Archive of Our Own ^beta

Snowflake I’m trying to keep you safe

You gave me your trust, and I want to say

Snowflake you know I’ve got your back

There’s no one like you,

so I’m gonna hide you, my sweet

Keep you ’til winter when you won’t be needing me.

✼

During the first two weeks of every year, the four kingdoms come together in order to celebrate another season full of peace and prosperity. During ancient times, when the kingdoms did not get along, warfare and deceit were more common than not. There were more widows than there were children, and heartbreak and tragedy was rampant within everybody’s hearts. Now, however, it was nearing the 150th year of The Equinox Treaty was signed, and unity between the four kingdoms was easily achieved, their ancestors’ disputes dying with time.

It was because of this celebration that Yoongi was next to his brother, riding through the woods as the air grew colder and colder.

“I heard the servants whispering,” Jeongguk said, strong thighs clenching his black mare a bit tighter as they leapt over a fallen tree. “Everybody says that he’s deformed, somehow.”

Yoongi knew immediately who his younger brother was talking about, and he let out a sigh.

“That’s quite bold of them to assume, considering nobody outside of his immediate family and court officials has ever seen the boy.”

“That’s exactly why they say these things, though,” Jeongguk shrugged. “It makes a bit of sense, don’t you think? Why else would the Winter Court hide their youngest prince so desperately?”

“Perhaps he’s simply dimwitted. Or unsightly. Or—”

“On those terms, we should have locked you away then, Prince Yoongi,” a new voice entered the conversation. Unimpressed and ignoring Jeongguk’s loud laughter, Yoongi swung his head to his left to level the head of guard with a glare.

“I grow weary of your humor with every passing day, Seokjin,” Yoongi says, but with no real heat behind his words. If anything, the man next to him was his best friend.

“It is a bit mysterious,” Jin continues as if Yoongi never spoke. “This is the first time in 22 years that the Winter Court has hosted the Equinox Festival.”

“The first time since their youngest prince was born,” Jeongguk adds.

Though Yoongi spoke as if he were tired of the gossip and speculation, he had to admit that he was curious. Was there something terribly wrong with the other kingdom’s prince? Or did he simply not like public appearances and preferred to stay within the private walls of his court? With lingering questions burning in the pit of his stomach, Yoongi urges his horse on a bit quicker, using a gloved hand to pull the edges of his cloak together as they neared the foreign kingdom, so different from their Autumn Court in which the temperatures were always moderate.

As the gates of the Winter Court grew larger and larger in front of him, Yoongi and his group all slowed.

At first, he didn’t know what was going on. The air grew still and more silent than Yoongi had ever heard it, despite being surrounded by a group of a dozen or so others all astride whinnying and antsy horses. But when the first snowflake fell, Yoongi felt as if he let out a breath he had been holding in his entire life. Within a minute, snow was surrounding them, falling onto his hair and his exposed cheeks and melting onto his horse’s mane. Yoongi has never felt so cold in his entire life, but he is sure he’s never seen something quite as beautiful, either. White was fluttering in every line of his vision — soon it would coat the entire ground and all of the buildings and trees like a pearly satin.

As the gates began to open, Yoongi urged his horse forward as a sense of trepidation nipped at his skin.

He pulled his right glove off and held his hand out, hoping to catch one of the beautiful snowflakes.

They all burned up and melted in the palm of his hand before he could even get a good look.

✼

The night of their arrival, Yoongi laid in his bed with the fireplace illuminating the room in a soft orange glow. He listened to the cracking of the wood as he stared out the window, unable to look away from the snow still falling outside.

Growing up in the Autumn Court, his childhood was a whirlwind of orange and red leaves, trees full of them, growing the half-dead leaves only to have them fall off to litter the floor and then grow more, repeating the same pattern. His kingdom’s official robes were reflective of these colors, and he and his family and other members of the court were always dressed in red and golden garments.

As children, Yoongi and Jeongguk would often sneak into the gardens and collect the leaves before the gardeners could. They would run with armfuls of it back into the castle, going up the highest flight of stairs and throwing all of them down, a shower of golden hued confetti. They were both fascinated with the way the leaves fell, swinging to and fro within the air, taking forever in their descent — as if they were not ready to touch the ground and give up.

