Chapter Text
The rain poured down on him in buckets; his clothes were completely soaked through and his hair was matted down to his face. He could feel the chill of the rain and the wind slicing through his flesh and taking up residence within his body. The cold settled in his joints, causing a dull ache that all he could do was ignore.
Third Prince Han Jisung of Levanter was running with no real destination in mind - just away. He was suffocating. His chest was heavy and there was a sharp pain, he couldn’t breathe as the anxiety wove its way around his ribs like invasive kudzu and clawed up his throat. He couldn’t bare being in this fucking palace any longer.
“Your Highness,” he heard being shouted across the courtyard, Chan, one of his Royal Guards, was running down the stairs, trying desperately to keep up with him.
“Prince Jisung! Stop!” The brunet tried again, but Jisung just kept running. He couldn’t handle it anymore, the smiling and the waving, the mask he was forced to wear during all of these stupid galas. It was beginning to crack. He was beginning to crack.
Jisung lived a picture-perfect life. He was born a third prince, lived in a lavish castle, was spoiled beyond belief; or at least one would think that. No one saw the way the poor boy was treated when the palace doors closed after the fancy parties.
“Ji! Where the fuck are you going?” Changbin, Jisung’s other Royal Guard yelled, chasing the prince alongside Chan.
Jisung made a quick turn, right outside the courtyard - a shortcut not many people knew of that led to the garden. He ran through a small tunnel-like hallway, huffing and puffing all the way until the small passageway opened up into a beautiful garden. He closed the gate and stumbled his way over to a small bench that sat next to a memorial statue.
His body - fatigued by a panic attack that still hung heavy over him and running what felt like a marathon in his haste to escape the room full of people in The Ballroom, and his two guards turned best friends - collapsed very un-prince like onto the small bench. His body lay half hanging off, face up into the rain, as he caught his breath. A sob wracked his small frame as the emotions finally kicked in. The adrenaline faded out and was replaced by a hazy ache that blanketed over his body.
“I can’t do this anymore, Mother.” He cried out, allowing his head to fall back off the bench. He stared at the memorial upside down as if it could speak back to him. He yearned for the advice his mother could give him, but she wasn’t here. He was used to this, speaking out to a chunk of stone that immortalized his mother’s presence within the garden, this was the only way he had ever known her.
He sighed out to the sky, hoping the chill of the wind and rain would calm him down. His anxiety had built up, up, up within him, he could feel it like a physical thing - his organs had been shoved over to make room for the ever-growing ball inside him. His sternum was cracking behind the pressure, shattering his ribs, popping his lungs like balloons. He just wanted to catch his breath, but even that felt like it would forever be impossible.
“Jisung, I swear to the gods if you don’t get your ass out here!”
Changbin’s loud voice startled him from his self-pity party. He shot up from the bench and crawled around to settle himself behind a rosebush.
“Changbin, I know Ji doesn’t care about whether we use his title or whatever, but you can’t speak to him like that, especially when we don’t know who’s around to hear it,” Chan sighed, their voices fading out as they wandered the garden looking for the boy.
“You’re pretty good at hiding, do you do this often?”
Jisung jumped out of his skin, he whipped his head around to the voice with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The other man sat down next to him, undoubtedly soaking his robes as well.
He knew who this was, there was no way not to with his high cheekbones and strong straight nose. The crown that sat upon his head would’ve been the tell-tale even if he wasn’t familiar with the face of the First Prince of Miroh.
“Y-Your Highness,” Jisung stuttered out, bowing as much as he could from his huddled position.
“Ah, none of that Prince Jisung, we grew up together, you know. Call me Minho, or even Min, like you used to.”
Jisung looked down as red splotched over his cheeks, the blush blossoming like the flowers that surrounded the two of them.
“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, still struggling to make eye contact with the handsome prince sitting in front of him in a puddle.
“I needed air. What about you?” Minho smiled gently at him, his eyes warm despite the cool air that wrapped around them, and his cute bunny teeth showing behind his pink, pouty lips.
“I hate these things,” the younger of the two trailed off. He fiddled with his fingers that rested in his lap. If someone from his family saw them right now, he’d be in so much trouble. Jisung wasn’t allowed to talk to the members of other royal families. He actually hadn’t spoken to Minho in about five years, or his brother Felix who is only a day younger than he is and used to be his best friend.
“Why won’t you look at me, Ji?” Minho asked. He reached his hand forward and caressed Jisung’s jaw, guiding his face so he was looking at him. Minho frowned slightly when Jisung flinched at his touch and his chocolate brown eyes stared into what felt like Jisung’s soul. He was sure that Minho could see every emotion Jisung had ever felt through the intensity of his stare.
“’M not s’posed to,” he mumbled. Minho’s brows pinched and a deeper frown pulled down the corners of his pretty lips. His thumb stroked over the redness that remained on the boy’s warm cheeks.
“What do you mean? You’re not allowed? I don’t understand.”
Footsteps rapidly approached the two princes and Jisung tore his face from the older boy’s grasp, scooting over to put more space between the two of them. If someone saw them together, Jisung would be doomed, severely punished, but the threat of that punishment didn’t stop the feeling of longing that took over the younger prince at the loss of his old friend’s touch. His cheek was now colder than ever after having the warmth of Minho’s palm pressed gently against it.
