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Chan stood on his balcony, arms crossed over his chest to preserve warmth as he peered out over the moon kissed land. The knock at the bedroom door was almost too soft to hear. He didn’t move to get the door, knowing Woojin would enter on his own accord.
“You called for me, Your Royal Highness?” He called out softly, closing the door behind him.
“It is just me here, Woojin hyung,” tearing his eyes from the moon above them, Chan turned to face the older male, stepping back into the bedroom as he did, “you know you don’t need to be so formal.” Woojin dropped his gaze to the wooden floor boards between them, avoiding eye contact as best he could. It made Chan’s heart tug uncomfortably.
“You are the crown prince, Chan. It is not right for me to be speaking so informally.”
“When has that stopped you before? You never used to call me such ridiculous things so long we were alone.” The younger challenged. Finally, Woojin lifted his gaze, locking eyes with the prince.
“Ridiculous? It’s your birthright, Channie.” Woojin’s cheeks flushed as he realized the familiar nickname had slipped from him mouth before he could stop himself.
“Screw birthright!” Chan raised his voice, stepping closer to Woojin. “It never bothered you before, why the sudden change? Why does it feel like you are pushing me away?” His eyes searched Woojins’ for an answer.
“We aren’t kids anymore, it’s time we started acting like the adults that we are.” Woojin’s voice was cold, clipped of its usual welcoming warmth that Chan had grown overly fond of.
“Kids or adults, what difference does that make? It doesn’t mean you have to put so much distance between us.” Chan took another step forward, halting his movements when the other male stepped back, keeping them a few feet apart. Woojin looked away again to observe the slowly dwindling fire in the fireplace at the other side of the room,
“It is better this way, Your Highness,” Chan bristled at the formal title on his friends' tongue, “it is impossible for us to keep any kind of friendship.” As fast as any rage had bubble up inside of Chan, it rushed away from him equally as quick, leaving behind a dreading coolness,
“I-impossible? We’ve been friends for years, raised side by side and did everything together for as long as I can remember. Wouldn’t you call that friendship, hyung?”
“Perhaps as a young boy, I would have made the mistake of calling it friendship,” Woojin swallowed heavily, still refusing to meet Chan’s eyes. “But I know better now.” Chan felt as though his lungs could no longer expand for each breath of air,
“So, all the memories we have together. They mean nothing to you?” He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice. Woojin finally linked eyes with the prince again, pain swelling inside him when he saw tears threatening to spill. He heaved a sigh,
“Of course they meant something to me, Channie, that's exactly the problem.” Chan blinked in confusion, effectively fighting back any stray tear.
“How it that a problem-”
“You’re to be married off to another prince!” Woojin cut him off, no longer able to keep up his facade, “Some other man, in some other damn kingdom! All for what? To increase military strength?! To gain fertile farming lands?! I have to put this distance between us, so it will hurt less.” Woojin turned away from Chan to stare into the fireplace, trying desperately to calm himself. Chan stepped closer to him after the words had sunk in.
“Woojin?” The older male did nothing to acknowledge the other, but Chan took it as a que to continue. “I never got a say in any of this. You have to know that. I wasn’t given a choice.” He reached his hand forward to try and grasp Woojins’, but the older jolted away from Chan’s touch as if it burned him physically. “Nobody has asked me even once if this is what I wanted. Sure, Prince Changbin is nice, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t see any kind of future with him.” They were both silent for a long moment before Woojin finally spoke,
“He seems like a good guy. No matter how much I wish to dislike him, he hasn’t really done anything deserving of it. Your brother can hardly stop talking about how great he is. I know you’ll have a good life with him.”
“Yes,” Chan gave a dry chuckle, “Felix seems to be quite enamored with him. I’m worried that when the engagement is announced, he will be hurt quite badly.”
“He won’t be the only one.” Woojin said with another sigh. Chan glanced down at his own hands, picking at his fingernails out of habit.
“Can you ask me what I want? Just so I can feel as though someone cares enough to know.” Chan’s words pulled heavily at Woojin’s heart. Of course he cared enough to want to ask, even if he was scared to know the answer. Scared that it would punch a Chan shaped hole straight into his chest. He turned to look at the younger man, who stood almost shoulder to shoulder with him, staring into the small flames in front of them.
“What do you want, Chan? How do you feel about all of this?”
“I feel trapped.” He answered almost immediately, as if the words had been waiting to serge out of him for too long. “Marrying Prince Changbin would only trap me further. I want to be able to choose.” He looked up, meeting Woojin’s eyes.
“He would be a good husband to you.” Woojin repeated. Chan shook his head, echoing himself from earlier almost desperately,
“No matter how hard I try, I just can’t envision a future with him.”
“What do you envision then?”
“In every scenario I have thought of, you’ve been there with me. In one way or another, you’re always there.” It made Chan’s stomach flutter wildly to admit it out loud. Woojin held his gaze for a long while not saying anything, the gears in his head clearly working in overdrive. Chan tried once again to reach out for Woojin’s hand, who still pulled away from him. “Why are you scared to touch me?” The prince all but whispered.
“Because I’m scared that I’ll hurt you.” Woojin replied in kind. Chan chanced a step forward, and for once Woojin didn’t move away from him.
“You only hurt me when you push me away.”
It was impossible to tell who moved in first, but as the dying embers in the fireplace started to lose the last of their heat, a different fire burned at the other end of the room. Each brush of skin on skin seemed to sing ‘welcome home’.