Now, Yoongi was hit with an urge reminiscent of that. He wanted to go outside and touch the snow, wanted to feel it rain down on his skin. Before he could really think about it, he knifed out of bed and shrugged his blood red silken tunic over his head, tucking it haphazardly into his sleep pants. Swinging on his heavily furred cloak that had to be specially ordered just for this trip, Yoongi stepped into his boots and out his door.

For a moment, he considered getting Jeongguk, or Seokjin — he was still unfamiliar with the halls, and he figured it would be less embarrassing to be lost with another person if he did end up losing his way.

However, when he passed both their rooms and heard nothing but quiet breathing, he descended the set of stairs himself.

He would just step outside for a brief moment, to see the snow again, to feel it underneath his hands, and then go back to bed.

As he continued walking, aiming for the main entryway from which they had come in, Yoongi found a smaller, more discrete door that was left open a crack.

When he found that it lead to a small garden, he stepped out from the warmth of the castle and into the night. The cold was immediate and shocking, and for a moment Yoongi shuddered so hard he could hardly breathe.

Walking forward, he ran his gloved hands over the trees. There were some resilient shrubs and bushes that were standing tall — one so tall and wide that it made a large wall. As he walked along it, Yoongi soon discovered that it was cut into the shape of a large rectangle.

Curious, with his breath puffing out in visible clouds in front of him, Yoongi searched for an entryway.

When he found it, he wasn’t really sure if he had found it. It was an opening so narrow that Yoongi had to slide in sideways to be able to fit, bending a bit at the knees. Branches and frozen leaves tore at his clothes and hair, and by the time he emerged on the other side he wondered if he had just walked through a massive shrub and simply justified it by believing the tiny hole had been an entrance.

He barely had time to dwell on that, however, as his eyes flickered over the little garden curiously. There was a fountain in the middle of it, with no running water but beautiful nonetheless, standing tall and proud. Surrounding it were stone paths that lead in every direction, leading out towards the walls of the large hedge.

There were intricate benches scattered throughout, and bushes full of snowdrops, weeping winter jasmine, and camellias.

What caught his eye, however, was not the abundance of winter flowers, but the boy sitting on the edge of the fountain looking right at him.

As soon as the other had caught sight of Yoongi, he stood up, ice-blue robes fluttering delicately around his frame.

At the startled action, Yoongi put his hands up and slowly approached the other, curious and more than a little bit awestruck.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice softer than he himself was used to. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was unaware anyone was here.”

The other shifted nervously at his approach, eyes glancing behind Yoongi to look at the small hole from which he came.

Yoongi stopped once he was a couple feet from the stranger, and he felt his throat close up tight.

For a moment, Yoongi wondered if he had gotten lost in the Winter Court’s gardens and was experiencing frost-induced illusions, for the boy in front of him was more beautiful than any he’s ever seen.

Everything about him seemed to be kissed by winter — his silver hair and pale skin, eyelids painted a soft shade of blue. He was clad in a long floor length dress, the blue satin overlayed with a white spiderweb-thin lace. His arms were bare save for the almost nonexistent but detailed material, making it seem as if he were carrying snowflakes around on his skin.

But as he looked closer, Yoongi was sure that the vision in front of him was real. He was simply so otherworldly that he could easily be mistaken for a nymph, or a fairy.

“Are you not cold?” Yoongi asked, eyeing the others’ skin to search for gooseflesh, alarm coloring his voice. “Where is your cloak?”

Still staring at Yoongi with wide and searching eyes, the other said nothing for long moments.

When he spoke, Yoongi had to lean in to listen.

“The snow does not hurt me.”

Unexpectedly, the sound of the others’ soft voice urged Yoongi closer, and he felt himself gravitating towards the other without giving his feet permission to do so.

Shaking his head, Yoongi reached for the tie around his neck securing his cloak around him.

“It’s not safe to be out here dressed like that,” he said. “Let me help you.”

The boy cocked his head to the side, a lock of hair falling in front of his curious eyes as he did.

“Help me?”

A bit stunned at the others’ strange responses, Yoongi worried that the cold had already made him sick.

