Jungkook startled when the Prince turned to face him, a confused expression crossing his face before he’s smiling brightly.

“ How old are you? ” Prince Taehyung’s voice was sweet, his words were clear and sure, and he made to stand up. From the distance, Jungkook could tell that the Prince would only come up to his shoulders. “ You look older--you’re much taller, but big brothers Youngmin and Kwangmin are taller than big sister Chaeyoung, and she’s older than them. ”

The Prince spoke in a manner much more refined than his own, didn’t slur his words or go over his syllables, and Jungkook had pressed his lips tightly as the Prince came to stand in front of him, and he cranes his head slightly to look at him, eyes bright and cheeks ruddy and freckly and a smile stretched across rosebud lips. 

“ I’m turning five. ” The Prince said when Jungkook still didn’t speak up. “ Do you want to play with me? ” He added sweetly with a tilt of his head, the shorter strands of his hair at the front falling to cover his eyes, and Jungkook didn’t know why his hand wanted to reach across to brush them away. Or why his heart was beating fast, for the matter. 

He didn’t have the chance to say anything, because who he assumed was the Prince’s caretaker came rushing towards them, her hands fisted in the fine fabric of her chima. “ Prince Taehyung! ” She fell to her knees, her hands hovering over the Prince’s small body, and she turned to look at Jungkook, eyeing him questioningly. Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder what she thought he could do, what he was capable of as a kitchen boy turning seven soon. 

“ Chohee ajumeoni! ” Taehyung’s small hands cupped his caretaker’s cheeks, and her worried expression faltered, a small smile spreading across her lips. 

Jimin had been right, the Prince cared not for class. 

“ Your Highness, you mustn’t wander off alone. ” She tried to sound firm, but the longer the Prince had his little hands pressed to her cheek, the closer she was to laughing. She sighed, her hands cupping the Prince’s elbows, and she looked at him with a knowing look in her eyes. “ How did you get away, little Prince? ”

“ I followed a butterfly. ”

“ Oh, gods, you’re going to put me in an early grave... ” She sounded exasperated, like this was something that happened far too often for her liking, but she still smiled kindly at the Prince, eyes pinching slightly. 

They seem to both remember that Jungkook was still there, and they both turned to look at him--the caretaker in caution and the Prince in interest. 

“ Aren’t you the new kitchen boy Jeongja brought in? ” She finally said, her arm moving to cradle the little Prince against her chest, standing up with little struggle, and with her free hand she dusted off her and the Prince’s clothes. 

“ Yes, ajumeoni. Kwan ajumeoni sent me out, though. ”

“ You should get back then. The work won’t get itself done. ” She said with an edge to her tone, brows furrowed and lips set in a firm line, before turning back to look at the Prince in her hold, and her change in demeanor gave Jungkook whiplash. 

“ Yes, ajumeoni. ” He had said quietly, as he watched the caretaker walk away from him, Taehyung turning in her arms to offer Jungkook a small wave. 

Jungkook understood . 

At that time, Jungkook thought that that would be the last time he’d ever see the Prince, but he guesses he was wrong. 

“Would you stop looking at that thing and help me clean the room?” Jungkook snaps from his reverie and turns in the direction of the voice. He sees Jimin, sweaty-browed and heaving, piling away broken posts and torn fabric by the grand entrance of the throne room. He’s been at it since last night--right after he told Jungkook of his grand plan to get rich quick. 

“ You and I are more familiar with the royal family than most people here--we’ll find someone to play the part, and teach him what to say, we’ll dress him up and take him to Japan with us. Just imagine the reward his dear older brother would pay. Who else could pull this off but you and me? ” is what he had said when they were sitting around the fire in the abandoned palace’s wide and wrecked courtyard. His eyes were lit by the flame, and Jungkook had called him crazy. 

But now, as Jungkook stares down at his hand--namely, what’s nestled in his palm, maybe Jimin is onto something. 

This might actually work , he thinks to himself, as he inspects the sangtugwan more closely. It is a fine piece--one half of a whole, expertly crafted and carved from gold, inlaid with polished precious stones. It was clearly fashioned to look like a blooming flower, and Jungkook thinks the Prince would have looked… stunning-- for lack of a better and more fitting word--wearing it. He can only imagine what the matching binyeo looked like, probably lost or destroyed during the siege. 

“This thing , Jimin,” he starts, and he stuffs the sangtugwan safely into a closed compartment in his satchel, walking slowly over to where his old friend is standing with his hands dramatically on his hips. “Is what’s going to prove that whoever we bring is the real Crown Prince. One look at this sangtugwan and he’ll think we’ve brought back the real Taehyung.” 

“I still don’t know how you got that thing.”

“And you’ll never know.” Jungkook says a little too harshly, and he sighs when he realizes that, and offers his friend a tired smile. “You said you wanted help?” He says in a quiet tone, and Jungkook’s thankful that Jimin doesn’t push him with more questions, and Jimin simply gestures for a part of the room over Jungkook’s shoulder for him to clean. 

“You can start there. If you see anything interesting, put it off to the side.”

They don’t say much after that, and once the room is completely clean, they walk outside to the courtyard and they start a small fire--the sun is high in the sky, but it does little to warm them. They sit around it silently, and once again, Jungkook finds himself staring at the sangtugwan, and he wonders why he never thought to sell it, but every time he entertains the thought, his chest feels tight and his heart feels heavy, almost like he’s betraying… who exactly, he asks himself. He owes nothing to no one--not the old palace staff who took him in, not the people on the streets who view him as their savior, and certainly not Prince Taehyung, who’s probably dead despite the rumors advertising otherwise. 

“You got a plan on how to find a sort to play the part?” Jungkook says after he feels like the moment of silence has been stretched on far too long, and he looks up from the sangtugwan in his hand to look at Jimin, face cast in a faint orange glow from the fire. 

“No.”

“I knew you were crazy.” 

“Namjoon! Is it true? You’re giving up the throne!?” Chaeyoung startles from her book when Youngmin and Kwangmin burst into the room, their hurried steps thudding against the wooden floors, and she looks up at them with wide, questioning eyes. She’s shocked to see even Jayoon and Gongmyeong trailing behind the twins silently--wait, what? 

“What did you just say?” She looks at Youngmin as though he’s grown another head, and she slams her book shut as she turns to look at Namjoon who was sitting across from her. “What did he just say? Namjoon? You gave up the throne?” She asks in a disbelieving voice, her brows dipping in question, and her lips part soundlessly. 

She has been noticing something was off with her brother recently, ever since his eighteenth birthday. He had been silent throughout the celebration, had smiled hollowly at all the people giving him well wishes for a prosperous future as future emperor, asking him about a bride and his actions, and Namjoon had endured it all with gentle shakes of his head and answers that gave nothing away. 

The crown must have felt heavy on his head for an entirely different reason that night, Chaeyoung thinks to herself, and she doesn’t miss the look of guilt Namjoon gives her before he turns to his brothers and sister.

“I had been thinking about relinquishing my right to the throne for a while now, little ones. And I feel it’s in our best interest that someone other than me be sovereign.” He has a comforting smile on his lips, but Chaeyoung feels no comfort at all.  

“Does that mean big sister Chaeyoung will be empress?” Surprisingly, Gongmyeong’s little voice pipes up, and he tilts his head in question. 

“Not exactly, Myeong-ah.” And there’s that look of guilt again, and Chaeyoung doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“What do you know that we don’t, Namjoon?” Her voice is icy, her stare cold, but Namjoon’s guilt-ridden gaze doesn’t falter. 

“Chaeyoung…”

Chaeyoung forgets to slip on her shoes in her haste, and she rushes down the open walkway around the perimeter of the courtyard to her father’s throne room barefoot. She can hear Namjoon’s frantic footsteps behind her--she only assumes that he had told their siblings to stay back, something along the lines of ‘being too young to be involved in such matters’, but she doesn’t stop to talk things over, doesn’t give him the chance to explain. She doesn’t need him to explain, she knows exactly what happened. She’s been looking at it all her life, the grand scheme of things--the pampering and priming of the future Crown Prince, and it was never Namjoon.

“Father, you must be joking!” She all but yells when she bursts through the doors, interrupting whatever meeting her father was having with his advisors. The elderly men jolt in surprise, some even going as far as scoffing at her ‘un-ladylike manner’, but she ignores them in favor of stomping over to the throne, and she looks at her father with a betrayed look in her eyes. “You can’t make Taehyung Crown Prince--I urge you to change your mind, your majesty.” 

Her father doesn’t look at her still, though he glances at Namjoon briefly, and then at his advisors, whom he dismisses with an apology for the disruption of their meeting. 

Just as the doors are closing behind the elders, the emperor’s hard stare turns to Chaeyoung, and she suppresses the urge to flinch. “This matter does not concern you, daughter.” His voice is firm and leaves no room for discussion, but Chaeyoung doesn’t care, and she walks closer to the throne, her chest heaving and her eyes darting across her father’s face.

“How does this not concern me? I’m your second eldest! It would make perfect sense that I be your next choice of heir--that I be Crown Princess. I insist you reconsider, father!”

“Enough! This matter is not up for discussion. You are not fit to rule--”

“But a complete child is!? Taehyung has not yet turned five! How could he be more fit to rule than me--or any of my siblings for the matter!?”

“I said enough! You show opposition for my finalized decision one more time… You won’t like what might happen, daughter.” He all but spits, and this time Chaeyoung does flinch, her bottom lip quivering. 

She can feel Namjoon’s presence behind her, can feel the warmth emanating from his large hand, and she turns to stare at him before he ever lays a hand on her shoulder. The look she gives him could freeze hell over, and she can see it in the way Namjoon, her ever constant brother, recoils in fear. 

“Don’t touch me, you’re as much at fault here as our foolish father.” She fists the fine fabric of her silk chima and marches out of the throne room. 

“You make sure she doesn’t do anything to Taehyung.” Namjoon turns his attention from watching his sister’s slender, retreating form, and cranes his head to look at his father sitting on the throne, who’s massaging his fingers against his temples. 

Namjoon’s expression drops at the implication of Chaeyoung possibly doing anything to Taehyung--to harm him in any way, and Namjoon feels ridiculous as he runs out of the room and to the palace garden. He feels both relieved and betrayed at the sight of Chaeyoung standing a few feet away from an unassuming Taehyung. 

He still hadn’t caught their attention, and he watches Taehyung from his position behind a wooden post. His little brother looks up upon noticing Chaeyoung standing a way away from him, and he offers her a sweet smile. 

Namjoon can see the side of her face, can see the tears that roll down her cheeks at a rapid pace, and Namjoon’s heart clenches in his chest painfully. She has a dull look in her usually bright eyes, her lips pressed in a firm line, but even from a distance, Namjoon can see it’s to suppress the trembles threatening to take over. 

Namjoon speculates that Chaeyoung knew he was there all along, because when she deliberately turns in his direction, she doesn’t look shocked to see him, and Namjoon’s struck by the sight of her sad, tearful eyes, her wet, streaked cheeks, and the miserable line of her lips. 

“Goodbye, big brother Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s taken aback then. Chaeyoung never called him big brother--they were only a few months apart, he didn’t see the need for her to. They were best friends--the eldest of their siblings, they had spent four years alone before the twins were born--they were so intimately close, and now Namjoon is watching her as she walks away from him. He doesn’t know why he doesn't follow after her--what had she meant by goodbye? 

Namjoon doesn’t realize he’s crying until Taehyung is fisting at the fabric of his po, worrying his puffy rosebud lips between his teeth. “Big brother Namjoon? Why are you crying, big brother?” Namjoon stares at him for a second too long, his eyes unseeing, and then he’s smiling weakly, wiping at his tears with the back of hand. He bends to circle his arms around Taehyung, pulling his slight body against his chest. 

“No matter, little one.” He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of Taehyung’s head, then his little nose, and he tries to smile genuinely at his little brother, if only to ease him slightly, and he turns back towards the palace’s main building where they usually have their lunch. 

“Where’s big sister Chaeyoung going? Why is she sad?”

“You know Tae-ah, we’re having your favorite today for lunch. It’s a special occasion.” Namjoon says instead.

With his back turned, Namjoon doesn’t catch the way Chaeyoung looks out at him from where she stands by the main gates of the palace, heart a million pieces in her chest. 

It becomes an unspoken rule: You do not mention Princess Chaeyoung at all.

But Taehyung can’t help it. And he keeps asking around--where had his oldest sister gone? Why had she left them? What had she left them for? Even Namjoon dodges his questions, offering him empty smiles and distracting and unrelated answers. And while the topic is off Taehyung’s curious mind for the moment, the events loop endlessly.

It’s only a year after her mysterious disappearance does Taehyung stop asking about his sister, and a sense of normalcy falls upon them--though, now Taehyung realizes, there is nothing normal about them. 

The pull Tae feels in his heart, weighing his chest down, can only be described as hypnotic, and he finds himself in the palace garden. He’s hit with a misplaced sense of nostalgia, and Tae can’t place it--can’t for the life of him make out why he, with complete deliberation and consciousness, found himself here. He doesn’t know the significance of it--knows there shouldn't be any, but he still takes in his surroundings; there’s a giant gingko tree in the middle of the grounds, a large pond that’s iced-over sits in its shade, and he finds himself unwillingly walking over to it, steps slow and languid, and he crouches to kneel by the edge of the pond. The layer of ice is thin, clear and shiny, and he can see his reflection on the smooth surface. He realizes his hair is still put up in a messy topknot, and he pulls it loose to plait it over his shoulder, uses a leather thread wrapped around his wrist to tie the end of the braid.

This part of the palace seems to have gone untouched during the siege, but he guess it’s because it was so far into the grounds--everything is in pristine condition, the stone pathways free of any cracks, the walkway going along the perimeter of the ground immaculate all for specks of dirt and dust blown in by years of strong winds with no one to clear after. The wooden posts are polished, the artifacts untouched.

He turns back to stare at his reflection in the icy lake, and suddenly he’s seeing a memory that he doesn’t recall as his own. 

Two boys, one young and one old, running after one another, careless laughter falling past their lips. The same two boys climbing a tree, writing words he can’t read onto washi paper, inky fingers swiping across their cheeks, dancing and spinning, crying and scared, running and yelling, and Tae’s heart is pounding in his chest, erratic, and there are beads of a cold sweat lining his brow. 

He blinks and it’s gone. He heaves a heavy sigh, and he makes to get up from his crouched position. A sudden yell startles him, causes him to lose his balance, and then the next minute all he feels is a bone piercing chill all around him. 

“Oh my gods Jungkook, they fell in, you big idiot!” Jimin rushes past him towards the pond where he had spotted the intruder. In Jungkook’s defense, he didn’t expect the person to fall in when he had yelled at them from across the grounds, but ‘that doesn’t change anything’ as Jimin has told him. He speeds up his pace, catches up to Jimin, and he stops by the edge of the pond. Just as he’s crouching by the pond, the figure emerges for the water with a loud gasp, thin sheets of ice cracking with their every move. 

Their hair is plastered to their face, long inky strands obscuring their vision, and Jungkook reaches across the pond to help them out. “Are you okay?” He doesn’t know what else to say, his hand hovering over their shoulder, and he’s shocked to see them so undisturbed by the fact that they’re soaking in an icy pond. Jungkook had never realized how deep the pond was before--the water comes up to the person’s raised shoulders, their knees peeking slightly from beneath the water’s surface. He catches the glint of something shining beneath the collar of the person’s jeogori, and he averts his gaze when he realizes he’d been staring at their chest. 

Jungkook clears his throat and stretches out his hand to them. “Here, let me help you out.” 

A hand emerges from the water, fingertips blue from the cold, and it brushes the sopping strands away from their face, tucks them behind an ear, and Jungkook has to hold his breath lest he gasps at the sight--eyes that are so black they’re almost blue, a thick spray of lashes framing them, clumped together with water droplets, rosy cheeks and pillowy lips. Three freckles, one at the edge of the person’s-- the man’s --right eye, right along the line of his lower lashes, one on the tip of his pin straight nose, and the third at the outline of his lip, and Jungkook wishes he could trace them with his finger. 

He’s startled out of his trance when the man clears his throat, his own hand stretched out, waiting for Jungkook to pull him out of the pond, and Jungkook shakes his head at himself and holds out his right hand.

That was Jungkook’s first mistake. 

The second the man grabs his hand in a firm grip to heave himself out of the water, a surge of pain blooms at his wrist and goes all the way up to his elbow, and he spasms so forcefully that the man loses his grip on his hand and falls back into the pond. 

“Jungkook!” Jimin exclaims over the sound of the man’s surprised yelp, icy water splashing at both him and Jimin. Jimin pushes past Jungkook, who stands by watching the man struggle against his heavy, soaked clothes, and he cradles his wrist against his chest, fingers delicately massaging the sore area. Jimin finally manages to pull the man out of the pond, icy water dripping in rivulets down every inch of exposed skin, trickling from his clothes, and Jungkook has to pointedly look away from the sight of the man’s wet clothes sticking to his slender frame, the fabric almost translucent. 

“Are you alright?” Jimin says in a gentle voice, hands hovering over the man’s chest. He was tall , Jungkook thinks to himself--Jimin only goes up to just below his chin. 

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way the man ignores Jimin to give him a look . He assumes it’s because he dropped him back into the pond, but that wasn't his fault--ever since the night of the siege more than ten years ago, Jungkook’s right wrist has simply never been the same. He recalls an armed soldier pulling at it at a wrong angle, and when he had been thrown to the floor, the heavy force of one of the soldier’s boots had weighed down against it, his bones creaking, and his pained screams had been lost to the sound of their sick laughter. 

“I’m sorry about my friend, he’s not usually like this.” Jimin says after a moment of silence. And then he jolts in place. “You must be freezing--let’s dry you up and get you a change of clothes.”

Jungkook doesn’t know where he gets this piece of information, but he’s speaking up before he can even stop himself. “Take him to Prince Taehyung’s room, it has its own fireplace.” 

“What? There’s a fireplace in the palace but we've been sitting out here!?” 