“Jisung, I swear to- Oh. Your Highness,” Chan cut himself off and bowed quickly. Changbin stuttered to a stop next to Chan, his eyes widened comically and he threw himself into a bow as well.
“Chan. Changbin. It’s a pleasure to see you both again. It’s been a while.” Minho said as he huffed out a soft laugh at the guards’ antics.
“Jisu- Your Highness, your robes are all wet. What are you even doing out here right now?”
Jisung looked down as if noticing for the first time that he was soaking wet; he felt stupid, but, well, he always felt stupid. Being isolated most of his life, he had nothing to occupy his time with other than studying and reading. He was intelligent beyond belief, but he was still young. He spent his formative years only being around staff, tutors, and guards, so he was socially inept - he couldn’t interact with people so he found himself stuttering and stumbling over words, running away from stressful situations, and isolating himself even further.
To his family he only took up space, he was a burden; a wasted room, a wasted crown, wasted clothes, wasted money. To his family, he was a waste of oxygen. Being told your entire life that you’re in the way, that you’ll never amount to anything does absolutely terrible things to someone. He was outcasted by the people meant to love him the most, isolated from his only two friends; left to metaphorically rot away in his room until it became less a metaphor, and more reality.
His father, The King, saw him as the reason his beloved wife, The Second Queen, passed. The First Queen saw him as a waste of time and space, her two children deserved the best of the best - Jisung was just there, sapping up the resources that were meant for her beloved ‘babies’. His two older half-siblings saw him as a punching bag; they could say whatever they wanted to him and he couldn’t retaliate. Even if someone did believe him when he cried out for help from the adults around them, no one would even care - he was convinced that The First Queen encouraged their behavior even.
Third Prince Jisung would never have the throne, would always be just that, “Prince Jisung”, and he was fine with that - he never wanted the throne anyway. To be honest, he wished every day that he could’ve been born into a normal family.
Everyone always wishes to be a prince or a princess, but the reality is, beyond the lavish and heavily guarded walls of the palace, behind the facade of the titles and the balls and the galas, the people were almost always miserable.
“‘M sorry Channie,” Jisung said quietly, tears mixing with the rain that slid down his cheeks.
“C’mere you silly prince,” Chan said gently as he hoisted Jisung’s small frame up in his arms. He squeezed the boy in a bone-crushing hug, knowing Jisung had a nasty habit of getting stuck in his own head.
“Is he going to be okay?” Minho mumbled, he looked over to Changbin who had his arms crossed intimidatingly, but a fond smile made its way onto his face.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t do well at these things. I’m honestly surprised they even let him attend,” Changbin muttered. He glanced over at Minho but averted his eyes when he made eye contact with his elder.
“What do you- Changbin, we’ve known each other for years, you can look at me,” Minho sighed, exasperated. “What do you mean? ‘Surprised they let him attend’?” he repeated.
“He’s usually stuck up in his room during things like this, they don’t want him to interact much with the guests. My opinion is that he was only invited down because your family knows him personally. You’d have found it weird to come here and not see him, no?” Changbin finally looked up into Minho’s eyes. The guard had a fierce protectiveness radiating from his eyes, not that Minho blamed him.
“Why don’t they let him attend?”
“That’s- uhm, well, I’m not-”
“Changbin,” Chan sighed out. He had a warning look in his eyes, like he already shared too much. Minho’s brows furrowed.
“We should get him upstairs,” Chan said, his eyebrow raised and eyes flicking down to Jisung who was still cradled in his strong arms, asleep or at least close to it. He had wrapped his arms tightly around Chan, face buried in his neck and legs secured around his waist.
“Yes, of course,” Minho said, as he stood from the puddle he had been sitting in. “Just one more question, though.”
“What’s that, Your Highness?” Changbin said, his eyes trained on his friend who hoisted the young boy up higher to prepare him for the trek back into the palace.
“Is that the reason we lost correspondence?”
“What do you mean?” Changbin’s face morphed into one of confusion and for once, Minho was grateful he wasn’t the only one who had no idea what was going on.
“We used to see each other very often. Jisung and Felix were very close, so we traveled often so they could play together. As we grew up, the outings lessened, but one day, a few days before their eighteenth birthdays I spent the day with Jisung as Felix was busy with preparations for his party. I told him that day that I’d like to see him again, and he agreed; but every text I sent him after Felix’s party went unanswered. I even tried writing him letters, but nothing. He wouldn't even reply to Felix!”
“He wanted to reply-”
“Changbin!” Chan’s voice held a dangerous edge to it. Minho could see Changbin hesitate like he wanted to tell Minho more, but his obedience to the older guard, his superior, overpowered.
“I’m truly sorry, Your Highness.”
“I told him I wanted to marry him! Don’t you think I deserve something?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Changbin repeated. He owed nothing to The Royal Lee Family, his loyalty lied with The Royal Han Family, but he wanted so desperately to give closure to Prince Minho, and Minho could see that in his eyes.
“Fine, yes, go.” Minho waved them off, plopping himself down on the bench that Jisung once occupied.
“You should head back inside, Your Highness,” Chan said.
“Don’t worry about me, Christopher.”