“Take this,” Yoongi held out his cloak, ignoring how his arms began to ache with cold with just his tunic as protection from the snow.

The boy looked at the thick cloak, but did not make a movement to take it.

Was he about to collapse from hypothermia? Or frostbite?

Concern had Yoongi closing the distance between them, swinging his cloak around the other’s thin shoulders. However, as soon as the fur hit him, the other sucked in a shuddering gasp.

“No,” he let out, hands coming up to push Yoongi back. Startled, Yoongi stepped back on a foot and frowned, still holding the cloak together with his hands in front of the boy’s neck. It was a bit too long for him, dragging out behind him, but it was better than nothing.

Yoongi began to tie the clasps together.

“You need it more than I do,” Yoongi said. “You’re going to catch your death in this damn weather.”

“No!” the cry was frantic now, and Yoongi froze as the boy grabbed his hands. Even through his thick leather gloves, Yoongi felt how cold the boy’s skin was. It felt as if he had pressed his hand into snow and left it there for minutes.

“Your skin,” Yoongi growled. “You’re freezing!”

He struggled to wrap his cloak tighter around the wriggling body, but the boy ducked his head underneath the tie and escaped from the warm confine, staggering a few steps to the side.

Yoongi started after him, sure that the other was delirious from the cold, and wondering how he moved so nimbly if he were suffering from frostbite or hypothermia.

“Listen to me,” Yoongi said. “You’re going to catch your death out here dressed like that, you—”

“Leave me alone!” the other cried. “I don’t need your help.”

“Jimin?”

A tall man dressed in the Winter Court’s blue robes entered the little garden, and took big strides towards them. He was covered in a long white fur coat, similar to Yoongi’s, and any thoughts he had of the entirety of the Winter Court dressing as if they were about to go to a summer picnic in the middle of a blizzard was immediately dispelled.

“What are you doing? Step away from him,” he came upon Yoongi like a snowstorm, anger all-encompassing and strong.

Yoongi clenched his jaw and straightened, holding eye contact with the stranger.

“I’m trying to help him,” Yoongi ground out. “He could die out here dressed like that.”

Glancing over at the boy, Jimin, the stranger blinked and shook his head. Yoongi wondered why he did not look surprised at the other’s attire — was everybody in this court as strange? For a moment Yoongi was sure this was why the Winter Court was so secretive — he would be too if his court were full of such aberrant characters.

“He isn’t your business,” the other finally said. “Go back to your assigned room.”

Though Yoongi hated to admit it, there was a small bit of princely pride within him that absolutely detested taking orders — especially from a stranger who was angry at him for trying to do a good thing.

“And whose business is he? Yours?”

The newcomer’s glare deepened, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Must I repeat myself?”

“Joon,” Jimin reached out and took the other’s hand in his. Yoongi glanced down at it and wondered how the taller man didn’t flinch from the cold touch like he had. “Let’s just go.”

As Joon turned to look at Jimin, his angry expression didn’t falter. “I told you to stop wandering around at night.”

Jimin didn’t say anything, just set his jaw and pulled a bit harder.

The man named Joon finally relented, and they began walking to the small opening in the hedge. Jimin’s dress flowed out behind him and Yoongi watched as the white lace made its home with the falling snowflakes. Just before he slipped into the opening of the hedge, Jimin glanced back at him, eyes shy and curious.

Yoongi didn’t know if the apology formed on his lips was real or his imagination before the small, silver-haired boy disappeared completely into the shrubbery. His taller friend stood there staring at Yoongi for a few more moments, then disappeared just as silently, and Yoongi was reminded of the deer that often grazed in his court — quick and graceful and quiet.

Yoongi found himself staring after them until a violent shiver wracked through his body, so intense that he could have sworn his bones creaked together like old hinges. Snapping out of his stupor, he swung his cloak back over his shoulders and hurried back towards the castle.

✼

“Why did you let him get so close to you, Jimin?” Namjoon whispered. “Are you crazy?”

The elder was dragging his brother by the hand now, through the winding staircases and dimly lit corridors, rich ornate frames and paintings hung on the walls passing them in a blur as they hurried towards Jimin’s quarters.

Jimin was out of breath, unused to moving so quickly, but he felt his brother’s frantic mood and didn’t want to stop to tell him to slow down.