Taehyung likes it when the ceremonial grounds are filled with people--they dance and laugh and eat delicious foods together, and Taehyung’s father is finally able to spend time with him. They watch skilled guardsmen wield their swords in an artful performance and fan dancers flutter around dressed in colorful silks and faces painted with bright patterns. 

Cousin Seokjin had sailed in from Japan with Uncle Junghoon, bringing with them mountains of presents--fine clothes and ornate hairpieces and intricate games that were abundant in Japan. Prince Seokjin tells him all about the snow in Japan, how it’s so cold even close to the sea. 

“Is it possible for the sea to become ice, cousin Seokjin? Like the pond in the garden?”

“No, little one--the sea is so vast, far beyond our understanding, and it reaches depths we can’t possibly dream of knowing of. But there are large lakes in Japan that freeze over, and sometimes, when the ice is thick enough, people can skate across it.” Seokjin explains in a gentle voice. A smile stretches across his face at the sight of Taehyung’s wide eyes, at the way they shine under the moonlight. He leans in close to Taehyung and tells him in a hushed voice. “Maybe one day, you can come to Japan with me, and we can skate together.”

“Really?”

“Of course, little one.” 

As the night goes on, more people come to greet Prince Taehyung, offer him well wishes and present him with gifts, and he politely bows to each of them, an excited smile on his face. His father comes to greet him when a particularly persistent lord keeps attempting to ask questions about the sudden switch in titles, and the emperor dismisses him with the excuse of wanting to spend time with his son. 

A merry lyric of laughter falls past Taehyung’s lips when his father picks him up and holds him close to his chest, a secure hand around his thighs while the other rests against the small of his back, his father’s fingers spanning the width of his waist. “How are you enjoying your birthday, my snow flower?”

Taehyung hums at the nickname, and he rests his forehead against his father’s, a sweet smile on his rosebud lips. “I love it very much, father. It is nice to see cousin Seokjin and uncle Junghoon.”

“Yes, big brother Junghoon came all the way from Japan to see his nephew--we must thank him well. But first, Namjoon wishes to speak with you, so be off little one.” He sets him down on the floor with a kiss to his nose--to which Taehyung giggles at, and tells him that his brother is waiting for him by the thrones at the top of the steps, and that he’ll be with them shortly.

Taehyung spots Namjoon in his throne, off to the side next to big brothers Youngmin and Kwangmin’s. Taehyung fists at his ceremonial robes to climb the steps faster.

Namjoon holds a small box. It’s beautifully carved and crafted from rosewood, inlaid with mother of pearl and small green gems, and he holds it securely in his lap. Namjoon looks up from where he was staring at his feet, and his face splits into a smile when he spots Taehyung, breathless and happy and positively glowing. He sets the box aside and he catches Taehyung when he leaps into his arms, squeezes him affectionately against his chest, and whispers to him a quiet ‘happiest birthday, Tae-ah’. 

Namjoon had been missing for the first half of his celebrations, and he wonders if it has anything to do with the box he was holding. 

“I have a special gift for you, little one.”

Taehyung can’t contain his excitement as Namjoon seats him in his lap and opens the box for him. The box is lined with silk, a deep purple color, and nestled in the fabric is a beautiful headpiece. The sangtugwan reflects the moonlight prettily, the gold polished to a mirror finish, and the small, inlaid precious stones glint when Taehyung picks up the piece carefully from the box.

“Joon… It is beautiful, big brother.” Taehyung’s voice doesn't rise above a whisper, mouth opened in awe as he inspects the sangtugwan. It was shaped like a blooming flower, wholly different from the traditional designs that are customary of Crown Princes, and Taehyung’s heart warms in his chest. 

“There’s something inscribed on the binyeo, read it to me, Tae-ah.” 

Taehyung looks at Namjoon in question, his lips quirking upwards slightly as he gently sets the sangtugwan back into the box and picks up the binyeo. It’s just as beautiful, the end of it looks like a leaf to match the blooming flower the sangtugwan was fashioned into, and it is heavy with gems in colors so bright they almost glow even in the dark. He squints as he brings the stem of the binyeo closer to his face, inspecting the inscription carved into it. 

“Together in Japan, to my Taehyung.” Taehyung gasps, his grip around the binyeo tightens and he turns to look at Namjoon, who’s already smiling at him. “Really? Oh big brother! Do we finally get to go?”

“Yes, little one, but I must leave first with cousin Seokjin and uncle Junghoon a moon cycle from now.” Namjoon says with a sad look in his eyes. “So you must be strong while we are separated, but after that never again.” He presses a kiss against Taehyung’s hair, stays there for a second, and then he pulls back to look at his little brother, his darling flower, and he cups his cheek gently. “After that, we’ll always be together--wherever you go, I’ll be with you, Tae-ah.”

But their joy was short-lived. 

A bright flash of lightning, then the palace doors are bursting open with a powerful gust of wind, and in walks someone none of them thought they’d see again. 

Three years later, as they are celebrating Taehyung’s eighth birthday with the announcement of him becoming Crown Prince of the Joseon Empire, and celebrating their century long rule, Chaeyoung finally returns, lightning crackling in her stormy eyes. 

She’s dressed in the blackest of silks, so dark they shine an ominous and deep violet. She’s ghostly--pale as snow, her shoulders and arms bare--the trademark glowing gold and bronze complexion of the royal family gone, and her hair trails behind her, dragging across the floor, bone-white and wispy. Her smile is sharp, wicked and twisted, and when she speaks, Taehyung feels a chill run down his spine, her voice regal and sure. “Your Highness, Crown Prince Taehyung.”

He should be happy--his sister has finally come home, so why isn’t he? Why is he afraid instead? Why is he pushing to hide behind Namjoon? 

Why did she look like that?

But his father speaks up before he could voice any of his questions. “You have no place here anymore, daughter.”

“And yet you call me your daughter still.” Her voice is icy, and her steps slow down when she comes to stand at the foot of the short set of stairs leading to the thrones. “I see your future emperor is still a coward.” Her gaze snaps to Taehyung, who was halfway standing behind Namjoon, and Taehyung doesn’t know if he imagines the way Chaeyoung’s eyes flash an eerie gold, but he blinks and it’s gone. 

“You do not talk to him like that, Chaeyoung.” Taehyung almost startles with how fiercely Namjoon speaks, his large, comforting hands pushing him further behind himself. 

“And you do not talk to your sister like that, Namjoon.” She all but screeches.

“You stopped being my sister the moment you showed ill intentions to my brother--to all of us. I am the oldest--”

“And he’s the youngest! And yet he was given the crown! It should’ve gone to me--I’m the second eldest. It should’ve gone to me! He is but a child, what could he possibly do!?”

“You will not say another word.” The emperor’s voice booms, his children and spectators alike startle at his command, and Taehyung feels his eyes sting. 

Chaeyoung doesn’t seem to startle at her father’s echoing voice, doesn’t flinch in the slightest. If only, her smile seems to grow more sinister, her eyes sharp, and she brings up a delicate hand to brush a strand of her alabaster hair away from her face, long nails tracing her cheek, fingers the color of soot. “You know, father,” she starts, and she turns her back to him to face the crowd, bones shifting hauntingly beneath thin, fragile skin with every move. They all cower at her sight, nothing left of the sweet first Princess they had all come to love. She takes a few steps away from the set of stairs, the crowd of people parting in her path, and her eyes pinch in satisfaction. 

She looks over her bony shoulder, at her father, her siblings, at Taehyung, whose eyes are tearful and cheeks a glaring pink. “The anguish and betrayal burned into the heart of a young Princess proved to be… useful. The spirits of the dark arts require such a host, fueled by anger and grief, and I had been all but willing--a mean to exact my revenge, to get back what was rightfully mine.”

She turns back to face her family--what she once had called her family, and her eyes sparkle with an innocence that’s unbefitting. “Father, don’t make me do this. After all, I am your daughter.”

“You are no daughter of mine. Get out!”

Her switch of expression is jarring, and Taehyung hears the crack of lightning before he sees it. It strikes right where Chaeyoung is standing, the bolts winding around her arms and crackling at her blackened fingertips. She points sharp nails nonchalantly at the emperor, a dark smile stretching her almost violet lips, and Taehyung’s being pushed to the side, falling to the floor, a body crouched over him--caging him--as a powerful surge of lightning from Chaeyoung’s fingertips strikes the emperor. 

“Father!” Taehyung yells out, Namjoon still holding him close and safe, and they both still when Chaeyoung turns to look at them. 

“Mark my words: your family and your darling Taehyung will die within the end of this moon cycle--I will not rest until I see the end of this unjust reign.” Her eyes glow that same eerie gold, smile sinister and voice loud, proud and firm, and she throws her hands up to the sky, sparks crackling at her fingertips. Just like moments ago, a giant bolt strikes down where she’s standing, twining around her thin arms, winding around her torso, and then, in a giant, bright flash--she’s gone, leaving nothing in her wake but a plume of smoke and a choking sense of fear. 

Taehyung’s eyes are wide, tears falling down his cheeks, and he’s being pulled into Namjoon’s lap, a frantic hand in his hair. He can hear his father groaning in pain, but Taehyung can’t seem to move, and it has nothing to do with Namjoon’s secure grip around his slight body. His siblings crowd his father, and he spies the palace physician hovering over him, assuring his siblings that he is in shock but is okay and will get better. But not once did Namjoon turn to their father, to make sure himself that he was fine--his attention stayed unwavering on Taehyung. 

“Big brother, Chaeyoung is back.” He says in place of nothing, his voice dull and hollow.

“That’s not Chaeyoung, Tae-ah. Chaeyoung is gone--that was a monster, someone with nothing to lose.”

Kwangmin was the first to die.

It was the one night he had slept away from his older twin. He’d been slipped a drug in his sleep, and it was a hollow comfort when Namjoon had explained to a sobbing Youngmin that he must have passed peacefully. Then little Gongmyeong, who had separated from his big sister Jayoon while they were playing near the forest, was shot through the heart with a poison-tipped arrow, and it was again Namjoon who had to comfort his siblings, crouched on the floor in Jayoon’s room, cradling her head against his shoulder. The anguish had taken Youngmin’s life--a dagger through his abdomen, and he had laid down next to his twin’s grave, his tears seeping into the freshly overturned soil as he bled to death. Namjoon had been the one to find him like that, and he had thought, as his heart ached and weeped for his siblings dying one after the other as though they were cursed, that at least in death, the twins were together. 

No word was allowed to leave the palace of the emperor’s death. 

He had spent his last moments with Taehyung in his room, holding him close to his chest, and Taehyung had simply let him. It was when he was closing the door to Taehyung’s room behind him that he crumpled to his knees, his breaths growing shallow and his heart finally stopping in his chest. Taehyung didn’t know what was happening just behind the wall, and Namjoon had been keeping it that way--to him, his siblings and their father were simply too busy to spare any of their time. That was what he told him every time Taehyung had asked about any of them. 

He’d found Jayoon in the pond, lips blue and fingers blackened from the bone piercing cold. It was then that he had finally let tears fall down his cheeks. They were all gone, and Namjoon was helpless. He didn’t know what to do--didn’t know how to stop whatever was plaguing them, but he knew he had to stop it before anything happened to his darling brother.

There is only a day left until the end of the moon cycle, and they’ve been plagued with thunderless lightning for the past few. Namjoon’s heart freezes in his chest when he understands. He has to get him and Taehyung out of the palace. 

They’re set to leave at night, and Namjoon spends the day visiting all the palace staff, bidding them a farewell, and handing each of them a generous pouch of gold coins. 

He doesn’t know who tips them off. 

News of the fleeing royal siblings spread like wildfire, along with the death of the emperor and his second wife’s children at the hand of Chaeyoung--the ruthless and heartless sorceress, and their silent and peaceful departure had been disrupted. Groups of angry merchants and rebelling soldiers storm the palace, but they were of their least concerns. A bright flash of lightning, and there his sister is--she stands undisturbed among the rioting men, her shock-white hair almost glowing in the moonlight, and Namjoon hurries to gather Taehyung in his arms, but to his horror, he sees his little brother running off in the direction of his room, and his heart drops to the pit of his stomach. 

“Taehyung-ah!”

“I forgot my headpiece.” Taehyung says as he rushes down the open walkway, and Namjoon has no other choice but to follow after him. When they reach his room, he pushes Taehyung inside and locks the door behind them. He knows it’ll do nothing to keep them from Chaeyoung, but at least it will block out the sounds of the palace being torn to pieces--anything to keep Taehyung unassuming. He doesn’t deserve to feel any of the emotions that had been plaguing Namjoon the past handful of days. 

“Taehyung, we must get out of here.” Namjoon hurries to help Taehyung look for his headpiece, but when they do find it, and Taehyung struggles to store it into his satchel, a spark of light cracks just outside the thin screen separating the room from the balcony area. 

This is it, they were both going to die, and it was all because their father had acted upon bias rather than tradition. Just as Namjoon is about to pull Taehyung close to him, to press a final kiss to his crown, he feels frantic hands grabbing him, fisting at his clothes. 

It’s a servant boy--the one that was always following around Jimin, and he’s pulling them towards an opening in the wall that hadn't been there before. 

“This way, out the servants’ quarters.” The servant boy says, pushing them through the small passageway. “It’ll take you to the edge of the castle, but you’ll have to scale the wall.”

Just as they make their way through the passage, the small door shutting behind them soundlessly, Namjoon hears the doors to Taehyung’s room burst open and--what Namjoon assumes--a group of rioters push through, asking about his and Taehyung’s whereabouts. 

Namjoon’s throat dries up at the dull thunk that sounds through the wood of the small door, and he swallows uselessly. He owes that boy his life. 

They make it out of the servants’ quarters, but they still have to go a small way to the wall, and luck doesn't seem to be on their side. The familiar crack of lightning sounds from behind them, its light casting their shadows across the wooden floor of the walkway. 

As Namjoon and Taehyung are escaping for the wall, Chaeyoung launches herself at Taehyung, tackling him to the ground. Namjoon falls upon impact, and screams indignantly. He’s scrambling for anything to help Taehyung escape Chaeyoung’s clawed-clutch when he hears the sharp crackle of lightning and Taehyung’s pained yell. Chaeyoung has her fingers wrapped around Taehyung’s neck, grip bruising and bolts of lightning spastic, and Taehyung chokes out a cry. 

Namjoon spies and grabs a bow that was mounted on the wall, along with a steel-tipped arrow, and aims for Chaeyoung. His hands shake, grip unstable, and his heart clenches in his heaving chest. This is his sister, and he has to kill her. But he has no choice--either she dies, or his darling Taehyung dies. Taehyung, who has never done anything wrong in his life, who deserves to live more than anyone else. Tears well in his eyes, and he pulls back on the bow string, aims, and lets the arrow fly.

Namjoon has always been a good marksman. 

The arrow pierces right through her heart, the blood seeping through, and it stains her haunting dress a dark, grim red, dripping in rivulets down onto Taehyung’s tear-streaked cheeks. 

Chaeyoung gasps more from shock than pain--though Namjoon doubts she can feel any--and she looks at him with a sick smile, blood staining her teeth, and Namjoon remembers a time when he loved seeing that smile, loved seeing his siblings happy and wracked with laughter, but the sight in front of him is anything but, and he’s suddenly struck by how twisted and turned things had gotten. 

“Namjoon… you surprise me everyday.” She whispers, thin, black-tipped fingers ghosting over her bloody lips, and Namjoon’s surprised to see tears stream down her gaunt cheeks. He jumps when she erupts into laughter, and it’s a terribly sad sound, hollow and aching. “You better hope this is the last you’ll see of me.” She says around her hysterics, eyes glowing gold, before she’s tipping over, falling to her side, her last breath wasted on an empty threat.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath, and he scrambles to pull Taehyung up on his feet, dragging him across the open walkway of the quarters to scale the back wall bordering the palace. 

In the crowd and in the haste to get on the small boat to sail off, Taehyung is pushed over the side and into the cold water, and Namjoon screams his throat raw, hands stretching out for Taehyung, demanding they turn back to save his darling brother, but all the people do is pull him back, tell him that he’ll fall over himself if he keeps struggling, and speed up, Taehyung’s ambiguous shape in the water fading into the dark night the farther they get from the dock. 

That was the last time Namjoon saw Taehyung, and in a grim thought, he realized that Chaeyoung had won.

Jungkook’s second mistake was this:

They had offered the man some of Jungkook’s clothes, lit the fireplace in Prince Taehyung’s abandoned room, and had told him to get changed lest he catch a cold. The man had yet to say anything, hadn't even introduced himself or thanked them for their help, but judging by the lost look in his eyes, he had more important things to worry about, and Jungkook and Jimin had left him in the room to give him some privacy to change. 

Jimin disappeared off to bring the man some food and water to drink, and that left Jungkook standing outside the room. After the siege, Jungkook had found himself spending a lot of his time in this room--before he and Jimin had reunited--and seeing it in use now, with the fireplace lit up, has a feeling settling in his stomach. 

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t knock on the door, or why he doesn’t ask if he can enter the room, but when he pushes the door open slightly to peek his head through, his face heats up at the sight. 

Even from behind the changing screen, Jungkook can tell the man is looking at him. His body was shadowed by the fire, silhouette stark against the thin, pale material of the screen, and Jungkook had to look away, the moment oddly intimate. He can see the clear outline of the man’s body, the harsh angles of protruding bones, his waspish waist and the slight flare of his hips. He’s all leg, long and thin, and his shoulders are wide, sharp and bony. He turns his head, and the light from the fire casts the shadow of his profile against the screen, long nose and pillowy lips framed prettily by the orange cast. He sees his lips moving before he hears his voice. 

“So you drop me back into the pond, and now you come into the room as I am changing.” His voice is deep, smooth, and Jungkook feels like he’s being pulled into a trance. “Honestly the manners here at the capital are something to behold.” His tone is satirical, and Jungkook can hear the quirk in his lip. He’s well-spoken, Jungkook takes notice of his choice of words and the very faint hints of a dialect, and he wonders where this man had wandered off from.

