"do you... trust me?" it's a low whisper, the king's soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never...
here, the world vanishes and you are unafraid to dream, to want.
a/n: note the date!
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You knock three times, three short raps, then push open the door to the crown prince's private library. Sunlight invades the room unabashedly through the intricate window design, bathing the entire space in the warmth of a spring pleasantly acquiescing to summer. You inhale the scent of the aged wooden bookshelves and the worn paper they house. You feel yourself finally relax, having worked all the morning away.
At first, with the silence, you think you're alone. You try to brush off the disappointment as you wander among the shelving, trying to decide what you will study today. You've just pulled a collection of herb properties off the rack when there's a rustling, a crisp page turned with a careful hand.
"You're back again?"
The drawl is only reserved for especially lazy times and it seems today is one of them as you peer through the newly-made book hole to find the prince lounging comfortably on the seat beneath the window. He shifts back when you make brief eye contact, drawing in the socked feet on the bench to make room.
"Yes, seja-jeonha. I'm back."
It's been three months since he gave you permission to access this normally off-limits space, as you mentioned needing more books to study with in conversation with Eunuch Kim. The first time you came had been profusely awkward: two bodies sitting stiffly across the room, too acutely aware of possibly being scrutinized by the other person to get anything done. But you tried again. And again. Soon, you were stealing away to the library whenever it was possible, if only for half an hour. It gradually became natural for you to share the widest seat, where the most sunshine reached (to ease the strain on your eyes, he reasoned). It didn't take long after that before you were both ditching your rigid shoes, facing each other while he brought his knees up and you crossed your ankles, taking care that your chima skirt covered anything inappropriate.
Why he still insists on acting as if he's surprised that you're here, you don't know. But you're happy to play along if it means these afternoons keep going.
"Table," he says, not even looking up from his book.
"Pardon?"
"Table."
Okay... Still holding the text you picked up earlier, you shuffle to the desk on the other side of the room and gasp.
"Oh, this is— No...!" You abandon the herbs tome. You struggle to keep your fingers delicate through the excitement as you reach for the new book next to it, one you've been wanting to read for so long but could never find for its scarcity. You'd gushed about it to the prince just last week, about how it combines folk stories and myths with factual information of flower species from all across the country. "Seja-jeonha! Did you find this? How did you manage such a thing!"
"No, I didn't. It arrived with the other books yesterday by chance."
You don't quite believe him as you clutch the book close to your chest in glee, practically dancing on your way to the bench. "Thank you," you say, taking a seat on the spot you've started considering yours.
"It was not me," he insists.
"Thank you so much." You wiggle slightly, settling in with a wide smile as you watch him refocus on his reading harder, even though you both know he hasn't turned the page in quite a few minutes.
Even as you peel open the cover of the precious text though, there's something that captures your attention a bit more. It's the way the sun has shifted, rays falling differently onto Yoongi's face to kiss the pale skin beneath his sleepy eyes before scattering out across his cheeks. How the light dapples across the nose that occasionally scrunches in irritation at the countless dust particles floating around, haloing him in a golden glow that you wish you could capture in your memory for safekeeping (and later revisiting, when you inevitably feel the twinge of yearning).
Seeing this view... you think. You want. You wish for this moment to go on for a lifetime. Such desires have never been so startlingly intense and the thought alone is a terrifying one as soon as it slips into your mind but the feeling, the feeling settles in your heart like it has always been there, steadily beating away just beneath your skin.
Yoongi looks up and you snap your head away to the side so hard your neck cracks.
Your face heats with the embarrassment at being caught and you insist on pretending you were looking out the window at the garden, the multicolors bursting into vivacity. You hadn't noticed the violet flowers coming in but now they seem to be on their way to full blossom, and the sight tugs a smile to your lips. The lotus too, beginning their cycle to beautify the pavilion even more. You'll ask mother to take you on a walk through the garden soon, under guise of plant care.
"Books are for reading, you know."
"Huh? Oh. I'm sorry." It's an automatic apology, but you know he doesn't mean it by the gentle half-smile, half-scowl on his face. "It's just that the pavilion is my favorite. I can't help admiring it."
"Why? It's practically falling apart."
"That doesn't mean it's not beautiful."
He hums a noncommittal noise.
You let the subject drop, finally turning to your reading. It's usually how these days go. Part of you has always wondered if he remembers these brief, but precious words you exchange before the silence takes over; the weighted book sitting in your lap seems to be all the proof you need. So, you sit back. Enjoy this brief respite from reality with dreams quietly blooming in your chest.
"What are you thinking so hard about? You'll get wrinkles that way." Later that night, facing you beneath her blankets, mother shakes a hand free to tap you on the forehead.
"Nothing much..." But you can't stop the sliver of giddiness that runs through you when you think of today and that wonderful book. "I just... I think that I might like someone a lot." The other L-word feels too big, too heavy to be used right now, even if it's the right one.
"Oh?" To your great relief, mother knows better than to ask the identity of this mystery person. Just smiles with a fondness that makes you feel even more fuzzy inside. "Are you going to tell them?"
"I don't think so. But that's fine. It wouldn't make a difference either way." From the very beginning, you've known that the distance between you is too vast to ever be breached. To not fall would have been the most painless, but in hindsight, impossible. If concealing the truth will allow you to be close to him, then maybe that will be enough for someone like you.
Mother rolls onto her back. "It's your choice." She shuts her eyes. Just as you think she's drifted off, she says, "just remember that you are always deserving of love. No matter what."
You think about those words for a long time until you finally fall asleep.