“I was startled,” Jimin whispered back, the heat of the other wings of the castle making him feel a bit woozy. He stumbled a bit over his feet, and Namjoon looked back at him in concern.

“Are you okay? Shit, Jimin, you’re sweating.”

Before he could say anything, Namjoon scooped him up in his arms and began running, trying to touch Jimin with his body heat as little as possible.

Once they got to the thick doors that marked the entrance of Jimin’s wing, Namjoon opened it and stepped inside as quickly as possible, slamming it shut with his shoulder. Jimin sucked in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling the warmth leak from his cheeks and his heart stutter once in relief.

Namjoon let go of Jimin immediately, wrapping his coat around himself as Jimin sunk to his knees on the floor, running his hands over the frosted marble floor, sucking in deep shaking breaths.

“Are you okay? Is your heart okay?”

Jimin nodded his head as his breaths calmed down, pressing a cold hand to his chest.

“Yea. I’m okay. I think it was…weaker than normal because it beat so fast at the stranger frightening me.”

“He was trying to give you his cloak.”

“He had it over me, for a couple seconds.”

“Jimin,” Namjoon said. “Are you serious?”

“I got away from him as soon as I could, though, Joon,” Jimin sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

Pushing himself upwards so he could sit on his butt on the icy floor, he looked up at his older brother.

Namjoon sunk to his knees before his brother, and he let out a weary breath.

“Please be more careful,” he pleaded. “Jimin, I don’t know what I’d do if you…”

Jimin shook his head, smiling sadly. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll…be more careful. I was just feeling restless tonight.”

As Namjoon helped him into bed, he fluttered around Jimin’s room, long white coat flowing behind him and black boots clicking loudly on the slippery floor as he shut the blinds and put the snow setting on light.

Years ago, when Jimin was born, his father had hired an enchantress to turn his entire wing into his own winter wonderland. The floors were always frosted over, icicles dripped from the ceiling like crystal chandeliers. Winter flowers lined his walls and furniture, and the temperature was exactly what Jimin needed for his heart to stay frozen and healthy.

Though it was much too cold for others to visit him without heavy winter cloaks, Jimin could easily wear his silk pajamas and intricate lace dresses and feel completely comfortable within his quarters. If he pushed a small button on the wall, snowflakes would fall from the ceiling slowly, kissing his skin like relieved lovers, and disappearing into the frozen ground.

The enchantress had stood over Jimin as a newborn, a hand over his small chest and putting a small strengthening spell on his heart.

“He must never leave the Winter Court,” she had said. “He must never exert too much energy, or suffer too much of a shock — anything that could speed up his heart.”

“If his heart works too hard, or his body overheats…” Jimin’s mother started.

“If Prince Jimin’s frozen heart melts, he will die.”

Growing up, Jimin remembered a lot of frustration. He remembered watching his older brother outside in the snow, playing with the other children, learning to ride horses and wield swords and notch arrows.

When he asked his father if he could join, the king would always scoop him up and settle him back in his icy quarters, telling him it was too dangerous for him to go outside.

Though Jimin supposed his parents felt bad — almost every week they came home with a new gift for him, a rocking horse to replace the real horses he would never ride, stuffed animals resembling those from foreign courts he would never see, and beautiful, intricate dresses that he loved even though boys typically did not wear such feminine clothing.

But still, Jimin would have traded it all if he could have gone outside with his brother and bonded with the other children in the castle, instead of being locked away by himself all his life.

Namjoon did his best to visit him, but there was only so much time he could take within Jimin’s quarters before he grew too cold. When they were younger, especially, Namjoon wouldn’t admit it, but Jimin could see the way his eyes wandered to the window, the promise of warmer air just on the other side of the glass.

So Jimin would always yawn, pretend to be sleepy, feign a headache, so his brother could go outside and warm up, and play with the other children.

He had grown especially fond of a Jung Hoseok, the son of one of their knights, and Jimin often watched the two of them playing right outside his window. They were the same age, and Namjoon smiled brighter with the other boy than Jimin’s ever seen him smile.

Now, as young adults, that still remained true.

As his eyes fluttered shut, Namjoon turned off the last light and came over to ruffle his hair.