He bends forward, to pick up something off the ground--Jungkook assumes his jeogori, and his long hair spills over his shoulder with the movement. Jungkook wishes he can burn the image in his mind.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss with me, or are you simply here to be a nuisance?” He peeks his head briefly from behind the screen, eyes bored and mouth set in a firm line, but Jungkook can only focus on the sight of his bare shoulder, a deep dark color, like mountain flower honey or tree sap. 

“I, uh...” Jungkook starts lamely, but his mouth snaps shut when the man walks out from behind the screen, folds it back diligently and sits himself down in front of the hearth. There’s a sort of elegance in which he carries himself with, his posture confident and his face facing forward. With the way he’s sitting, his hair pools around the base of his back on the floor, the shorter strands at the front framing his face prettily. Jungkook feels all the air in his lungs escape him.

The man hums, a deep-chested sound, and Jungkook doesn’t think the man knows what he seems to be doing--the effect he has on Jungkook. He’s pulled his hair over his shoulder, running his fingers through the long strands, and his fingers catch at the tangles. “I had just plaited it before you surprised me.” He says almost to himself, as his fingers snag over another tangle. He turns to face Jungkook, and Jungkook has to actively tell himself not to let his eyes drift down to the expanse of exposed skin where the jeogori’s collar pools around his décolletage. The clothes seem to dwarf him, and Jungkook doesn’t know if he can handle the low collar of his jeogori and the way the sleeves fall past his knuckles. There’s that same glint Jungkook saw when he was attempting to help him out of the pond--a wink of green and gold. 

“May I have a comb?” 

“Hm?”

“A comb… please.”

Jungkook doesn’t think he’s seen a comb around here. “I don’t think there’s...” He pauses, and his eyes go wide. He doesn't know what goes over him when he drops to his knees and crowd’s the man’s space. This close, he can count the individual lashes lining his eyes--he thinks he’d like to one day. “You know,” He says into the space between them, and the man’s eyes go wide, cheeks aflame as he tries to put some distance between them, pushes a hand to Jungkook’s chest, but with his attempts, he falls back onto his back, pulling Jungkook along with him. 

What perfect timing for Jimin to finally come back with food and water. 

“Jungkook!” 

“Jungkook? Wait… you’re Jungkook?”

“Well, that depends--who’s asking?”

“Jungkook! Would you just get off of him--you’ve caused him enough trouble!”

He hadn’t meant to cage him, okay ? (But that doesn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed seeing the man’s face that close to his, having his breath fan across his cheeks.) He pushes himself up, and holds out a hand for the man, who looks at it suspiciously. 

“Are you going to drop me like last time, Jungkook? ” The sentence is teasing, but his tone is anything but, and the way the man looks at him almost offends Jungkook.

“ Ha . Very funny.” 

By then, Jimin pushes past him and helps the man up himself, dusting off his clothes and muttering apologies in his place. He then hands the man the water pouch and a bowl of rice piled with kimchi. 

One of the benefits of staying at the abandoned palace was all the supplies that had been left behind--imperishable foods were copious, and they ranged from fermented vegetables to dried meats, and that meant Jungkook and Jimin had been well off, considering the inventory was supposed to last a large family and its staff years upon years. 

The man’s eyes widen at the bowl and he takes it graciously with a polite bow of his head, a small ‘thank you’ whispered as an afterthought. 

“What do I know?” The man says around a mouthful of rice, a delicate hand covering his mouth as he speaks, and he looks at Jungkook as he does so. Jungkook tries not to coo at the sight of his wide eyes and full cheeks. No he is not looking at the pucker of his lips.

“What do you know?” Jimin pipes up from beside him, a warm smile on his lips.

“Jungkook was telling me something before… our entanglement. He never got to finish.”

Entanglement he says , Jungkook scoffs in his mind before he’s reminded of what he had wanted to bring into attention, “Right!” He exclaims, and Jimin jerks in reaction. He pulls Jimin to his feet and stands him in front of the fireplace. Above it hangs a painting, faded and old, but still discernible--it’s of young Prince Taehyung, dressed in fine robes, his hair adorned with jewels and pins. 

“Jimin, do you see what I see?”

“No?”

Jungkook turns to him and sees he’s watching the fire with a curious expression, before Jungkook sighs exasperatedly and redirects his gaze to the painting. He watches with a knowing smile on his face as Jimin’s usually narrow eyes widen drastically, lips falling open in a gasp. 

“What is it?” The man questions from his sitting position by the fireplace, back to the painting, and his face twists in confusion as he watches both Jungkook and Jimin’s gaze flick from the painting to him. The man sighs when neither of them explain what they’re on about. “Thank you for the food, but I am here looking for something. You said you were Jungkook.”

“Perhaps, that depends on who’s looking for him.” Jungkook says and he walks closer to the man, a hand on his chin. 

“My name is Tae, and I have something to ask of you.” The man, Tae , starts, “they say you’re the man who can get anything, even though I can’t tell you who said that.” 

Jungkook hums absent-mindedly as he inspects Tae closely, bending at the waist to be at eye-level with him. 

“If you would please stop what you are doing.” Tae says as he cringes away from Jungkook’s gaze. 

“Sorry, sorry, Tae, it’s just... just that you look an awful lot like... Never mind... Now, you said something about wanting something from me?” Jungkook says as he walks back to stand next to Jimin, who can’t seem to contain his excitement at the sudden turn of events. 

“Yes--I need you to take me somewhere. I’d like to go to Japan.”

“You’d like to go to Japan?”

Tae hums in affirmation. 

Jungkook gives Jimin a knowing look. “Let me ask you something, Tae was it... Is there a last name that goes with that? Or maybe, I don’t know, a full name perhaps?”

Tae bites his lip at that, and there’s that lost look again. “Well, actually.. This is going to sound crazy... I don’t know my last name, or my full name. I was found wandering around when I was eight years old twelve years ago.” He doesn’t look back up at Jungkook, choosing to inspect his fingers instead and the way they clench around the fabric of his baji. Jungkook thinks they’d look pretty adorned with glittering rings. 

Jungkook clears his throat, and neither he nor Jimin mention the way Tae hastily wipes at his eyes, his fingers coming wet with tears. “And before that... before you were eight?” He says softly. 

“Look, oh look, I know it’s strange but I don’t remember. I have very few memories of my past. I do have one clue, however, and that is Japan. So, can... so can you two help me or not?”

Jungkook then smiles, and he ignores the way Tae eyes him strangely. “Ah sure ‘would like to... in fact, oddly enough, we’re going to Japan ourselves.” 

“Well that’s just great! You can take me with you--”

“But the ship had saved three seats for us, and, unfortunately, the third seat is for him,” he pauses to gesture to the painting, and Tae turns to look at it. “Taehyung.”

“We’re going to reunite Crown Prince Taehyung with his brother, Grand Prince Namjoon.” Jimin pipes in, and he makes a sweeping gesture towards the painting. He pulls Tae to his feet, loops his elbow around his own bony one, and he smiles at him kindly when Tae only looks at him with a bewildered expression. 

“You do kind of resemble him.” Jungkook adds from the side, hand resting against Tae’s shoulder, and he pretends to not be affected by the way Tae slightly leans into the touch. 

“The same obsidian eyes.” Jimin says.

“The royal family’s eyes.” Jungkook further explains.

“Great Emperor Sanghoon’s smile.”

“First Empress Ahnjong’s chin.”

“Oh look, his hands resemble the Grand Prince’s.” Jimin’s hands reach for Tae’s, his hold gentle as his thumb swipes over Tae’s sharp knuckles, dry and red from the cold. He must’ve lived a harsh life these past twelve years , Jimin thinks to himself. 

“He’s the same age, the same physical type.” Jungkook continues, and he drags Tae over to the bed where all three of them sit facing the painting. 

“Are you trying to tell me that you think that I am Crown Prince Taehyung?”

Jimin and Jungkook both hum in affirmation, hopeful smiles splitting their faces, eyes imploring. 

“All I’m trying to tell you is that I’ve seen thousands of men all over the country and not one of them looks as much like the Crown Prince as you do. I mean look at the portrait.” 

Tae looks at them with an incredulous look, and he pushes off the bed, turns to face them as he speaks. “I knew you were crazy from the beginning,” he pauses to look Jungkook up, before he turns to where he had set his satchel down by the folded screen and picks it up, slings it over his shoulder and across his chest. Jungkook tries to not get distracted by the way the leather strap of Tae’s satchel pulls dangerously against the already low collar of his jeogori. “But now I think you are both mad.”

He tries to bypass them to the door, but they both grab a hold of his elbows, and for some reason, he doesn’t struggle against them. 

“Why?” Jungkook crowds his space, his face a breath away, and he offers Tae a mischievous smile. “You don’t remember what happened to you...”

“No one knows what happened to him.”

“You’re looking for family in Japan.”

“And his only family is in Japan.”

Jungkook pulls Tae back to stand in front of the painting, and he circles an arm around his shoulders. “Ever thought about the possibility?” He whispers temptingly. 

Tae turns to look at him, and their noses almost brush. “What, that I could be royalty?” He offers Jungkook a sly smile. “Look, I’m honored that you think I’m pretty enough to pass as royalty--Crown Prince Taehyung no less--”

“I never said that--!”

“But I’m just a lowly orphan from a small village in Haeju.” 

Jungkook ignores the way Jimin snickers at him. 

“But, what if--wishful thinking Tae...” Jimin says from behind them.

“Well I don’t know … it’s kind of hard to think of yourself as a Crown Prince when you’re sleeping on a damp floor, sharing a blanket with three other people. But sure, yeah, I guess every lonely boy would hope he’s a Prince.” Tae looks up at the painting, eyes lit by the fire, and though Jungkook hadn’t said it-- he hadn’t --Tae is pretty enough to pass as a Prince, and he’s known his fair share of Princes.  

“And somewhere… One little boy is. After all, the name Taehyung means ‘ all will be alright even if facing a difficult situation ’--there’s no harm in believing.” 

“I...” Tae starts, and his eyes flit around, inspecting the painting, and Jungkook swears his eyes glaze over, shining with welling tears. “I don’t know. All my life I’ve been Tae the orphan, and suddenly you’re telling me I’m the missing Crown Prince.” He turns to look at Jungkook, his eyes sad and his lower lip worried between his teeth. “But what if I’m not… I don’t want to cause you trouble.” He whispers into the space between, and Jungkook’s heart squeezes. 

“But if you are the Prince,” Jimin starts, voice gentle as he lays a hand on Tae’s back, “then you’ll finally know who you are and have your family back.” 

Jungkook doesn't miss the way Tae’s hand clenches around something beneath his jeogori.

“But if you aren’t...” Jungkook says, and he waits for Tae to look back at him, holds his gaze, and looks at him with a serious look in his eyes. “We’ll be your family--we’ll take you to Japan, but if that doesn’t work out, you’re more than welcome to stay here with us.”

Tae’s face crumples instantly, tears falling freely down the slight swell of his cheeks, and Jungkook doesn’t have time to prepare himself for Tae to throw himself at him, hands clenching around his back. He's at a loss for words, his hands hovering over Tae’s back, unsure whether the touch is welcome or not, and he chances a glance at Jimin, who looks just as taken aback as he does. He decides on slowly resting his hands at Tae’s waist, and when Tae burrows his face further into Jungkook’s collar, his hands tighten around him.  

“You’ll be just fine, I promise.” 

They leave Tae alone after that, but not before telling him to rest up for their long journey. 

“Well… that was something.” Jimin is the first to break the silence. 

They’re sitting outside in the courtyard, the fire they had lit earlier in the afternoon reduced to glowing embers by now, and Jimin stokes it back to life. 

“So are we going to talk about how you’re all starry-eyed for Tae?”

“I am not--”

“I mean, I knew you liked Prince Taehyung back when we worked in the kitchens, but I didn’t think you’d like ‘fake Taehyung’ too.” 

“He’s not a fake anything , Jimin.” It comes out much harsher than Jungkook was hoping for, and he rushes to apologize. “I’m sorry, I... sorry, I just... feel bad.” He pulls his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around his legs, and he stares unseeing at the fire. 

They’re silent for a moment before Jimin speaks up. 

“Do you think he’ll let me braid his hair?”

“Oh my gods , Jimin.”

Chaeyoung remembers dying, but she had not died. She’s not dead, but gods does it feel like she is. Her body aches and her chest feels heavy with each breath she takes. There’s a piercing chill deep in her ribcage, and her frail body shivers from the cold.

The spirits had called the place ‘the nether land’, and she was shocked to see them as a tangible object. 

They take the form of a shadowy phoenix, feathers wispy and as dark as a moonless sky, and their voice echoes in her head, deep and imposing. 

You have failed . 

Chaeyoung frowns at that, brows furrowing, and her lips pursing. She tilts her head, her hair spilling over her shoulder with the movement. “Failed what ?” She says firmly, her golden eyes narrowing at the shadowy figure of the phoenix. 

The Prince is still alive. You were to kill all of your eldest brother’s siblings--one is still living . 

Her hands clench around nothing. She had heard them wrong, that’s what this is, because he can’t possibly… “That’s not possible--I got him myself, right before that horrid brother of mine shot me through the heart.” She pauses, her lips twist skeptically, and she eyes the phoenix. “How am I still alive?” 

Your failure to exact your revenge has preserved your vessel, and your soul has not passed yet in the twelve years since your demise. The return of the young Prince to the palace has disrupted the leisure of the dark spirits, and now you must kill him in order to pass . 

“And how can I possibly do that when I am stuck in limbo?” 

Such little patience you humans have .

“I doubt I can call myself that now.”

Never mind that, sorceress, I shall grant you a last chance. But if you fail once more, your soul will waste away . 

Chaeyoung scrapes a long, dark nail up a stalagmite, rests the tip of her dainty finger on the sharp, rough point. The nether land is nothing like she had expected. It’s cast in a violet glow, stalactite and stalagmite as far as the eye can see, and it smelled of rotten flesh and the metallic tang of dried blood. She scrunches her nose unconsciously. 

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

Otherworldly beings are bound by honor--we do not trick and we do not lie. We are not like you humans . 

The smile she gives the spirit over her shoulder is sharp, her eyes pinching mischievously. “And how do you know I’m going to keep my word?” Her hair swishes behind her when she turns to give the phoenix an unsettlingly innocent look. “You’re giving me another chance at life--how do you know I will not run off?”

You had bound your soul to the dark spirits--it is how you acquired your abilities. It is impossible for you to escape this agreement. Through self-inflicted quietus only may the bond be broken, and the spirits will return to rest . 

“So no matter what I do, I’ll die?”

The dark spirits are honest, but we are also greedy .

“And what if I don’t fulfill my task--my soul withers away, but what happens to Taehyung?”

The spirits will be at unrest until he passes, and will haunt him till then .

She says nothing for a while, turning her back to the phoenix once more. She was dead, then, and she will be dead, too. But now she is alive, and she has the choice whether to return to earth--to kill her brother and pass peacefully, to run off, wither away painfully and have the spirits haunt Taehyung until his passing--however long or short that may be--, or she... but that didn’t matter. 

Her father dearest never advocated for an unfinished task-- always commit , he had said, and she laughs bitterly at the thought. Well, she was committed--is committed, and she is going to enjoy making her brother suffer for a second time.

“Alright.” She says with a cruel smile, and the phoenix dissipates into a plume of smoke, carried by a chilling gust of wind, and seeps into her chest. 

Chaeyoung lets out a satisfied sigh, and brings a hand up to her face. Lightning sparks at the blacked tips of her fingers, and her cruel smile grows unhinged. 

“Sad for you, dear big brother--that hadn’t been the last you’ll see of me.” 

Tae does, in fact, let Jimin braid his hair. 

When Jimin and Jungkook had gone to check on Tae the next day and offer him breakfast, they found him already awake, and he’s changing out of the clothes they had lent him to put his own--now dry--clothes back on. 

“ This is the second time this has happened--should I be worried. ” he still hadn’t put on his jeogori, and Jungkook could finally see what had been hidden beneath the collar, but before he could further inspect the glinting object hanging from his neck, Tae was curling his fingers around it, and Jungkook’s gaze snapped up to his face. Though he tried to keep a serious expression on his face, Tae’s cheeks were red, rosy like his lips, and Jungkook couldn't bring himself to look away. There’s just so much skin . 

Jimin had pushed past him into the room, helped Tae into his jeogori, and asked if he could help braid his hair, smile barely contained. “ Jungkook doesn’t like to grow out his hair much, but before when I used to work in the palace stables, someone very special to me would come to visit, and he’d let me braid his hair. ”

Jimin had sighed wistfully, and a dreamy smile made its way across his lips.

Jungkook recalls the many stories he’d heard from Jimin about the foreign Prince, and he can only imagine how much he misses him, having gone so long without seeing each other. 

He remembers when Prince Seokjin used to visit the palace, and he would sneak away from his family and the suffocating staff to spend time with Jimin in the stables. He and Seokjin had met when Namjoon--still Crown Prince at the time--was bringing Seokjin to the stables.

On the rare occasions he’d travel with his father, Grand Prince Junghoon, back to the Joseon Empire, Seokjin would run off to meet Jimin, whisper how much he had missed him across his lips, rosy and sweet, and they'd spend their time together by the river bed where the palace staff collect water for laundry and cooking, weaving flowers into Seokjin’s pretty plait and sharing silly anecdotes. 

Having lived in Japan all his life, Seokjin’s pyojuneo was very poor and heavily accented, and while Jimin didn’t know how to read or write, he still taught him whatever words he knew. He taught Seokjin the word for love, and the Prince had whispered it against his lips, a secret for themselves, and Jimin's heart had warmed at the feeling of Seokjin’s berry-sweet lips against his own, feather-light and gentle. 

Jimin had mentioned once how Prince Seokjin had taught him how to read and write. How he’d come into the stables one day, with a stack of papers, an ink stone and brushes, and he’d sat them both down by the haystacks. He first taught Jimin how to write his name, and then his. 

“ Prince Seokjin? ”

“ No, just Seokjin--when I’m with you, I am only Seokjin. ” He had said, accent still heavy and syllables choppy, and he had smiled at Jimin that private smile he kept for him, and Jimin couldn’t help the way he had leaned over the paper, spilling ink and smudging paper, just to kiss him, press his love into Seokjin’s lips, and Seokjin had looked dazed when Jimin had pulled back. Since then, Jimin and Seokjin had been exchanging letters across the sea. 

But Jungkook’s just surprised that Tae had said yes, truly, and now he watches them from his seat on the bed. Tae sits with his legs neatly folded beneath him, hands on his knees and back pin-straight, and Jimin stands on his knees behind him. 

“You have such pretty hair, Tae. It’s so dark… it almost looks blue.” Jimin says softly as he sections Tae’s long hair, carefully twisting the strands, mindful not to pull too hard lest he hurt Tae. It’s a pity they don’t have ornate hairpieces and gems to pin to his hair, Jungkook thinks he’d look like a star plucked right from the sky. The best they can do is weave him a flower wreath from the snow flowers growing abundantly in the palace garden, but Jungkook knows the flowers would pale in comparison. He shakes his head at the thought.

It’s no exaggeration when Jungkook says Tae is quite possibly the prettiest man he’s ever seen, all long lashes and plump lips, and with guilty realization, Jungkook thinks he’d be a perfect Prince Taehyung. He’s almost regretful to send him off, but the money is much more important, and, as an afterthought, he convinces himself that he’ll find plenty of people like Tae. 

He knows that's the farthest from the truth. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears Jimin gasp softly, his eyebrows pinched in worry.

“Tae... what--are these scars ?”

He can see the way Tae’s shoulders tense, the line of his back taut, and his hands fist in the fabric of his jeogori, pulling it tighter around his body in a futile attempt to hide whatever Jimin had seen. Jimin is still behind him, his hands hovering over his shoulders, and Tae’s hair falls loose, unravelling from the plait.

“Are they from--”

“I don’t know how I got them.” Tae’s grip around his jeogori loosens, the fabric relaxing around his neck, and he pulls his hair over his shoulder, and if Jungkook looks close enough, he can see them. Faint, pale lines like tree branches. They start from just below the hairs of his nape, and travel down his neck, across his shoulders and spreading along the span of his back. They look like… lightning bolts. “Bongcha and Hangeol--the caretakers at the orphanage--said that when they had found me, the scars were still pink, and that I was unresponsive to touch. Sometimes my fingers go numb, every now and then, but I’m fine--they don’t hurt.” 

Jungkook can’t imagine how he’d gotten them--what horrible thing could have done that to him, and he doesn’t want to know how much it had hurt. 

Tae stands up suddenly, hair swishing with the movement, and he turns to give them a small smile, his eyes shining with tears, and he lets out a shaky sigh. “I’ll be out in the garden.”

Jimin tries to follow after him, to grab hold of his hand, but Jungkook shakes his head, and it’s only when Tae leaves the room that he speaks. “Let’s leave him be, we’ll get him when we prepare lunch.” 

“Poor Tae..”

When Jungkook leaves for the kitchen to prepare lunch--he’s planning on making a stew, maybe that’ll warm them up before their journey to the merchant ship harbor--he spots Tae under the large ginkgo tree, a hand laying on his stomach and his head lulling to the side, resting against his shoulder. 

He figures lunch preparation can wait for a few minutes, as he walks over to Tae. He’s asleep, he realizes, eyes restless beneath his lids and mouth parted slightly. His hair spills over one shoulder, down his chest, and Jungkook doesn’t know what comes over him when he reaches across and tucks the loose strands behind his ear. His fingers linger for a moment, brushing the high of Tae’s cheeks, the line of his jaw. He doesn't risk ghosting over his lips, and he pulls his hand back and rests it on his knee. He sits back, knees to his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles, and he watches--

Watches the way the breeze makes Tae’s hair dance, strands fluttering in the wind. What few leaves still cling to the mostly bare branches of the ancient ginkgo tree flutter down and frame Tae’s hair like a crown, sunshine yellow against hair darker than a moonless, night sky. He’s beautiful, Jungkook can’t help but think that, and his heart beats unevenly in his chest, warm and obvious. Tae’s lashes are wispy, long and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheeks. 

Jungkook holds his breath when Tae stirs, a deep rumble sounding in his chest, and then his eyes are fluttering open, dark eyes unfocused as he stares at Jungkook, lips pouty and puffy. Jungkook doesn't know how he missed the redness of his nose, or the dry tears tracks on his cheeks. He asks gently. “Are you okay?” 

Tae doesn’t say anything at first. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the ginkgo tree. “I’m not quite sure.” He tilts his head, looks back at Jungkook, and he gives him a tired smile. “I’ll be fine, eventually--hopefully.”

They sit in silence. Tae has a faraway look in his eyes, staring off at the overgrown grass lining the open walkways, and he fiddles with the leather string around his neck. The mysterious object is hidden beneath the collar of his jeogori, and Jungkook wonders how Tae would react if he asks him about it. 

So he does.

“What is that thing anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Tae’s gaze snaps back to Jungkook, eyes refocusing, and he looks down at the hand fiddling with the string. “It’s something I’ve had... ever since before I could remember.” He doesn’t pull it out to show it to Jungkook, and he takes it as a sign that he doesn't wish to divulge any further. “It’s the only thing I have of my past. Bongcha and Hangyeol said that I had it clutched in my hand when they found me, but they’ve only recently shown it to me, when they had given me the choice to go look for my family--whoever gave me the pin.” 

“And that’s why you want to go to Japan.”

“Right.” 

Jungkook hums in reply, and the despondent expression on Tae’s face has him changing the subject swiftly. “Jimin never did get to braid your hair in the end--well, he did, but it unravelled.” 

“No he didn’t. He’s quite skillful for a stable boy.” He pauses for a moment, pulls at a loose thread from his baji--Jungkook will have to buy him new clothes before they leave for Japan--and he gives Jungkook a curious look. “He mentioned someone special--he used to braid his hair, tell me about him.” 

Seokjin... Where does he start? He doesn’t know much about the Prince, wasn’t around much when he visited, unlike Jimin, who had known of the Prince when he was twelve, had met him when he was fifteen, and had been with him for the two whole years after that before Jungkook came to work at the palace. 

“He is kind.” Jungkook starts, and Tae gives him his full attention, eyes wide and knees pulled to his chest. “He taught Jimin how to read and write, who then in turn taught me, but I haven’t met the Prince many times. But Jimin tells me of him. He’s older than Grand Prince Namjoon--”

“So he is a Prince too?” Tae inquires. 

“He is--he is Grand Prince Namjoon and Crown Prince Taehyung’s first cousin, but he lived in Japan all his life, and only came to visit with his father, Great Grand Prince Junghoon.” 

“Why does he live in Japan?” He doesn’t miss the hopeful look in Tae’s eyes, and Jungkook wonders if he thinks he might find answers if he keeps asking enough questions. He indulges him. 

“His mother is Japanese--Great Princess Kimiko. She, Grand Prince Namjoon and Prince Seokjin are the last living members of the family. Well, and you.” He winks mischievously, and he rather likes the way Tae’s cheeks color prettily, though he tries to play it off with a frown. It comes out more of a petulant pout, and Jungkook has to hold himself lest he coo. 

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“Prince Seokjin will know.”

“Why would he know?”

Oh… Oh , he forgot to mention this part. His abrupt silence disturbs Tae, and Jungkook can see it in the way he pushes off the tree and crawls over to him, Jungkook doesn’t want to think about what the sight of him does to him. He crowds Jungkook much like he had done when he had made the realization that he looked very much like Crown Prince Taehyung, and it’s Jungkook's turn for his cheeks to flame red. 

“Jungkook, what aren’t you telling me? I thought we were going to see the Grand Prince himself. Why are we going to see his cousin? Jungkook!” 

“Well, nobody gets near the Grand Prince without convincing Seokjin first.” He tries to say matter-of-factly, fiddles with his fingers innocently, but he cowers when he glances up from his lap to look at Tae. 

“Jungkook! You never mentioned that!” Even furious Tae looks pretty, but Jungkook stamps the thought. He feels guilty for not feeling guilty at having that thought. 

“I didn’t?” He tries, a guilty smile on his lips. 

“Nobody ever told me I had to prove I was the Crown Prince.” 

“Look, I...” Jungkook starts, but Tae is quick to interrupt him.

“Show up. Yes. Look nice. Fine. But lie ?” 

“You don’t know it’s a lie. What if it’s true?” Jungkook is quick to defend, and he surges forward, narrowing the space between him and Tae, and he doesn’t know what to do with the fact that Tae freckles in the sun. He wonders if it’s only his face...

Jungkook has to physically shake his head to get rid of the thought, and he only now notices how Tae has distanced himself, an unconfident look on his face, and Jungkook doesn’t like it--so used to seeing Tae carry himself proudly, surely, and now he looks so unsure it hurts him.

“Okay, so there’s one more stop on the road to finding out who you are. I just thought this was something you had to see through to the end no matter what.” 

“And how can I possibly prove that I’m Crown Prince Taehyung when I’m… when I’m me, and I look like me.”

“Tae! Tae, you’re beautiful!”

“There are plenty of people who are beautiful, Jungkook, that does not make them Princes.”

“But it makes you one--!” Jungkook stops, heaving a sigh when he realizes he’s shouting. “I--Tae... sorry, I raised my voice. It’s just, you’re not seeing what I’m seeing. It’s not just the way you look--you mean to tell me you’re not hearing yourself. Tae, we don’t even sound the same! You use words that I don’t know the meaning of sometimes. You couldn’t have learnt them at the orphanage. That has to mean something .”

“Bongcha and Hangyeol are an articulate people--”

“See! What even is that word!” 

“We’re not from the same places, Jungkook. Things are different from province to province.”

Jungkook breathes an exasperated sigh, and he doesn’t stop himself when he grabs hold of Tae’s bony shoulders and shakes him. “Why are you fighting me? I’m trying to help you.” Not a complete lie , he thinks. His hold loosens with that thought, and he tries to mask the guilty look in his eyes when he looks at Tae.

Tae is not looking at him though, his hair shadowing his face, and he says meekly, “I’m just a skinny little nobody, with no past and no future.” 

Jungkook startles. “Tae...”

“You were on your way to the kitchen, yes?” Tae interrupts, but he jolts when Jungkook brushes his hair away from his face, fingers brushing against his cheek as he tucks the inky tresses behind an ear. Tae releases a shaky breath, and he flinches when Jungkook cups his cheek. 

“Jungkook...”

“You two are insufferable.” 

Impeccable timing, that Jimin. 

They spring apart, Tae thumping against the tree, and he winces when his back hits a knot in the tree. Jungkook just barely catches himself before face-planting the snow-packed ground. 

“Jimin!” They both yell, almost like they’ve been caught doing something... bad. With the look Jimin gives, it sure feels like that, and they both avoid eye contact when Jimin glares at them. 

After they eat lunch, they tell Tae that they’ll leave the next morning, considering it’s already gone dark, and they tell him to rest up and to come out to the courtyard if he needs anything from them. 

He doesn’t leave the room at all, too busy trying to calm his racing heart. 

“Namjoon is in Japan and Taehyung is in the Joseon Empire, how unfortunate for them.” Chaeyoung says wickedly, staring at the spell cast upon the surface of one of few clean water bodies in the nether land. She sees her brothers--Namjoon sips tea from a fine china cup with cousin Seokjin and aunt Kimiko, while Taehyung is being pulled onto a horse-drawn cart by two men she doesn’t recognize. “Such different lives my dear brothers lead.” She grins sharply over her shoulder at the shadowy form of the phoenix, who sits idly on a raised platform. 

“Shall we send them a little surprise?” She says before summoning lightning to her fingertips. It crackles, and it’s slight glow casts shadows across her face. “It would be a shame if they had lost their horse.” She laughs sardonically before she’s firing a bolt of lightning at her brother’s reflection on the water. 

“Who’s the older twin?”

“Kwangmin?” 

“Wrong.”

This is the third they’d asked him this question, he doesn’t know how he keeps answering wrong. Jungkook and Jimin are taking the opportunity to teach him about the royal family while they sit idly in the cart. It was still a few more hours before they reached the harbor--Jimin predicted they’d reach it when the moon was high in the sky, some time before sunrise--and Tae is just thankful he doesn’t have to walk the distance. 

Jimin had finally braided his hair--he had done so while Tae was having breakfast, and Jungkook had looked at him funny the whole time. He had plucked pretty snow flowers from the garden, had complained about how hard it was to find them through the snow, and then had sat down and watched Jimin as he braided Tae’s long hair. 

It whips in the air, and the shorter strands at the front that hadn’t been pulled into the plait flutter around his face. 

“Youngmin is older by twelve minutes.” Jimin adds helpfully, and Tae can only throw him a watered down glare before they continue quizzing him. 

“When did Grand Prince Namjoon abdicate the throne?” Jungkook asks next.

“Before Prince Taehyung’s fifth birthday.” Tae says proudly. Though the only reason it stuck was because the story of Prince Namjoon abdicating the throne had struck him--he felt sorry for Princess Chaeyoung. The emperor’s favoritism towards his youngest had torn the family apart, and he wonders what the Prince was like. 

“Correct--oh, we’ll be stopping here briefly, I have some things I need to buy.”

It’s night time when it happens. The cart isn’t moving, and he smells smoke. His heart seizes in his chest, and he jolts from his sleeping positions--he takes no notice of the way Tae was tucked up against him as he slept, and he looks around. 

The cart driver is nowhere to be seen, neither his horse, and they are surrounded by fire. 

Fire .

But not just any fire--as if it needed anything more for it to be weird... a fire amongst snow--the flames are a deep violet, and they are soundless, but even from the distance, Jungkook’s skin burns from the suffocating heat, and he hurries to wake both Tae and Jimin. 

“Jimin, get up. Jimin!” He shakes his shoulder roughly, slapping his face when he gets no response, and Jimin jolts awake, eyes flying open, and he sits up straight, stares at Jungkook with sleepy yet aware eyes. “Fire.” Is all Jungkook says as he goes about gathering what little belongings they had brought with them, pulls his satchel over his shoulder, and moves to wake Tae up. 

“Tae...” He touches his shoulder, nudges it gently, and he can hear Jimin scoff behind him. You’re taken with the boy , he hears him say, but he pays him no mind as he hovers over Tae, feathers his fingers across his chilled cheek, and cradles it in his palm carefully. “Tae.” He tries again, and this time Tae stirs. 

Jimin is already off the cart, but he looks around and sees no way to get away from the flames. Jungkook doesn’t even know how something like this is possible--violet flames among snow. He hears Tae ask if they had reached the harbor, and he’s just about to complain about the heat when he sits up and is shocked still at the sight around. 

“Um, Jungkook...”

“I know I know. We need to… we need to do something.” 

“They’re purple.” 

“I know Tae.”

“But they’re not melting the snow.”

At that, Jungkook snaps back to look at Tae with an incredulous look in his eyes. “What? What’re you talking about--it’s a fire.”

“Yeah, and it’s not melting the snow.” Tae says as he points at the snow around the fire. He was right. How had he not noticed that? The snow is not melting, even at such close contact. ”We can make a sort of opening?” Tae continues, though his tone is unsure, “we can maybe pile snow--two piles of snow--enough to separate the fires and make an opening.” 

“That’s crazy!” Jimin says from off the cart.

“But it’ll work.” Jungkook hops off the cart, though he doesn’t get far due to the immense heat coming off the flames. “It’ll work, but we just need to figure out how we’ll pile the snow without getting burned.” 

“We’ll start with our feet.” Tae adds helpfully, carefully getting off the cart, and Jungkook’s quick to hold out a hand from him. “Oh, thank you--then it’ll be easier to work with our hands.”  

It works. It actually works, but they had to work simultaneously, so Tae and Jungkook took one pile while Jimin sped through the other to match their pace. Jungkook almost burns his hand, though he can smell the way the fire singes the fine hairs on his fingers, but Tae doesn’t seem to be having any trouble with it, and Jungkook wonders if this is one of the times where his fingers go numb. So he voices his concerns.

“Tae, your fingers are numb, aren’t they?” He doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed Tae’s sloppy handiwork, and the way he stiffens just further proves Jungkook’s speculation. “Tae stop, I can handle this.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine--really, I’m wearing gloves anyway--”

“They’re fingerless.” Jungkook deadpans.

“I can do this, Jungkook. I’m fine. We’re almost done anyway and then we’ll be able to get out of here and hurry off to the harbor.” He gravitates towards the fires as he speaks, and they don’t realize how close Tae was to the fire until they’re smelling burning hair. 

“Tae!” 

Tae springs back, hands flying up to his face, feels across where his fringe felt shorter--burned off--and Jungkook crowds him, eyes searching. “Are you hurt?” He says frantically, and he hears Jimin gasp behind him, scrambling over to where they were. 

“I’m fine--didn’t feel a thing. Oh my gods, Jungkook, calm down.” Jungkook doesn't know how Tae isn’t freaking out. His fingers hover over his face, brushing over the white-tipped hairs that had burned off. It’s barely noticeable, hardly any difference, but it doesn't calm Jungkook's racing heart any bit. “Jungkook, I’m fine.” Tae assures Jungkook one last time before he’s brushing past him to where the fire was thinning from the piling snow. “We’re almost done, and we need to hurry lest we miss the ship.”

Jimin works with renewed vigor, yelling a ‘ No one or thing touches Tae’s beautiful hair! ’ at the violet flames, and Tae has to suppress his laughter as he watches Jimin aggressively piling and throwing snow at the fire--it does nothing, but it is amusing to watch. 

By the time they’re done, the sun is peeking over the horizon, and Jimin rushes down the snow-packed road, Jungkook pulling Tae to keep up, and they burst into a sprint when they smell the sea breeze--they’re finally getting close. 