“There’s many strangers around now for the festival, so be careful,” he said.

Jimin fought the urge to roll his eyes. His entire life, he has been careful. He didn’t know how to live without being careful.

“Okay,” he said instead.

Perhaps Namjoon felt guilty for being so angry with Jimin earlier, or perhaps he felt a bit sad for his younger brother, because instead of leaving he kept carding his fingers through the silver hair, its color so similar to the hair on his own head.

“Are you excited for tomorrow? We’ll be introducing ourselves as the hosts to the Equinox Festival during breakfast.”

Jimin hummed, for he was excited. He’ll be meeting more people the next morning than he’s ever met in his entire life. “I’m excited.”

As Jimin thought of the stranger in his secret garden that night, with the pale skin and the blood red shirt, his breath hitched. It just clicked that he would also be there, the man with the beautiful eyes and deep voice who walked around looking like a powerful flame. Squirming a bit on his bed, he turned to his side and caught his brother’s hand, squeezing the larger fingers between his own.

“Good night, Joon.”

Namjoon smiled, and a snowflake fell right on his cheek, a bit below the indent of his dimple. It melted and soaked into his skin.

“Sleep well, Jimin. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Jimin dreamt of flame and sunset and a warmth that couldn’t kill him.

✼

Yoongi was decidedly uncomfortable.

He’s always been the least sociable in his court, and as he sat at the long table for breakfast he found himself forcing a smile and conversation for much longer than he deemed necessary.

Jeongguk was beaming brightly at the company to his right, a boy named Taehyung with honey skin and blonde hair who was dressed in the Summer Court’s breezy and fluorescent garments: brightly patterned pants that hugged tight at the waist but split at the sides of the legs so that the fabric could flutter freely in the wind, and a top that showed off his stomach and shoulders and long, pretty neck. Seokjin, similarly, was laughing over his cup with a Spring Court official, bowing his head gracefully and thanking them when they offered him a flower they plucked from their hair.

Everybody but the Winter Court’s royal family had arrived in the room, and everybody was waiting for them to make their entrance before food could be served.

Jeongguk nudged Yoongi with an elbow.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” Yoongi whispered back.

“To see the Winter Court’s royal family. More specifically, their youngest son,” Jeongguk raised an eyebrow. “I know you’re only pretending not to be curious, you know.”

Yoongi huffed out a laugh. After last night’s events with the two strangers from Winter Court, Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised if the royal family were just as bizarre, if not more. He had to admit he was curious.

He was more curious, however, about the beautiful boy named Jimin. Looking around, he didn’t see him sitting with the other Winter Court officials. Judging from the detailed dress he had on the night before, he had to be someone of a higher status, but who? Had Yoongi really dreamed the entire interaction?

“They’re coming,” Seokjin whispered.

With that, the tall, ornate doors opened, and everyone stood.

A hush fell over the room, and Yoongi could feel 22 years’ worth of curiosity brimming within the crowd like a cup about to overflow.

The king and queen lead, expressions calm yet somehow guarded. Yoongi noticed as the king tightened his grip on the queen’s hand resting in the crook of his elbow, as reassurance to himself or her, Yoongi was unsure.

Looking behind them to the eldest prince, Yoongi sucked in a shocked breath.

The man who had been so angry with him the night before, with the blue-grey hair so similar to Jimin’s, was walking behind the king and queen, chin held high, royal robes pinned over his broad shoulders. Yoongi could see the faintest indent of dimples in his cheeks, but his face was stoic and proud, walk brisk and powerful and everything the heir to the crown should be.

As his eyes trailed behind the Winter Court’s eldest prince, he knew what he would find.

Or rather, who he would find.

Behind the firstborn prince, looking just as if not more ethereal and otherwordly as Yoongi remembered him, was Jimin.

His hair was less blue and more silver than his brother’s, his stature shorter and slimmer. He walked with a delicacy that reminded Yoongi of ballerinas, and today again he was draped in a floor length gown, a lace cloak dragging out behind him.

Yoongi couldn’t look away — he wanted to memorize everything about the other — the way he was dressed in much less than anybody else in the room despite the cold weather, the way his skin was paler than even Yoongi’s own, the way his face was calm but his eyes held the slightest hint of fear.