The sun is high in the sky when they reach the harbor, and they make it onto the ship with no seconds to spare. The crew looks at them funny--a group of three friends with sleep-rumpled clothes laughing hysterically. Jungkook doesn’t miss the way they eye Tae, and for that he keeps him sandwiched between him and Jimin. 

They’re finally going to Japan, and Jungkook chances Tae a glance, where he stands by the ship railing, face lit gold by the sun, cheeks rosy and mouth parted at the sight of the wide expanse of the yellow sea. He’s leaving everything behind , Jungkook thinks to himself, and Jungkook hopes that this is not a big mistake.

The ship’s deck is empty at night as Jungkook and Jimin sit alone by the shrouds. Tae is in their room below deck, and Jungkook takes the opportunity to give him the clothes he’d bought him before they’d left the capital. When he gets up to head down to their room, Jimin stops him with a hand around his wrist and a knowing look in his eyes. 

“Jungkook, what’re you doing?” 

“I’m going down to our room..?” 

“You know what I mean Jungkook-- what are you doing? ” 

He makes to reply but he stops himself. Jimin’s talking about Tae. He’s not doing anything . He’s not . He’s just... trying to be nice. 

Or maybe it’s Jungkook trying to convince himself that Tae is Crown Prince Taehyung, that he had not failed to save him and his brother twelve years ago, that he finally has his Prince back, alive and well. But he’s... he’s probably not, and Jungkook needs to realize that. Because it was either the Crown Prince had made it to Japan with his brother, or he had died before they got there. Grand Prince Namjoon would never leave his brother behind, and that had meant that Crown Prince Taehyung had died during the siege, probably right after Jungkook had led them into the servants’ quarters. Jungkook knows that--he does, really--so why was he hoping that Tae might be him? 

He shakes his head, and looks down at Jimin, at his clasp around his wrist, and he pulls free from his hold. “I’m not doing anything, Jimin.” 

He doesn’t believe the lie himself. 

He holds the cloth sack beneath his arm, and knocks on the door to their room. He has walked in on Tae one too many times, and now he’s learned his lesson. When he doesn’t hear Tae’s voice filter through the door, he slowly pushes it open, and calls out to him. 

“Tae?” He gets no answer again, and he finally walks into the room and surveys his surroundings. Tae isn’t here. “Tae!” The cloth sack falls from his hold, and he turns around to leave the room and search and-- there he is .

“Oh, hello Jungkook.” Tae greets him naturally.

“Where were you?” Jungkook tries to ask as calmly as possible, though the way Tae twists his eyebrows tells him he’s doing a bad job at hiding the fact that his chest is heaving. 

“I washed up. I asked the crew if there was a basin somewhere, and they were kind enough to take me there.” Tae says as he pushes past Jungkook to sit on a pillow on the floor, and he pulls out a comb from his satchel and runs it through his wet strands. (Jimin had gotten him the comb before they left the capital.) 

His hair is damp, Jungkook realizes, his skin dewy and his clothes stick to his skin. Which reminds him... 

“I uh, I bought you something.” He starts carefully. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes. I thought, considering we’ll be meeting Prince Seokjin, you’d want a new hanbok. I should’ve brought you with me, though, there were many colors to choose from, but I thought white would suit you well.” He sits down in front of Tae, pulls open the cloth, and lays out the hanbok in front of Tae. He stops combing his hair, and he gives Jungkook a teasing smile. 

“I guess that’s one way to say that I don’t look presentable.”

“What!? No--Tae that’s not what this is at all, I just thought--”

“I only jest, Jungkook. They look lovely.” He sets the comb down and feels the fabric of the jeogori on top. It’s not the finest fabric--certainly not something a Crown Prince would wear, but they were still well made. The stitching is made with a fine cotton thread the color of the same snow flowers they had woven into Tae’s hair, a deep rich purple, and so is the dongjeong. The git is a paler purple, matching with the goreum, and Jungkook had instantly thought of Tae when he had been looking at the variety of colors and designs, that he’d look lovely in it--a stark yet pretty contrast to his honey skin and obsidian hair. 

“Though it might need fitting.” Jungkook says softly.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” The way Tae speaks is far too innocent for what he’s asking of him, and Jungkook’s throat tightens. 

“Help?”

“Yes--you said so yourself, and I can’t possibly meet the Prince in ill-fitting clothing, now can I, Jungkook?” There’s that teasing smile again, and Jungkook can’t help the way he mimics it. 

Whatever playful air they had evaporates the second Tae undoes his goreum, long fingers nimble as he pulls apart his doryeon. The collar falls open, slipping down his shoulder, and his chest comes into view. In the dim light of the room, Jungkook can see the faint lines of Tae’s scar, dense around his neck, and they branch out across his shoulders and down his chest. Jungkook’s fingers brush against his neck before he can stop himself, but Tae doesn’t flinch from his touch. His fingers ghost over the dips of his collarbones, shadows cast across his décolletage from the oil lamp, and he doesn’t know if he imagines the way Tae’s chest flutters under his touch, the way he stutters a sigh, shaky and breathy. 

“I can’t imagine how much that hurt.” Jungkook says quietly, as he traces a finger along the line of his scars, reaching down to his sternum. 

“Neither can I.” Jungkook can tell it was meant to sound as a joke, but it only comes off as terribly sad, and Jungkook’s heart squeezes in his chest. 

Jungkook’s hand goes back up to Tae’s shoulder, and pushes the jeogori further down his arms, the garment pooling around his hips. Tae turns his head, looks away from Jungkook, and his hair spills down his chest and pools in his lap. Jungkook presses gentle fingers to his jaw, turns his head to face him, and Jungkook doesn’t expect the shine of Tae’s eyes, glassy-looking from the small flame of the lamp. 

“What is it, Tae?” Jungkook whispers between them, his fingers brushing softly against the warm swells of his cheek, and he catches the first of few tears that spill over his lashes. Tae’s lips part with a wet sigh, and they pull into a sad smile as he shakes his head, more tears spilling over and falling into his lap with a soft sound. 

“The jeogori, Jungkook.” He says in place of an explanation, and Jungkook is reluctant to comply, neatly unfolds the new jeogori and swipes his fingers along the git. Jungkook stands up to move around Tae, kneels behind him, and he nudges Tae to lift his arms. It fits perfectly--Jungkook hadn’t taken the broadness of Tae’s shoulders into account--and Jungkook sits in front of Tae to fold over the doryeon across his chest. He can feel Tae’s heart fluttering beneath his skin, and Jungkook resists the urge to place his palm against his chest just to feel the thrum, pulls at the goreum, and ties it skillfully. His fingers skirt along Tae’s waist, and he looks up at him. 

Tae’s face glows gold from the flame of the oil lamp, shadows cast across his face, and he looks stunning. Jungkook was right to pick the white. Jungkook doesn’t realize how close they are until he feels Tae’s warm, stuttering breath across his face. 

“Tae, I...” His gaze drops to stare at Tae’s lips, and they part in a quiet gasp. 

“Yes?” Tae breathes out, and he braces his hands against Jungkook's chest, warm and large, and he’s sure Tae can feel the way Jungkook’s heart beats erratically in his chest. Tae’s eyes flutter shut, lashes casting pretty shadows across his cheeks and Jungkook--he stops.

“ What are you doing? ” Jimin had said. 

What was he doing-- is doing? 

He tenses, and Tae must feel the way his chest tightens because his eyes open, slow and languid, and he blinks a few times, head tilted slightly. His fringe falls in his eyes, and this time, Jungkook doesn’t reach across to tuck the strands behind a blushing ear. 

“Jungkook..?” Tae’s voice is soft, words whispered quietly between them, and the way his breath fans over Jungkook’s lips has him pulling back. “Jungkook, what's wrong?” Tae brings a hand up from where it was resting against his chest, and he brushes his fingers against Jungkook’s cheek. Jungkook doesn't mean to flinch, but he does, and Tae’s hand instantly recoils, pulled against his chest, and Jungkook doesn’t like the way his brows pull downwards, his eyes cast at his lap as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth. 

“I’ll leave you to put on the baji.” Jungkook says instead, and he stands up, doesn’t look at Tae when he does so, and he slowly makes his way to the door, opens it and leaves the room, the door shutting behind him soundlessly.

Tae’s left alone in the dim room, and Jungkook’s not there to see the way tears fall down his face. 

“Hardly the time to be romanced by the kitchen boy, little brother.” Chaeyoung stares at Taehyung’s image on the surface of the water, combing through his hair to get ready to go to sleep, but she doesn’t miss the way his eyes seem to focus on the sleeping figure of the one named Jungkook. The other man, Jimin, sits beside her brother, and he tells him anecdotes from when he had worked at the palace. They both seemed to have been part of the royal staff, though clearly nothing high up, considering she’s never seen them before, but this Jimin sure did have a lot to say about her. 

“Oh what does he know about me anyway?” She says petulantly before she’s waving her hand over the surface of the water, and the image of Taehyung and Jimin ripples away. 

“My dear brother had escaped the fires too easily--I’m not strong enough to have done more.” She says as she presses a long, black nail to her lips, and she turns to look pointedly at the phoenix hovering over her shoulder. 

There’s not much we can do--your body cannot handle more power.

“I don’t much care for this body--give me more power, you black bird.” She says firmly before she feels a thrum beneath her skin, her veins coloring a deep onyx, spidering up her neck and cheeks before they fade back. She’s paler, and she feels a heavy weight in her heart, her chest heaving, but all the same she feels the renewed power at the tips of her fingers, and she gives the phoenix a dark smile. “Thank you, little bird.”

“Now, what do you say about paying my little brother a visit?” 

Tae sits with his back to Jimin, Jimin’s skillful fingers plaiting his hair as he tells him stories from his days working at the palace. 

“Jungkook was so small--he hadn't turned seven yet, but he was so determined, such a hardworking little boy, and I’d try to sit with him whenever I could.”

“You worked in the stables, yes?” 

“Yes I did. Working there had made me well acquainted with some of the Princes. The twins mostly, Youngmin and Kwangmin, and Grand Prince Namjoon. The Princesses rarely came by, and I had only seen Prince Taehyung a few times. Surprisingly Prince Seokjin was my most frequent visitor, though he was mostly overseas, but whenever he came, he’d come straight to me.” Jimin sighs wistfully as he ties the end of Tae’s plait with the leather string. 

“You sound like you love him.” Tae’s voice is quiet, and he turns to rest his back against the wall, pulls his knees to his chest and he looks at Jimin, watches the way a dreamy smile pulls at his lips.

“I do.” He pauses for a second as he puts away the comb. “I can’t wait to see him.” 

Tae’s about to speak when the ship rocks, and he’s thrown onto his side, a yelp escaping his lips. Jimin braces himself with hands on the floor lest he face-plant. Jungkook seems bothered by the rough rocking of the ship, still sleeping soundly, their belongings bordering his sleeping form to keep him from moving.

“Sleeps like a log that one.” Jimin says with a groan as he inspects the fine cuts on his palms from the splintering floorboards, and he moves to help Tae up. “Here.”

Tae murmurs a quiet thank you, but his gaze snaps to the odd shape of something on the floor. It must have fallen out of Jungkook’s satchel when the ship rocked. It glints from the small flame of the oil lamp, and he picks it up carefully. It’s a sangtugwan, fashioned completely from gold, and it looks like a flower. Small gems and precious stones twinkle in the light, and they cast colorful refractions against the walls and ceiling. 

“Pretty isn’t it?”  Jimin says from beside him. “It belonged to the Crown Prince. Though the binyeo is missing. It was lost during the siege.” 

“It’s beautiful.” Tae says mindlessly, and he puts it away with a sigh. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything, and he simply prepares for bed, unfolds the blankets and lays down next to Tae. “Sleep well, your Highness.” 

Tae doesn’t resist the way a silly smile plays at his lips, and he lays down, pulls the blanket up to his chin and bids Jimin a good night. 

“Sleep well, Minnie.”

There are flowers all around him, all in pretty colors, and butterflies flutter around him, resting on tall grass blades. He’s barefoot, and the soil feels warm against his skin. 

There’s a boy--a man, and he looks older than Tae. He smiles at him, kind and warm, and he wordlessly tucks a flower behind his ear. His eyes pinch sweetly, his long hair framing his round face. 

He introduces himself as Gongmyeong. 

There’s a girl behind him, and she reaches for Tae’s hands. Her eyes are wide, bright and starry, and her lashes flutter when she blinks at him. Her full lips stretch in a sweet smile as she pulls him off the grass. 

She is Jayoon.

They both pull him along the grassy field, pretty flowers rustling against the pooling fabric of their clothes, and they reach the edge of a raised plateau that overlooks a still lake. 

There he meets two more men, near perfect copies of each other, and they greet him with wide smiles and merry laughter. They’re dressed down in only their baji and their hair is damp. They must've been in the lake. The one with the slimmer jaw introduces himself as Kwangmin, and he pushes his brother over the edge of the plateau, and tells him he is Youngmin.

“Hello, snow flower!”

Tae hears a voice call at him from across the lake, and he looks down to find an old man floating in the water, his wet, peppery hair plastered to his face. He smiles at Tae, and he waves him over.

“Hello!” Tae greets him with a smile of his own, and he’s overtaken with giggles as he watches Gongmyeong discard his fine po and jump off the plateau, causing a splash that sprays water at the old man. 

“Jump in, join us!” The old man says then, a beckons Tae over to the edge to jump into the water.  

Jungkook springs awake at the sound of their room door slamming shut. His hair is ruffled, his clothes rumpled and he looks around the room, alert. He could’ve sworn that he had shut it when they had all gathered in the room to sleep. 

He looks over to Jimin’s sleeping form, and his heart freezes in his chest when he realizes Tae isn't there--his blankets thrown over. Jungkook walks over to them and lays a hand on the fabric. They’re still warm. 

He scrambles for the door, swings it open and runs down the hall. The storm was roaring outside, rain pelting the ship’s deck, and Jungkook’s clothes instantly soak through, the cold seeping into his bones, but he doesn’t pay it any mind, too focused on finding Tae. He calls out to him, his voice drowned out by the roaring storm and clap of thunder, and he looks around. He has to get to a higher viewpoint, he’ll find him better that way. 

He climbs up to the crow’s nest, and looks out onto the deck. It’s dark, and he can hardly see anything from the mistiness of the rain, but he still manages to spot Tae, glowing white in the pitch blackness, like the moon in an otherwise inky sky, and his heart stops when he finds that he’s standing on the ship’s railing, balancing precariously with a hold on the ship’s shrouds. 

“Tae!” He looks around frantically, grasps at a rope tied to the main mast. He has to get down there, he--he has to get to him, or else he’ll fall off. 

“Tae, no!” 

Tae looks over the plateau, over at Gongmyeong who winks playfully at him, at the twins, who splash each other, and at the old man, who smiles at him encouragingly, telling him to join them. He’s just about to step over the edge when he hears a frantic call of his name, and it comes from none of them. He looks around, a perplexed twist in his eyebrows, and the kind voice of the old man melts away, now harsh and chilling as he yells at him to jump. 

He turns to him, shocked at his sudden change in demeanor, and he watches with great horror as the man’s kind smile twists into a cruel smirk, his once gentle fingers taloned and his eyes swirl an ominous black. He looms over him suddenly, a menacing figure as the meadow they’re in is cast in a deep violet glow, lightning crackling in the sky, and when Tae makes to let out a scream, it’s soundless, trapped in his throat, and he scrambles back from the frightening figure of the creature. 

“Tae-ah. I’ve come for you.” An eerie voice calls over the crackle of the lightning, a cast of black silk billowing in the air, alabaster hair and then --he’s awake. 

There are arms around him, encompassing his waist, and he thrashes frantically. “No..!” Tae’s voice is weak, a mere whine at the back of his throat. 

“Shh, Tae, it’s me.” A voice says above him. He knows that voice- it has both annoyed and charmed him one too many times, and as he’s set on the ground gently, firm hands on his waist, he looks up. He looks up at Jungkook with frightened eyes, wide and tearful. His lashes clump together, both from the tears and heavy drops of rain, and his hair is plastered to the side of his face. 

“Tae, you’re alright.” Jungkook says again, and his face is so close, whispers his words against his ear for him to hear over the roar of thunder sounding around them. 

“She’s coming--she said she’s coming for me.”

“Who’s coming, Tae?” 

Tae doesn’t say anything after that, and he buries his face into Jungkook’s chest, muffles a sob against the sopping fabric of his sleep shirt. Jungkook’s hands move across his back, one arm moving to wrap around his shoulders while the other dips to the small of his back, and he pulls him flush against him. Tae can feel the way he rests his cheek against the crown of his head, murmuring comforting words into his wet hair. 

“It’s alright, Tae. I’m here. It’s alright.”

Namjoon has had it. The audacity of these people really. Ever since rumors of his darling brother still being alive had surfaced, he hasn’t had a peaceful day. But he knows it’s not possible--he watched his brother drown in front of him, and he’d been helpless--had been held back by the other people on the boat as he watched his little brother, the light of his life, call out to him, water gurgling in his throat, and then, silence. 

When he had arrived in Japan, Seokjin and Aunt Kimiko had been there to greet him, sweeping him into their embrace and wiping away his tears. Their eyes were sad, tearful, but their lips stretched into a pitiful excuse of a smile, and had told him that things will get better--that he’ll be alright. 

They all knew that that was a lie. 

But they were his last remaining family, so when they had pulled back and looked at him, he had tried his hardest to smile back at them, to convince them that the pain would soon pass. It doesn’t.

He rolls his eyes at the man standing before them, and he turns his head slightly to signal for Seokjin to dismiss him. Aunt Kimiko doesn’t even bother to look up from her cup of tea,  but she sighs in relief when she hears her son politely interrupting the man and getting up from his place on the floor to show him the way out. 

“Honestly these men are horrible.” His aunt speaks in heavily accented pyojuneo, though she radiates confidence, a woman wise beyond her years, and she takes a small sip of her tea. “Do they have no shame coming here claiming to be your long since passed brother just for a measly reward.”

“Mama, though it is pitiful, the reward is not measly.” Seokjin says as he returns to sit down with them by the low table. 

“But we know he’s dead, Seokjin.” Namjoon says with a voice that leaves no room for discussion, but his cousin has always been stubborn. 

“We don’t know for sure..!” he says hopefully. “You didn’t really see him--it was too dark, and the fog makes it hard to see well. 

“It was the dead of the winter, Seokjin. If he had somehow been able to climb over the dock, he would have frozen to death from his wet clothes. He’s dead--”

“Enough, you two. I’m much too old for your bickering.”

“Sorry, mama.”

“Sorry, aunt Kimiko.” 

“Namjoon-ah. I know you’ve lost hope, but maybe the rumors had surfaced for a reason.” She says carefully, and she sets down her china cup soundlessly onto the table. “Maybe he is alive, and we’ll just have to find him.”

Tae couldn’t contain his excitement as they had gotten off the ship, but once they sat in the horse-drawn carriage, Tae wanted to turn back and sail off back to the Joseon Empire. Maybe Bongcha and Hangyeol still have my clothes in a crate , Tae had said, and Jungkook had to roll his eyes at how absurdly he was acting. 

“ You’re going to be great .” Jungkook had assured him.

“ I ..”

“ What is it, Tae? ”

“ Well, three days ago I didn’t have any past at all and now I’m trying to remember an entire lifetime. ”

“ You’ll be great, Tae, I promise. You have me to help. ”

Now they stand in front of a large, beautiful house--Jimin had explained that this was Prince Seokjin’s personal home. The lawn is wide, and there is a large pond in the center, koi fish swimming around in the water. There are flowers and beautiful bushes planted along the walkway leading to the door. 

Jimin rushes past them, and he doesn’t get to call out or ring the chime because the doors are sliding open, and out comes a finely dressed man and Jimin wastes no time in wrapping his arms around him. They share a kiss, and Tae has to look away, feeling like he’s imposing on such an intimate reunion between two lovers, and he can hear the way Jungkook scoffs beside him. 

“They’re worse than the French, or so I’ve heard.”

“You know about the French?”

“Hardly anything other than the fact that they’re a pompous people.”

Tae barks out a surprised laugh, and he looks back at Jimin and Prince Seokjin by the door to see them beckoning Jungkook and him over. 

Prince Seokjin is beautiful--that’s the first thing Tae notices. He has a youthful face--large, wide eyes, cherry lips and rosy cheeks. He smiles kindly at them as he ushers them into his house, walking them down a long hallway that leads to his backyard, and he slides open the door to his porch, where there is tea and confectionery laid out for them. 

“Sit, sit, please. You must have come a long way.” He has a slight accent, but his voice is inviting and Tae wants to hear him speak more. 

“May I present to you, his imperial Highness the Crown Prince Taehyung, Son of Great Emperor Sanghoon.” Jimin says beside Seokjin in a flourish, and Seokjin smiles at him, though it nerves Tae slightly. 

“Oh my heavens--he certainly does look like Taehyung!” Seokjin says as he moves closer to inspect Tae, his hands fisting in the flowing fabric of his fine kimono. “But so did many of the others.” He adds with a sigh.

Tae is doing great. Jungkook stands off to the side as he watches Prince Seokjin quiz him, offering him tea some moments ago, and with the way Seokjin keeps smiling sweetly at Tae every time he answers correctly, hope blooms in Jungkook’s chest.

“Finally you’ll most likely find this an impertinent question, but indulge me. How did you escape during the siege of the palace?” 

The hope dies out. No one knew how the Prince escaped. It was only Jungkook and Grand Prince Namjoon, and the long since passed little Prince Taehyung. 

Jungkook and Jimin exchange a nervous look. It’s obvious they never briefed Tae on this one. Tae is silent for a moment, then:

“There was a boy, a boy who worked in the palace. He opened a wall--” Tae pauses, a silly smile on his face and he shakes his head, realizing what he just had said. “I’m sorry, that’s crazy,”  He says on a lighter note, trying to recover, “--walls opening...”

Jungkook stares at Tae with disbelieving eyes. It... it can’t be. His Taehyung--Tae is the long lost Prince. And Jungkook... He shakes his head, and he walks away from where he was standing by the wall, venturing back into the house to sit by the koi pond.

Tae was the Prince, and after finally being reunited, he was going to escape from his grasp once again. 

“This is ridiculous.”

“So,” Jimin asks hopefully, “is he the Crown Prince?”

“Well, he answered every question.” Seokjin tells him with a bright smile stretching his lips, and he turns to look at Tae with assurance and he bends down to pick up the tray of tea they had finished with. 

“You hear that, child--you did it!” Jimin springs to pull Tae into his arms, and Tae can’t contain his laughter. “So, when do we meet the Grand Prince?”

“I’m afraid you don’t.” Seokjin sighs out as he makes to walk back towards the kitchen area.

“Come again, my darling?”

“The Grand Prince simply won’t allow it.”

Jimin rounds around the table to grasp at Seokjin's arm. “Now Seokjin, my bright diamond. Surely you can think of some way to arrange a brief interview with the Grand Prince. I refuse to budge till an answer occurs to you.” He says pleadingly, and Jimin turns to look back at Tae, the hopeful look on his face slowly slipping off. “Please?” 

Seokjin then gasps, and he turns back to look at both him and Jimin. “Do you like the geisha? They hold a grand performance at the geisha house every full moon-- tonight --and the Grand Prince and I love the Moon performance. We never miss it.” He winks at Jimin, his own smile stretching his lips and then he turns back to look at Tae. 

“And I’ll take you shopping, little one. One does not come all the way to Japan and not tailor a kimono.”

Jimin and Jungkook stand outside the geisha house. Prince Seokjin had sent them first, something along the lines of ‘royalty take time to get ready’, and then he was sliding the door shut and going back to attend to Tae in the privacy of his room. 

Jimin and Jungkook had opted for a simpler, less flashy design--Jungkook had worn a black kimono with a dark grey hakama and layered it with a black haori that was embroidered with fine white designs, while Jimin had chosen to wear a dark blue--it was mostly Prince Seokjin telling him to, though, saying that he wants to match with him. 

Jimin paces outside the entrance, and Jungkook watches him worry his lip between his teeth. “We don’t have anything to be nervous about. He's the Prince.” He tries to assure his friend, and he grabs his arm to stop him. 

“I know, I know but...” 

Jungkook pulls him closer, a hand gripping his elbow, and he looks at Jimin with conflicted eyes. “No, no, no you don’t know. I was the boy--in the palace. The one who opened the wall. He’s the real thing, Jimin.” He smiles at him bitterly, his eyes sad, and he watches the way realization dawns on Jimin’s face.

“That means our Tae has found his family! We have found the heir to the Joseon Empire! And you...”

“Will walk out of his life forever.” Jungkook interrupts as he turns away from Jimin.

Jimin tries again. “But--”

“Princes don’t marry kitchen boys.” Jungkook turns to give him a wry smile, and Jimin's face falls. 

“I know, but... Jungkook.” Jimin rests a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. 

“We’re going to go through with this as if nothing has changed.” Jungkook warns him, and he crowds his space, pointing a finger at Jimin.

“You have to tell him.”

“Tell me what?”

They both turn at the sound of Tae’s-- Taehyung’s --voice, and whatever words were on Jungkook’s tongue melt away at the sight of him, his throat going dry.

White looked good on him. The street lamps don’t do much to light the streets well, but Taehyung was glowing . 

Seokjin had done well. 

His kimono is a plain white, and over it he wore a white uchikake which Jungkook swears are for weddings and brides. The uchikake is stitched and embroidered with shining gold thread, beautiful flowery patterns and images of delicate cranes stitched along the sleeves and train, and they are inked in with pale blues, pinks and greens. His obi is high up just below his chest, and the way it fits around Taehyung’s waist makes Jungkook swallow around the dryness of his throat. He holds a fan in his hand, also white from what he can see in its folded state, but he can only imagine the intricate design that is probably drawn onto it.

His hair is tied up--mostly to show off the way the collar of his kimono dips down his back, and it’s pulled over the front of his shoulder to spill down his chest. There are fine ornate hair pieces pinned to his hair, glinting and shining in the street light, beads dangling down the side of his face, casting pretty color across Taehyung’s face. 

He… he looked beautiful.

He realizes he hadn’t answered when Taehyung tilts his head at him curiously, the beads swinging soundlessly. 

“Huh-how beautiful you look.” 

“Oh,” the smile Jungkook’s rewarded with has his heart beating erratically, Taehyung’s eyes pinching sweetly as his cheek colored prettily, “thank you.” 

Taehyung brushes past Jungkook coyly, and he snaps his fan open, covering the lower part of his face coquettishly, and he leaves Jungkook gaping behind him. 

“Like it?” Jimin says teasingly from beside him.

“Is he wearing... a female kimono?” Jungkook asks instead, as he stares after Taehyung, watches the way people stop to look at him. He can’t blame them--the Prince was a sight for sore eyes. 

“Ah yes, Seokjin had mentioned something about that as he was sending us off. He said the people at the kimono house were ‘taken’ by our Tae, and had said the male kimono was far too drab for.. what had they said exactly?--oh yeah, ‘a blossoming young flower such as yourself’ and ‘a waist like that is criminal to hide’--they were an eccentric lot. Tae had drawn the line at makeup, though.”

Jungkook’s throat dries at the thought of Taehyung with ruby red lips and sultry, black-lined eyes. He can’t help but feel like he’s been robbed. But he also realizes he wouldn’t have been able to handle it either. He can barely handle Taehyung as is. 

“Do you like my handiwork, gentlemen?” Prince Seokjin taps his shoulder slyly, a knowing smile on his lips as he loops his arm around Jimin’s. He wears a dark red kimono, the fabric shining prettily in the street light, and Jungkook thinks he and Jimin look lovely together. 

Black and white match well , he thinks helplessly, as he tries to follow after Taehyung without tripping over his geta. Taehyung walks with a grace that befits royalty, and the thought leaves a bitter taste on Jungkook’s tongue. He is royalty. 

Seokjin parts from them, saying that he’ll have to sit with his mother and the Grand Prince, but he tells them that he’ll be watching them with his scope. (Taehyung had watched in fascination as Seokjin had pulled it from his obi--thin, polished black inlaid with mother of pearl and fine emeralds. Taehyung didn't know why the design had looked so familiar.)

Jungkook sits next to Taehyung, who can’t seem to be able to keep his nerves down, and Jungkook places a comforting hand against Taehyung's own fiddling with his fan, and he brings it close to his lips, whispers softly against the skin of his knuckles.” Everything’s gonna be fine.” He reassures him, as he hands him a scope and points to where the royal family was sitting. “There he is.” He adds softly.

Taehyung is eager to take the scope from him, delicately hovering it over his eyes as he looks out in the general direction of the Grand Prince. “Please let him remember me.” Taehyung whispers almost to himself, and Jungkook’s stomach twists guilty. 

I’ll make sure of that myself, my Prince.  

They don’t pay much attention to the geisha performing on the stage--Jungkook spends it calming Taehyung down and easing his nerves, and Taehyung can only offer him an apologetic smile every time he does so. 

When the curtains fall for an intermission, Jungkook grasps Taehyung’s hand and murmurs against his fingers. ”Come on. I guess it’s time. Relax, you're gonna be great.”

Taehyung just about tries to run off three times--Jungkook catches every time with a gentle hand on his elbow, his shoulder, on his waist, but he guesses Taehyung mostly doesn’t get far due to his geta. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey take a deep breath everything’s gonna be fine.” He reassures him every time, looks him deep in his eyes as he does so, and Taehyung goes breathless every time. 

When they reach the sliding door of the royal family’s private sitting, Jungkook turns to face Taehyung, who worries his lip between his teeth, and he offers him a calming smile. “Wait here just a moment. I’ll go in and announce you properly.” He turns to slide the door open, but Taehyung's voice makes him turn back to look at him, hand stilling on the door.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Look, we’ve been through a lot together...”

“Uh-huh...”Jungkook says hopefully, moving closer to Taehyung.

“...and I just wanted to...” Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Taehyung’s eyes fall to his lips briefly.

“Yes?”

“...well, thank you, I guess. Yes, thank you for everything.” Taehyung says finally, though he doesn’t seem convinced by what he’s said himself, but he nods his head still.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely, and he turns back to the door. Actually-- “Tae, I...”

“Yes?” Taehyung says almost hopefully, shuffling closer to Jungkook. 

“I’m... I... Um...” He’s unsure of what to say--his throat suddenly feels tight, and with the sight of Taehyung looking like a star that had been plucked straight from the starry night, Jungkook doesn’t know if whatever he’ll say will be enough. 

“Yes?” Taehyung almost sounds eager, looking at Jungkook from beneath his lashes, and Jungkook swallows dryly. 

“I wanted to wish you good luck... Well... here goes.” He finally decides on saying, and he wants to take it back instantly when he sees Taehyung deflate, his shoulders slumping, and Jungkook offers him a sad smile before he turns back, slides the door open, and walks in, sliding the door behind himself, though it doesn’t shut entirely. 

Inside, Seokjin is ready to greet him, putting on the act of refusing his admission. 

“Please inform his majesty, The Grand Prince, that I have found his brother. The Crown Prince Taehyung. He’s waiting to see him just outside the door.” Jungkook says confidently. 

“I’m very sorry young man but the Grand Prince, he will see no one.” Seokjin says so as he sweeps aside and allows Jungkook to walk further into the room. The Grand Prince must have heard them, because he’s turning around in his seat slightly, eyeing Jungkook briefly before he looks back over to the stage. 

“You may tell that impertinent young man that I have seen enough 'Crown Prince Taehyung's to last me a lifetime.” He says with a tired voice. 

Seokjin seems to be having second thoughts, his handsome face twisting into an unsure expression, and he tries to usher Jungkook out of the room. “You’d better go.”

“No, Seokjin, wait--” He pushes past Seokjin, though Seokjin doesn’t seem to make a move to stop him--in fact he leaves the room, and Jungkook moves to sit down next to the Grand Prince respectfully. 

“Your Highness, I intend you no harm. My name is Jungkook. I used to work at the palace--”

The Prince interrupts him before he gets to continue. “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard, I must say.” he rises to get up and away from Jungkook, but Jungkook follows after him determinedly.

“Wait, don’t go please if you’ll just hear me out.”

“I know what you’re after. I’ve seen it before! People who train young men in the royal ways.” Namjoon pulls at a thick rope that hangs from the ceiling--Jungkook assumes to call for someone, and that means that Jungkook has to get his point across before whoever they were got here. 

“But if your Highness will... just listen.” Jungkook tries again, but the Prince interrupts him once more. 

“Haven’t you been listening? I’ve had enough. I don’t care how much you have fashioned this boy to look like him, sound like him or act like him. In the end, it never is him!” Jungkook can hear the way Namjoon’s heart breaks with every word he speaks, and he pleads to him on his knees when sits back down. 

“But this time it is him!”

“Jungkook--I've heard of you, you’re that con man from the capital that has been causing trouble with the guards looking for a Taehyung look-a-like. You are just like the rest of them, boy--trying to trick a poor man who had lost his brother only to fill their greedy pockets with money.”

“But your Highness if you’d only look at him--” There are rough hands around his arms, firm and forceful, and Jungkook thrashes against them, trying to pull free. 

He thinks he hears Seokjin gasp amongst the ruckus, calling out to his cousin to hear him out, but Namjoon only sends him a glare, an almost betrayed look in his eyes as he turns his back to them, and watches the geisha performance that has started again. 

When they throw Jungkook out, he falls to his knees, coming up to the sight of intricate embroidery and skillfully dyed fabric--Taehyung’s uchikake. His head snaps up to look at him, but his heart drops to his stomach at the sight of a teary-eyed Taehyung. 

“It was all a lie.” He whispers disbelievingly, his wet eyes following Jungkook's movements as he stands up. “It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

“No no..”

“You used me... I, I was just a part of your con to get his money !?”

“No, no, no, no.... look it may have started out that way but everything’s different now, because you really are Taehyung, you are .” Jungkook pleads, trying to grasp Taehyung’s hand in his, to assure him, but he pulls away, distances himself from Jungkook.

“No... Stop it! From the very beginning you lied... and I not only believed you, I, I actually… Argh !” Taehyung argues back, points an accusing finger at Jungkook, and Jungkook can’t even begin to explain how much he just wants to reach over a wipe away his falling tears, whisper reassurances against his ear, hold him tight in his arms and never let him go--not again, not never. To tell him how ever since that day more than ten years ago when he had seen Taehyung for the first time in the garden, he’d been hopelessly and stupidly in love--how his childish infatuation had manifested in going as far as risking his life to save his first love. Who was now staring at him, betrayal and hatred marred across his beautiful face, and Jungkook will never forgive himself for this. 

“Tae, please. When you spoke of the hidden door of the wall opening and the little boy… listen to me that was...”

“No! I don’t want to hear about anything I said or remembered! You just leave me alone!” Taehyung tries to walk away, pushes past people walking in the hall. 

“Tae, please, you have to know the truth--” He doesn’t get to finish what he was saying, a pain blooming in his cheek, and he looks at Taehyung with wide eyes, watches how his chest heaves, the way his hand was raised--he’d just slapped him. And Jungkook deserved it. 

Taehyung doesn’t look back as he rushes down the hall, but Jungkook loses him in the crowd, and when he emerges onto the street, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Namjoon has just had enough. What peaceful night he thought he’d have at his time at the geisha house was disrupted by a crazy young man. Seokjin had gone home early, something about his mother and needing to attend to her, and now he walks out the geisha house towards his carriage alone. When his coachman helps him into his seat, he doesn’t have to wait long until they’re speeding down the street. 

“Ichiro, slow down.”

“I’m not Ichiro, and I won’t slow down--not until you listen.”

What surprises him is to see in place of Ichiro, his coachman, the man from the geisha house, and Namjoon's eyebrows pull downwards. “You! Stop the carriage immediately.”