The rumors were wrong.

The youngest prince of the Winter Court was not deformed at all — he was the quite the opposite.

Instead of hiding away a terrible, shameful secret, all this time, the Winter Court had been protecting an exquisite treasure.

✼

As soon as Jimin sat down, tucking his trembling hands underneath his thighs as food was plated, he spotted him right away.

Sitting across from him and three chairs down was the man who had tried to give him his cloak the night before.

Jimin peeked at him when he was sure the other wasn’t looking, noticing the man’s large hands and prominent veins, the pink knuckles, the black hair that curled a bit inwards at the nape. But what really caught Jimin’s attention was his attire. His black tunic, expensive pants with golden stitching along the seams, and the Autumn Court’s royal cloak pinned across his shoulders.

The cloak was bright red with golden detailing sewn across it, the piece of fabric like a tree shedding its leaves.

If he was wearing that cloak, that must mean —

Jimin’s eyes wandered to the others seated around him.

A boy with large, starry eyes and a faint scar on his left cheek. His body was broader and more muscular than his brother’s, but his face held an innocence that had Jimin looking twice. He, too, was wearing the red royal cloak.

Across from them were the king and queen of the Autumn Court.

Jimin watched as the queen placed a freshly buttered piece of toast on each of their plates.

Oh.

The man from last night was the heir to the Autumn Court, and Jimin had made a complete fool of himself by refusing the man’s help, even going as far as to yell at him and shove him away when he was just concerned for Jimin’s safety.

Knowing an overwhelming amount of emotion wasn’t good for his heart, Jimin tried to calm his breathing and sunk a bit lower in his chair, stabbing at the food on his plate without seeing it.

Should he apologize? They were sitting a bit too far from each other for Jimin to comfortably talk to him. But would it be strange to approach him later?

“So,” a new voice startled Jimin from his internal battle, and he sat up straight once again, hands automatically moving to hold his silverware properly. “Prince Jimin, was it? You are the jewel that the Winter Court was hiding so furiously.”

Jimin bit his lip and looked up towards the speaker — a man a bit older than him, dressed in the Spring Court’s noble attire. Not part of the royal family, but still important enough to be invited to the Equinox Festival.

“He falls ill often,” Jimin’s father cut in. “We did not want to take the chance of debuting him to society too soon.”

Though Jimin knew his condition was the biggest kept secret of the Winter Court — only his immediate family and a very select and trusted few workers were aware of his icy heart — it was still strange to hear his father lie so convincingly.

Still, he knew that if his secret ever got out, people would be convinced that he was cursed, an abomination with no heart — a chest full of bitter cold.

“And is his health up to better standards, now that he’s older?”

Jimin, who hated when others spoke about him as if he did not have ears, could barely conceal the annoyance in his voice as he replied.

“I’m being careful,” he said.

Suddenly, Namjoon’s face from the night before suddenly came to the forefront of Jimin’s mind, concerned and afraid and looking as if he were desperately missing something he hasn’t yet lost.

Jimin swallowed a lump that had built in his throat. “I’m being careful,” he repeated softly.

✼

As it turns out, Jimin didn’t even have to seek Yoongi out — the other found him when he was outside taking a short break, breathing in the cold air and enjoying the chill it brought into his lungs.

“Prince Jimin.” Up close, Jimin could see the way the red of his lips and his cloak contrasted so vividly with the man’s pale skin.

Turning towards him, blinking the drifting snow from his lashes, Jimin dipped into a quick bow as the other did the same.

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” the autumn prince said. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just thought…”

“No!” Jimin said, a bit too loudly. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I overreacted because you…startled me.”

“I’m Yoongi,” he introduced himself, tucking his gloved hands deeper within the pockets of his pants. “And you’re apparently still not cold.”

Looking down at himself, Jimin shoved a slippered foot into the snow and dug into it self-consciously with his toes.

“I don’t get cold easily,” he murmured. “I rather like the feeling of snow on my skin.”

Prince Yoongi hummed, stepping a bit closer. “I heard your father telling people that you fall ill often. Perhaps this is why.”

Jimin laughed. Yoongi blinked in surprise. Though he said these words with a light, teasing tone, he was completely serious. He did not understand how the winter prince could go out in this weather with so little on — and why he was so completely against bundling up.

“I have a weak heart, Prince Yoongi, but I’m quite…resilient towards cold temperatures.”

Though Yoongi seriously doubted it, he did note that Jimin seemed completely comfortable in his thin dress. The snow was falling heavier now, and even when it hit Jimin’s bare cheeks and hands he didn’t flinch. In fact, he seemed to welcome it, tipping his face towards the sky so that more snowflakes could cling to his eyelashes. There was no sign of gooseflesh on the surface of his skin, and Yoongi hasn’t seen Jimin shiver once.

Before he knew what he was doing, Yoongi reached out and held Jimin’s hand in his.

“You’re cold as ice.”

Jimin stared at his fingers grasped in Yoongi’s large palm, and felt a surge of warmth. Outside of his immediate family, nobody ever touched him so…casually. Even with his parents and Namjoon, touches of affection were brief — more often than not, they only touched him as a fond gesture goodbye, or as a hand to the back to lead him a certain direction.

Though brief physical contact with another wouldn’t harness enough heat to begin to melt Jimin’s heart, nobody ever wanted to take their chances.

So now, with the autumn prince so casually holding his hand, with no idea in his mind of hurting Jimin or treating him like a thing that could wither away at a touch, Jimin felt himself yearning for more.

When Jimin didn’t say anything, Yoongi moved to pull his hand back, but the other curled smaller fingers around his.

“You’re warm,” Jimin smiled at him. “It’s…nice.”

And it was.

For the first time in his life, Jimin wanted to be engulfed in the flame.

Huffing out a laugh, Yoongi stepped even closer, and Jimin had to lift his eyes the slightest bit to meet his.

Yoongi opened his mouth, about to say something, but a voice had Jimin stepping back on a foot.
“Jimin,” Namjoon called, standing a few feet from them, eyebrows pushed down in a furrow. “Breakfast is over. You should go and rest.”

Yoongi quirked an eyebrow and looked over at the man he now knew was a prince, and from the look on the other’s face, he had also seen Yoongi’s cloak and realized the same.

Without a word, Jimin slipped his hand from Yoongi’s, and the older watched him slip past his brother and into the castle.

“Prince Yoongi, is it?”

Turning to face the other, Yoongi cocked his head to the side.

“Prince Namjoon. I see dictating your brother’s life is part of your royal duties.”

A muscle ticked in Namjoon’s jaw.

“Be careful, Prince Yoongi,” he said. “Not to overstep your boundaries.”

As he walked away, all Yoongi could see was Namjoon’s royal blue cloak drifting out behind the winter prince’s tall frame, until the snow completely enveloped him and he disappeared from sight.

✼

The celebrations for the Equinox Festival continued on. Yoongi spent most of his time with Jeongguk and Seokjin, drinking rice wine and getting to know people from other courts. He found that those from the Summer Court were as cunning as they were warm, Prince Kim Taehyung being a prime example. Though he was all large smiles and tanned skin and daydreamy expressions, the moment a lord from the Spring Court made a subtle but purposeful jab towards the way the prince’s father ruled, he lashed back with a sharp tongue and a confidence that held promise for the Summer Court’s future king. Jeongguk looked at him as if he hung the moon in the sky, and Yoongi filed that information away for later.

Though the Festival was meant to be a time for relaxation, a time to celebrate the Courts’ peace, there was always an underlying political purpose. During the day, there were often meetings called about resources, and updates about the money flow going in and out of each Court.

Because Yoongi was the heir to the Autumn Court’s throne, he was often sitting next to his father around the table while they discussed these topics. He knew that he should be paying attention, that in a few years when his father stepped down he would be the one sitting there negotiating and talking, but he couldn’t help but feel extra distracted this year.

Every time he looked up and met Prince Namjoon’s gaze, he couldn’t help but see the similarities between him and Jimin. But he could also see the thinly veiled animosity in the other prince’s eyes, and Yoongi wanted to know why.

He was burning up with questions, all of them revolving around the mysterious youngest prince, and if Yoongi had to bear the cold to find his answers, then so be it.

✼

As the days went on, the celebrations also continued.