He doesn’t stop the carriage, nor does he slow down, in fact, he takes him so far out of town into a quiet district that offers daily housing for nobility and people of high-rankings. He can’t imagine how a kitchen boy--if what the man had said was true--could possibly afford to room here.

He hears shuffling from outside, the dull clack of a geta against the packed road, and the door to the carriage is being swung open, the man looking at him with a frustrated expression. 

“You have to talk to him--just look at him, please !” 

“I won’t be badgered by you a moment longer.” 

The man-- Jungkook --Namjoon recalls, lets out an exasperated sigh before he's crouching down, bracing a hand against the frame of the carriage and he pulls out something from his obi. Namjoon’s heart stops.

“Do you recognize this?” Jungkook asks in a hushed tone and he looks at Namjoon with hopeful eyes. 

“Where… where did you get this?” Namjoon can’t believe what he’s looking at. It was the sangtugwan, the one he had gifted Taehyung during his birthday celebrations--right before Chaeyoung had--he shakes his head, he doesn’t wish to remember that. “This was my brother’s.”

“It is your brother’s, because he’s right up there.” He pauses and he holds out his hand for Namjoon to take, to help him down from the carriage, but Namjoon can only stare at the sangtugwan grasped firmly by his side. “I know you’ve been hurt. But it’s just possible that he’s been as lost and alone as you.” Jungkook adds softly.

Namjoon gives him an unsure look. Namjoon has seen one too many men claiming to be his little brother, and if after this--even with the sight of Taehyung’s sangtugwan after years of thinking it had been lost or destroyed during the siege, if even after all that, the man up there is not his brother, Namjoon doesn’t know if his heart will be able to handle it. 

“Alright.” He says gently, and he climbs down from the carriage. 

“Gods, honestly, I can’t keep doing this.” Chaeyoung paces around the pond, lightning crackling all around her from her sour mood, and she throws a glare at the phoenix. “How can I possibly kill him when all I can do is send your incompetent minions after him?” 

Going up to the surface of earth will drain you of your energy much further . 

“I don’t care! I want him dead! I can’t do that from down here!”

The spirits are silent for a moment, and she rolls her eyes, turns her back to the phoenix, and looks down at the image of Taehyung on the water’s surface. He’s in a room, thrown across a futon as he sobbed into his arms. You can’t have everything, you spoiled brat . A seed of envy blooms in her chest at the sight of him, beautiful even in sorrow, and she can’t help the frustrated tears that sting the backs of her eyes.

Alright. We shall grant you access on earth, but you must be quick . 

She doesn’t turn back to face the shadowy form of the phoenix, but she feels a thrum beneath her skin, much like before, and she sways where she stands slightly before she rights herself, lightning crackling at her fingertips. “Excellent.”

Taehyung had been stupid--blinded, tricked. Wonders what a smile and kind eyes and gentle hands could convince him to do. But he had been foolish, and now he is paying for it. 

Jungkook had lied to him. Lied . After constantly telling him--assuring him, that he was the Prince, and that it was all for his sake and never his. He had promised him a home, whether it was with Grand Prince Namjoon or with him and Jimin, and he had stupidly fallen in love along the way. And now he’s left with nothing--his heart aches in his chest, from the betrayal and the loneliness. 

He packs whatever belongings he had brought with him, and he sheds his uchikake, now wearing only the plain white kimono, and suddenly he feels stupid. How could he have ever been convinced that he was the missing Crown Prince?

Taehyung hears footsteps sounding from down the hall, and he sighs in frustration when he hears the sound of the sliding door opening with a quiet drag. 

“Go away, Jungkook--oh.” When Taehyung turns around, Jungkook is not standing by the door. Instead it is Namjoon, the Grand Prince himself, and Taehyung brings a hand up to his chest, startled at the sight of him, regal and graceful without even trying. “I’m sorry, I thought you were--”

“I know exactly who you thought I was. Who exactly are you?” The Prince asks as he walks into the room, taking a few steps closer to Taehyung. 

“I.. I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.” Taehyung says apprehensively, his fingers ring in the fabric of the long kimono sleeves, and he looks at the Prince with a hopeful look in his eyes. 

“Hm.. you’re more convincing than the others. It almost makes me want to believe you, but I’ve had enough of people trying to trick me and con me of my money. Horrible people they are--are you like them too?” 

Taehyung’s quick to shake his head, his lower lip worried between his teeth. “I don’t want your money, and I don’t want to need to trick you to find a home--find my family. I had simply thought that maybe you could’ve been who I’ve been looking for.” Taehyung says quietly, tries to stay respectful, and he finds his hands unconsciously reaching for the leather string tied around his neck, feeling around for the broken binyeo. 

Namjoon gives him an unconvinced look. “You're a very good actor--best yet, but I’ve had enough.” And just as Namjoon sweeps past Taehyung for the door, Taehyung catches a whiff of an oddly familiar scent. 

“Crocus?” he doesn’t know how he recognizes the scent so easily, and the Grand Prince stills on his way out, turns to give a slight look. 

“Yes, an oil I use from my hair.”

“I--” Taehyung continues, surprising even himself, and his eyes flutter shut at the mysterious memory he’s recalling. “You were rubbing it into your hair, and I spilled it all over your bed. The sheets were soaked, and they forever smelled of crocus.” His eyes open, and he looks at Namjoon, who only stares at him with poorly veiled shock, and then he smiles. “Like you.”

The Prince remains speechless, but he walks back into the room, almost pulled unwillingly, and he listens silently as Taehyung continues. 

“I would always sleep there, and oh how I would miss you--when you would travel with father here... to Japan.” 

The Prince waves at him to sit on the long bench pushed against the wall, next to him, and Namjoon’s eyes instantly fall to his fingers where they fiddle against his chest with the broken binyeo. 

“What is that?” The Prince asks breathlessly, and he points to the binyeo. 

“Oh, this? This--well, I’ve always had it... Ever since before I can remember.” Taehyung says nonchalantly, misses the way the Prince’s eyes grow tearful, mouth hanging open in a silent gasp. 

“May I?” The Prince sounds careful, his voice watery, and Taehyung’s quick to comply, untying the thread from around his neck and pooling it gently in Namjoon’s outstretched palm. “It was my gift to him--my darling Taehyung, on the night of his eighth birthday.” Namjoon silently pulls the sangtugwan from where it was tucked into his obi, and Taehyung gasps. 

“The matching sangtugwan..!” Taehyung has always wondered about the unusual design of the binyeo, like a curving leaf, and now looking at the matching sangtugwan, he understood. They look beautiful--it’s a shame that the binyeo was broken, but the Prince still slides it delicately into the punctured holes on either side of the sangtugwan and when he brings it up to look at it, the first of many tears stream down his cheeks. The binyeo just barely peeks from the other side--broken yet still functional.

“I had it fashioned because father always loved to call you his--”

“His snow flower.” Taehyung finishes breathlessly. He’s heard this before--in his dream, that had swirled into a horrible nightmare. Had that been his father? Were those his siblings? Taehyung’s heart squeezes at the thought.

The Prince lets out a sob before he’s frantically pulling Taehyung into his arms. 

“Oh Taehyung, my Taehyung.”

Jungkook stands just outside the house, looking up at the window of Taehyung’s room, and he blows a kiss up at the window, before whispering to the silence of the night and walking away. 

“Good bye, my Taehyung.”

He’s called for the next morning, on the day of Crown Prince Taehyung’s welcoming banquet, a guard claiming the Grand Prince had wanted an audience with him, and who was he to deny him. 

“You sent for me, your Highness?”

“Five hundred million muns. As promised, with my gratitude.”

Jungkook’s stomach twists at the thought of accepting the reward after all that has happened, and he politely bows to the Prince. “I accept your gratitude, your Highness. But I don’t want the money.”

“Then what do you want?” The Prince looks at him with a knowing smile, and he takes languid steps towards Jungkook. 

“Unfortunately, nothing that you can give.”

“Where did you get the sangtugwan?” The Prince asks instead, “you were the boy, weren’t you? The servant boy who got us out. You saved his life, and mine. Then you restored him to me, yet you want no reward?” 

Jungkook averts his gaze, lest the Prince read his face like an open book, and he answers plainly. “Not anymore.”

“A change of mind, I suppose? Or was it a change in heart?” At the Prince’s sure tone, Jungkook’s head snaps up to meet his calculating gaze. “Jungkook...”

“I’ll be taking my leave, your Highness--I have previous engagements.”

The Prince watches him go with a sad smile on his lips, and he shakes his head, a sigh escaping him. “Young love.”

He greets Jimin as he is leaving, his friend fabulously decorated for the ball--after all, he had also helped in restoring the Crown Prince to his brother. 

“You’re making a mistake, Jungkook. You don’t have to leave.”

“There’s nothing for me here, Jimin.”

“There’s everything for you here-- Taehyung’s here, and that should be enough!”

“It shouldn’t mean anything.” Jungkook sighs exasperatedly. “It doesn’t.” He corrects himself. He takes one last look at Jimin, at the one person that had been a constant in his life, and bids him a farewell. 

Jungkook hadn’t prepared himself to see Taehyung--hadn’t expected to, but he does, as he is descending the wooden stairs that lead up to the private quarters, and there he is, at the foot of the steps, looking as beautiful as he always has. 

He’s wearing a hanbok--much finer than the ones he had seen Taehyung wear across the span of the few days he had been acquainted with him-- reunited , he tells himself, and his eyes take in the sight, because he knows this will probably be the last time he’s seeing Taehyung. 

“Hello.” Taehyung--Crown Prince Taehyung--greets him first, his voice distant. 

“Hello.” Jungkook replies unenthusiastically. 

“Did you collect your reward?”

“My business here is done.”

Just as he’s making his way further down the stairs, the chief steward halts him. “Eh, young man, you will bow and address the Prince as Your Highness ."

Taehyung tries to hold out a hand, to tell the steward that it wasn’t necessary, but Jungkook clears his throat quietly, “please, your Highness. I’m glad you found what you were looking for.” He adds as an afterthought. 

Taehyung looks at him firmly, his posture regal and refined, and though Jungkook stands higher up on the stare, he still manages to look down at Jungkook. “I’m glad you did, too.”

“Well, then... Goodbye.” He bows at the waist.  “Your Highness.”

Taehyung watches him as he goes, and he whispers softly to himself. “Goodbye.”

The people of Japan celebrated in odd ways, Taehyung thinks to himself as he watches them dance out in the banquet hall, women fluttering fans alluringly and men with swords strapped to their sides. 

“You won’t find what you’re looking for.” Namjoon says from behind him. He’s dressed finely in dark green silks with silver detailing, a great contrast to Taehyung pale lilac and gold hanbok. He comes up to stand beside him, rests a gentle hand against the slope of Taehyung’s back, running his fingers through the long strands of his hair. 

“I--” Taehyung starts, unsure of what to say. He turns to face his brother. 

“He’s not here, Tae-ah.”

“He’s not--who’s not here, big brother?” Taehyung knows who he’s talking about, his heart knows too, what with the way it clenches in his chest, yearning, hoping. But it was not meant to be, he guesses. He feigns innocence, turning to look back at the merry crowd of nobility and military men as they celebrate his long awaited return. 

“A remarkable young man, who had found a sangtugwan.” Namjoon adds, his tone knowing. 

“Of course not, he’s probably spending his reward money as fast as he can.” 

“Is that so?” Namjoon questions teasingly, and he looks out at the banquet hall. “These people are like you and me--born into this world of glittering jewels and fine titles. After all, you're the Crown Prince of the Joseon Empire, the lost heir to the throne.” He pauses, looks back at his brother, and he pulls him into a gentle embrace. He tucks a lock of Taehyung’s hair behind his ear, rubs hands down his back, and he whispers carefully against his ear. “But I wonder if this is what you really want--how you want to live your life.”

Taehyung looks at Namjoon with an incredulous look in his eyes, mouth slightly parted and he tilts his head curiously. “Of course this is what I want--of course. I found where I belong, I found out who I am. I found you. My only family. I got my old life back.”

“You did find me, and you’ll always have me.” Namjoon rests a hand against his shoulder, and he cups Taehyung’s cheek gingerly. There are tears in Namjoon’s eyes, they shine under the stars, and Taehyung’s lips part to ask him what’s wrong, but Namjoon whispers softly to him before he does. “My little flower...” he starts. “He didn’t take the money, Tae-ah.” 

“He didn’t?”

“Tae-ah,” Namjoon says instead of answering him. “Knowing you are alive, seeing the man you've become brings me the greatest forms of happiness. But now I know.” He says cryptically, and he turns Taehyung to look out at the banquet once more. “I’ll always love you Tae-ah. Whatever you choose, we will always have each other.” He kisses Taehyung’s cheek, and he can feel the wetness of Namjoon’s tears, falling down the swell of his cheeks. 

“Big brother, can’t you--” But Namjoon is gone. Taehyung looks at the crowd, how they laugh and dance and drink. He straightens his shoulders, makes to walk into the open banquet hall--but suddenly he hears a familiar eerie voice calling out to him. He turns to see a swathe of fluttering black silk just disappearing through the grand doors leading out to the courtyard. Taehyung gasps. “Jungkook?” 

He runs after it. 

It is dark out, though the moon is high in the sky, and he follows the shadow of the mysterious form--who he hopes is Jungkook. It moves fluidly, curving around trees and tall bushes and erected stone walls, and Taehyung hurries his pace lest he loses sight of it. 

“ Taehyung .” 

He hears the voice again, though, now he knows it’s not Jungkook because it sounds feminine, regal yet sweet sounding, and it causes a chill to run down his spine. He reaches the center of the courtyard, a large koi pond in the middle, plants and flowers and greenery float atop its surface and bordering all around it. It reflects the moonlight prettily, casting a glow across Taehyung’s face, but he finds no comfort in it.

The wind rustles the leaves behind him and he jerks suddenly, turns to look at the leaves fluttering and being carried off by the strong night winds. 

“ Taehyung .” The voice sing-songs again, but this time it sounds much closer, and Taehyung whirls around to find the slight form of--of someone . It is a woman, dressed in deep, billowy black silk and she is as pale as the moon. Her hair is ghostly, white and luminescent like the snow and it pools on the ground by her bare feet. She paints a menacing figure, silhouetted by the moon, and she steps closer to Taehyung, a wicked smile on her hauntingly beautiful face as she bows before him, cynically, cruelly. “ Your Imperial Highness. ” 

Her voice is icy, unsettling, and her eyes pinch at his silence. “Look what twelve years have done to us--you are a dazzling Prince that has bloomed gracefully, and me...” She cuts herself off, a frown pulling at her chapped and bloody lips and she sweeps a lock of her long alabaster hair over her shoulder. “Withering away in the nether land. I’ve grown ashy, sadly, and I’m constantly feeling weak.” She says nonchalantly, and Taehyung’s face pulls into a horrified expression as realization dawns on him. 

“You...” he says disbelievingly.

“Last seen at a party much like this one. Though, you were eight back then--a child really.”

“My siblings died.. You killed them.. And father--”

“Don’t you dare mention that man in my presence!” The woman screeches, and Taehyung flinches at her piercing voice. 

“You,” he gulps, trying to find the courage to speak, and his hands fly to his neck, fingers ghosting over the scars, tracing the lines across his skin unconsciously. “.. you tried to kill me.”

She hums in satisfaction, and her grin grows sinister. “You’re not going to hug your big sister? It’s been awfully long.”

“Chaeyoung.” Taehyung breathes out, and he takes careful steps away from her-- his sister , and his heart drops into his stomach when he realizes that he has backed himself up against a large stone wall. 

“Yes, little brother, it’s Chaeyoung. Your dear sister who had everything ripped away from her.” She says cruelly, her eyes glowing an ominous gold before Taehyung hears a sound he never thought he’d hear again. 

The crackle of lightning, bright at the tips of her blackened fingers, and she smiles wickedly at the way his face blanches with fear, tears collecting in his eyes. It crackles the sky, a sharp clap sounding all around them. Chaeyoung laughs gleefully. His terror brings her joy. 

“But I’ve come back for you Taehyung, and this time, I will not fail this time.”

Jungkook had been stupid to leave. 

Jungkook had run off to Seokjin’s private home, and rang the chime loudly. When Seokjin had slid open the door with a confused expression twisting his face, it had only taken him a few seconds to break into a wide smile. “I’ll call for a carriage.” He hastily slipped on his geta and dragged Jungkook back down the walkway and outside on the street.

They don’t say much as the ride off to the grand estate Namjoon houses, though Seokjin can’t seem to stop smiling at him, and when they stop in front of the grand entryway, Jungkook doesn’t even stop to thank Seokjin and bid him farewell before he is rushing down the walkway, hands fisting in his durumagi. 

He can hear faint music playing in the distance, hears merry laughter of people enjoying the banquet, and he hastily rushes down the hall in the direction of the noise. By some stroke of luck, he finds the Grand Prince instantly, and he makes his way over to him. Namjoon seems to sense his presence as he approaches, and he looks at Jungkook with pleasant surprise, his eyes wide and his lips pushing into an amused smile. 

Jungkook bows deeply. “Your Highness,” he straightens up, his chest heaving, and he pauses to catch his breath.

“You are full of surprises, Jungkook.”

“I’d like to talk to you, your Highness.”

“I know you do.” The Prince smiles at him knowingly as he pulls him away from the banquet hall, and up a short set of stairs. He opens a door that leads to a private study, and Namjoon tells him to make himself comfortable as he walks over to the window and swings it open. A gentle breeze flows in, and Jungkook is thankful as it cools his heated skin. 

“I need to see Tae. I need to tell him something.” Jungkook rushes to say, his eyes searching Namjoon’s face. 

“Indeed you do.” Namjoon says sagely, and he walks over to a cabinet. “Would you like something to drink?” He offers kindly. “Though I don’t think you’ll be able to handle it well.” He comments jokingly, and as Jungkook is making to reply, he catches sight of a bright flash outside in the courtyard.

“Lightning...” He says almost absentmindedly, and Namjoon turns at his voice, humming in question. 

“There’s lightning...” Jungkook starts, almost unsurely, “but no thunder,” he finishes lamely. “There could be a storm coming.”

“Lightning without thunder is not a storm, it’s probably just a trick of the light--you’re probably just seeing things.” But just as Namjoon is telling that to Jungkook, a large bolt strikes again, outside in the courtyard, and his heart drops into his stomach. The glass bottle he was holding falls from his limp grasp, and it shatters across the floor, soaking his clothes.  “No... it can’t be.” He walks over to the window, uncaring of the glass shards crushing beneath his feet, and his face goes white as a sheet.

“Your Highness..?”

“Taehyung’s in trouble.”

“What?”

“Taehyung, he’s in trouble--that’s no storm, that’s our sister .”

Taehyung ducks behind an neatly trimmed bush, clamps a firm hand against his mouth to silence his heaving breaths, and slides down onto the floor weakly. 

His sister is trying to kill him--has been trying to strike him with lightning, and all he can do is run and hide. He’s grown tired, his chest heaving and his limbs aching, and tears fall down his face from the exhaustion. 

“Come on, Taetae. I just want to play. It’s my turn to win.” Chaeyoung’s voice gets closer and closer to where he is hiding, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping she will walk past him, but alas.

Lightning strikes at the ground by his feet, and he scrambles to get up, to get away from her, but he’s being pushed to the ground, her small body tackling him, and he can’t seem to fight her off from the weariness deep in his bones. 

Just as she’s raising a hand to the sky, lightning crackling at her fingertips, he hears a faint call--someone calling his name, and he tries to call back, but he can’t seem to find his voice, a soundless sob escaping his throat as tears stream down the side of his face. 

“Good bye, your Highness.” Just as she’s bringing her hand down onto him, something whizzes past over his head, slicing through the air, and Chaeyoung screeches in pain. An arrow is embedded into her palm, and she chokes out a pained sob. Taehyung takes the chance to push her off him, and suddenly there are hands on him, around his arm and the curve of his waist, and he twists to see Jungkook looking at him with a horrified expression on his face.

“Are you alright?” He whispers gently, his eyes searching for blood or injuries, and when he finds none, he helps Taehyung to his feet and pulls him flush against his chest. 

“I thought you left..” 

“Never again--I’m never leaving you.” 

“Taehyung-ah” He hears his brother call out to him, the clatter of wood against the stone ground--a bow and a quiver--and he’s being pulled into his arms, Jungkook standing off to the side as he watches the siblings embrace. “How--what happened? I saw the lightning and knew it was her, but how... How is she alive? I.. I killed her myself, for--for you, to save you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, dear big brother. You've grown quite bothersome, Namjoon--really.” She sounds murderous, her eyes glowing gold, and Taehyung follows the movement of her hands. The arrow has pierced right through her palm, the tip peeking from between her bony knuckles, and he winces when she breaks off the end, a pained scream ripping from her throat. Her hair falls into her ghostly face, wispy strands cascading down her shoulders and the look she gives them could freeze hell over. “You’ve always had a favorite, Namjoon. You let blood come between a bond formed over more than ten years!” Chaeyoung screams over the crackle of lightning, the sparks winding around her thin arms, around her slight torso, and her hair flutters in no other way than pretty, framing her hauntingly beautiful face. 

“He is my brother, Chaeyoung.” Namjoon tries to stay calm, but his eyes tell a whole other story, dark and unforgiving, and his grip tightens around Taehyung’s quivering form. “He’s my only full-blood sibling.”

“And I am your sister! I loved you, Namjoon! For more than ten years we only had each other, and then that brat is born and he takes up all your time.” She throws a harsh glare at Taehyung who looks up from where he has his face buried in Namjoon’s shoulder. “You cast me aside, Namjoon--my only friend left me.”

“No, Chaeyoung, you left me! You left all of us--”

“Chaeyoung...” Taehyung cuts Namjoon off, pushing away from his comforting hold, and he takes a tentative step towards his sister. “Chaeyoung, I--I don’t remember what had happened, or why you are like this--what I had done to deserve this... but I’m sorry.” His voice breaks off, shaky with tears, and he stutters out a breath, as he watches his sister’s face harden. 

“You’re pathetic, always have been--”

“No, Chaeyoung. What’s pathetic is to let something that happened more than ten years ago come between family, to break us apart. I don’t remember what happened , and I don’t really care. But whatever it was, I forgive you.” He can taste the saltiness of his tears against his lips. “I forgive you, Chaeyoung. You’re my sister , and I forgive you. ”

“Taehyung-ah...”

“No, Namjoon. She’s angry with me, and I need her to know that I’m sorry for whatever happened and that I forgive her. ” He turns to look back at his brother, at Jungkook who has been silently watching them, his eyes wide with terror and fear for Taehyung, fear of Chaeyoung, and Taehyung bites his lip and turns back to look at Chaeyoung. “Whatever it is, no matter what--be it the throne or a book or a hairpiece or a flower--it is not worth your sorrow and anguish.”

She looks shocked, surprised. 

“I...”

Chaeyoung was a princess to her people--they loved her, would sing her praises when she would sneak out and go down to the market with Namjoon, would call her 'the people’s princess'. She may not have been the eldest--not given the throne by birth, but that hadn't stopped her from trying to help her people. Hadn’t stopped her from wanting her father’s empire and its future emperors to flourish and bring prosperity to their land. But now her people feared her, the empire’s subjects despised her, knew her as the evil sorceress that had killed the royal family, slain them ruthlessly, and all because her father--who had always seemed friendly and kind and just--had loved his youngest above anything else. 

This... this was not Taehyung’s fault--isn’t his fault, and she feels a pleasant humming deep in her chest at the thought. She will not let her father even in death steer her decisions in his favor. 

He had made her like this, he had made her into what she was now; a power mad sorceress who had slaughtered her entire family and was now back from the dead to kill the one that got away. But she doesn’t want to--she doesn’t want to kill Taehyung, not with the way he was looking at her like he still loved her, like he could forgive all her wrong doings. Like he still loved her . 

She doesn’t want to kill Taehyung anymore, but that meant an entire other thing for her. 

“Tae-ah.” She chokes out, and she falls to her knees, a pained gasp escaping her lips. 

Self-inflicted, the spirits had said-- through self-inflicted quietus only may the bond be broken , and tears well up in her eyes at the thought. 

Taehyung does not deserve to suffer as she did. Taehyung had never wronged anyone, had always looked at the world in a rose-tinted gaze, smiled a little too brightly, laughed a little too loudly, and even more then tens years later, seeing him grown into a promising Prince-- a great ruler, he will make --her heart aches for her brother who had done nothing yet has been given the world, only to have it stripped away by her. Cruelly ripped away from his fingers because she had felt weak and inferior. 

And yet he forgives her. She doesn’t understand how he can, after all he’s been through--all the suffering he has endured because of her. 

She feels a warmth sweep over her, tingling at the tips of her fingers, and she gasps when she looks down at her hands to see the blackness that had tipped her fingers for many years fade away, her skin looking less pale. Her hair bleeds black, pooling around her knees, her cheeks rosy. She looks up to find Taehyung staring at her, his eyes wide and his mouth parted in a gasp, as whatever magic that had been imbued into her soul the day she left the palace more than fifteen years slowly drains from her. 

You have failed once more .

The voice echoes in her head warningly, and she looks around frantically for the shadowy figure of the phoenix, only to find it hovering over Taehyung. They can’t seem to see it, and her eyes widen. 

“No! Leave him alone!”

“Chaeyoung.? What’s wrong?” Taehyung takes a step closer to her, unassuming and she yells at him to stay where he is, to not get any closer to her.

You have failed to kill him, and now you must pass . 

“No! I won’t let you touch him!” She has to do something--she has to prevent this from happening. She can’t let Taehyung suffer, can’t let the spirits torment him. She has to do something, she has to--!

As she frantically looks around, bracing herself against the ground, pain blooms in her palm. The arrow head-- the arrow head . She.. she can use the arrowhead to… 

‘Through self-inflicted quietus only may the bond be broken.’

Through self-inflicted quietus… 

She has to.. She must. 

She looks down at the arrow piercing through her palm, wraps her hands around the broken shaft, and pulls it free. It hurts--of course it hurts, and she lets out a pained cry as blood trails from her palm, down her fingers and smudging against her wrist. She hears Taehyung make his way over to her, crowding her and asking her in a rushed and crazed voice. 

“What--what are you doing!?” He rips his hanbok, tears a piece of fabric from his fine po, and he makes to wrap it around Chaeyoung’s bleeding palm. “When we get back to the estate, we’ll have the physician look at it properly. You’ll need stitches--”

“Taehyung.. Taehyung, no. I huh-have to do this.” She says firmly, pulls her hand free from Taehyung’s gentle hold, and she hates the way blood stains his clothes, on his fingers and along his knuckles. “I have to do this. I’m sorry, Taehyung. I.. I have to do this .”

“Chaeyoung.. wuh-what are you talking about? It’s cold out, let’s go back to the estate.”

“No, Taehyung..! I have to do this! I’m.. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,”

Taehyung doesn’t get the chance to question what she's sorry about exactly, before she plunges the arrow head into her heart, and she grunts in pain.

“Chaeyoung!”

“It’s fine, Taehyung. It’s fine.” She smiles at him sadly, and her hands fall from their hold around the shaft protruding from her chest. 

“Chaeyoung.. Why-why did you..? Chaeyoung...” Taehyung manages to say around his tears, his hands hovering over her chest, and he looks pained at not being able to do anything. But she has to do this. 

Tears stream down her face, and she chokes on the blood in her throat, coughing uncontrollably. She looks at her brother, at the tears streaming down his face, his mouth pulled downwards, and she can’t help the hand that goes up to his face, fingers tracing his jaw, and she smears blood across his cheeks. “Taehyung-ah, you’ve grown up to be so pretty. Just like a snow flower.” Her smile dips bitterly. “He was right to call you that.” 

Taehyung’s fingers curl around her dainty wrist, leans into her palm, and he keeps murmuring apologies into her skin, until her hand goes limp, her body slumping forward, and the last thing she sees is the furious form of the shadowy phoenix fade away, it’s voice echoing in her head. 

Troublesome, you humans are .

Jungkook never thought he’d be back at the abandoned palace. He especially didn’t expect to see it so full of people. 

“My love!”

But what he had expected the least was to hear Taehyung’s voice calling out to him like that. His heart swells in his chest, and he turns around to the sight of his Prince, his darling Taehyung, beautiful as always, and he opens his arms for Taehyung, pulling him tightly against his chest. He kisses along his temple, down his nose, and he presses a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips--there were people around, after all--and his heart swells at the way Taehyung melts into his arms, the sound of his happy sigh making him smile against his lips. 

“What is it, my Tae?”

“Namjoon is here, and he’s brought Jimin and Seokjin with him.”

After that night in the courtyard of Namjoon’s Japan estate many moons ago, as they all watched Taehyung bid farewell to his sister that he had only just come to remember, Namjoon had ushered them all back into his study, where Jungkook had held a weeping Taehyung against his chest, a gentle hand brushing through his long, inky tresses. 

“ With you back, you must reclaim the throne, little brother. ” Namjoon had told Taehyung after he had calmed down. They had ushered him to the baths, wiped his hands and face gently of Chaeyoung’s blood, and had given him new clothes to wear. He sat with his head in Jungkook’s laps, his eyes dull as they stared at nothing in particular, and Namjoon had sighed wearily. “ I know this is not something you’d want to think about now. But our empire is suffering, our people mistreated by the military, and now that you’ve returned--the rightful heir to the throne, ruler of the Great Joseon Empire, you must make things right. ”

Taehyung had nodded absentmindedly against Jungkook’s knees, and then he had sat up, his eyes searching for Jungkook’s and he whispered softly between. “ You’ll come with me, won’t you? ”

Jungkook had been surprised at his request, shocked that Taehyung had wanted him by his side as he ruled the whole of the Joseon Empire. But he couldn't imagine being anywhere but with Taehyung, by his side, forever and always. He had smiled at him kindly, and he had plucked Taehyung’s hand from where it was bracing him against his thighs, and he pressed a kiss to his knuckles and murmured against his skin. “ Always, your Highness, like it is sure the sun will rise from the east. ”

The first thing they had done upon their return to the Empire was visit Taehyung’s orphanage, a tearful reunion between Taehyung and his two caretakers--Bongcha and Hangyeol, and Hangyeol had taken one look at Jungkook before he had pulled him to the side when both Taehyung and Bongcha were busy catching up in the kitchen as they prepared lunch for the children, and had whispered firmly. “ You better treat him right. ”

Jungkook had been surprised, but then he had laughed nervously, and then he smiled, more firm and sure this time, as he looked Hangyeol in the eyes. “ Like the Prince he is, harabeoji. ”

They had left the orphanage late at night, and once they were within the castle walls, Taehyung had tackled him to the ground, lips pressed firmly against his, and they had parted in a daze. Jungkook’s hands had found their way around Taehyung’s waist while Taehyung braced himself with his hands firmly planted against his chest, and he had whispered against his lips, voice dipped in excitement. “ We’ll rebuild this empire together, and people like Bongcha and Hangyeol and all the merchants in the capital will no longer have to suffer. ”

Taehyung was a great emperor. He cares not for fine clothes or glittering jewels--all for the hairpiece he never parts with, which is quite uncharacteristic for an emperor. To wear a broken binyeo with pride that befits a hunter that had taken down a great beast. But Jungkook knows that’s why Taehyung is a great emperor--the people’s emperor. 

On the day of his coronation, Taehyung had taken to standing before his people and telling them of his fallen family--of his sister, whom he wished people would remember her as the kind and generous First Princess they all had once known and loved. 

He shakes his head at the memory of Taehyung coming down from the platform in overwhelmed tears, telling Jungkook that it was what Chaeyoung deserved at least in death. They hadn’t been able to bury her in the family grave next to her siblings--since her soul had been dead years before her body did, it had withered away, reduced to fine ashes, and was swept away by the winds, escaping from between Taehyung’s bloody fingers.

“Come on, you sloth, they’re waiting for us.” Jungkook snaps from his reverie and looks up at Taehyung, who’s rushing down the halls, a bright smile on his lips--something an emperor shouldn’t do, really--and with renewed excitement, Jungkook speeds after him, matching his pace, and he catches sight of his three friends in the courtyard. 

“Big brother Namjoon!” Taehyung says as he throws himself at his brother, who seems more than eager to embrace him, and they both fall to the soft grassy ground, merry lyrics of laughter falling past their lips. Jungkook himself is tackled by Jimin, who goes on about how he missed him and then exclaims something he never thought his friend would say. He thinks he hears Seokjin scoff playfully, you Joseon men are so brute .

“We’re getting married.” Jimin says breathlessly, a smile splitting his face, and Jungkook’s eyes go wide.

“You’re crazy.” Jungkook says incredulously, a disbelieving smile pulling at his lips, and he hugs his friend excitedly. “Congratulations.”

“Seokjin!” He hears Taehyung say, now Seokjin’s turned to get tackled, and he squishes his cheeks between his palms. “I can’t believe you managed to pull a proposal out of Jimin before I could.” Jungkook chokes on his own spit at that. 

“What!? Jungkook-ah! You still haven't asked for his hand.” Seokjin asks disbelievingly, his mouth open in shock. “There there, little Tae, these brute men know nothing of romancing Princes--”

“I’m the emperor, cousin.”

“Details.”

He tones out their conversation, and he turns back to Jimin, who has gotten off him and is stretching a hand out for him. “Honestly speaking though, Jungkook, were you not planning to?”

“Well, I was going to tonig--”

“What!?”

“I-uh..”

“You were going to ask me tonight?” Taehyung scrambles over from where he had been straddling Seokjin, and he climbs into Jungkook’s lap, completely unbothered by their little audience. 

“Well, yes--”

“Do you have a ring?” Taehyung asks hopefully.

Jungkook looks at Taehyung, at his shining eyes, at his rosy, freckled cheeks, at the sweet smile on his lips, and he sighs defeatedly, though a smile of his own plays at his lips. “I do.. I carry it with me everyday.” He says quietly, whispers the words across Taehyung’s lips, and he pulls a small, beautifully crafted wooden box from his pocket. Taehyung gasps at the sight. 

He opens it, nervous to see Taehyung’s reaction. It was a simple ring. It was fashioned from gold, polished to a fine finish, and three delicate gems sit on the thin band. The larger one in the middle is the color of snow flowers, a clear purple, and the two on it’s side were black and a cloudy white.

“Jungkook..” 

“I had something engraved.”

“Goodness, why are all my presents wordy..” Taehyung laughs at that, and Jungkook can’t help the way he mimics him, and he watches the way Taehyung carefully plucks the ring from the cushion inside of the box, and inspects it carefully. Taehyung’s cheeks color prettily, and he chokes out a cough as he looks at Jungkook with a slightly mortified expression on his face. 

“Oh my gods, Jungkook, what if someone sees?”

“You won’t ever have it off for people to see, yes?” 

“I suppose, you heathen.” He pushes at Jungkook's chest playful, and then he’s pulling at his hand, placing the ring in his palm. “Put it on me.”

Taehyung holds out his hand, and Jungkook takes it gently in his. He brings his fingers closer to his lips, presses soft kisses across the pads of his fingers, Taehyung giggling at the sensation, and he goes up to his knuckles, sharp and bony, and then to the back of his hand, long and sweet, and he whispers against his warm skin. “My Tae.”

He slowly slides the ring onto his finger, and he presses one last kiss to the ring before looking back up at Taehyung, who has tears welling in his eyes. “You’re mine, now.”

“I’m yours.” Taehyung whispers back, closes the distance between them, and just as he’s about to press his lips against Jungkook’s, they hear Namjoon’s dry drawl. 

“Well, I don’t feel lonely now at all. ” 

Jungkook laughs against Taehyung’s lips, his hands circling his waist, and they both fall to the grass, pressing their smiles against each other's lips. 

All yours, my Prince . 

--Naked love, like the first time I saw you.