There was dancing and socializing and tables full of decadent foods and wines.

Somehow, Yoongi always found himself sneaking out into the cold to see Jimin.

In the beginning, Jimin was wary, constantly looking behind them, and keeping a set distance between their bodies. There was a wall built up around Jimin, and Yoongi could hardly crack it. Jimin seemed reluctant to answer questions about himself, and Yoongi filled the silence by telling him about the Autumn Court and asking Jimin about every winter flower they came across.

But as time went on, Jimin thawed and showed Yoongi the way his eyes completely disappear when he laughs, and the way he speaks in a tone so gentle that it could coax flowers to bloom, and the way his cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink when Yoongi compliments him.

Eventually, Jimin is brave enough to sneak his hand into Yoongi’s, swinging it between them as they walk through the gardens, using it to lead Yoongi to his favorite places, his favorite tree, his favorite flower bush, his favorite painting in the castle.

Yoongi thinks to himself that he would follow Jimin anywhere.

He’s never thought of himself as a romantic. Yoongi’s spent his whole life knowing that his number one priority would always be the Autumn Court. But when Jimin smiled at him, Yoongi couldn’t see anything else.

During dinners, Jimin began sitting with Yoongi and his court. In no time, he was ruffling Jeongguk’s hair like a fond older brother and teaming up with Jin in order to tease Yoongi. A lot of the time, Yoongi would look up to see Namjoon watching them — Jimin in particular. He watched as Jimin laughed with Jeongguk and he watched as Seokjin swung a playful arm around Jimin’s soulders. There was a glint in Namjoon’s eyes that Yoongi could never read. But seeing Jimin’s blue dresses right next to his court’s red robes brought a strange sense of satisfaction to Yoongi.

He wanted to keep that blue with him forever.

One day as Jimin was showing Yoongi the tallest tree in the court, a thick and looming evergreen, Yoongi bent a bit and knocked his forehead against Jimin’s, affection for the other making his heart feel tight.

“Yoongi?”

“You look like an angel in these dresses. Have I ever told you that?”

Shyly, Jimin shook his head.

“My snow angel,” Yoongi crooned. “You’re beautiful.”

When they kissed, Jimin’s lips were cold, but Yoongi’s never felt warmer in his life.

✼

The snow was drifting lazy in what came to be Jimin and Yoongi’s secret garden. When Yoongi started thinking of it as ‘our place’, he didn’t know — all he knew was that spending hours upon hours in there with Jimin had him feeling warm in the middle of winter.

Jimin was sprawled out on his back on the cold ground, at first to make snow angels but now just to rest and look at the sky. Yoongi sat on the bench next to him, shivering every once in a while and wrapping himself in his coat as much as he could.

He liked to close his eyes and tip his head back and feel the snow melt against his cheek, liked the sound of Jimin’s breathing and the scratchy sound his limbs made when he wagged them back and forth to create the angel shapes in the ground.

“What is it like out there?”

Blinking one eye open, Yoongi looked down at Jimin and, not for the first time, had to take a moment and realize that the beauty in front of him was real.

“Out where?”

Jimin drew one arm up and waved it vaguely in the air.

“You know. Out there. Anywhere but Winter Court.”

Yoongi stared at Jimin, who was still staring at the sky. For some reason, he was shyly avoiding Yoongi’s eyes.

Yoongi realized that Jimin’s never seen anything but the snow, and since the other was adamant that he would never be able to leave the Winter Court, he never would see anything but the snow. His heart clenched.

So he spoke, for what seemed like hours, about everything he’s seen visiting the other courts. He spoke of the Spring Court’s fat, vibrant roses, so fragrant that every street smelled like a perfume shop. He described their cherry blossom trees, always at full bloom, petals raining down so thickly it rivaled the Winter Court’s snow storms. Everybody walked around with flower petals in their hair, dotted along their clothes, stuck in their shoes, and the sunlight filtered through their thick green trees in warm spotlights.

He spoke of the Summer Court’s blue beaches, the feeling of the warm sand in-between his toes, the shock of the water at his feet and the solitude of how silent everything is when you duck underneath a wave. Yoongi described the hot sun and streets full of people selling ice cream and frozen watermelon.

But most of all, he spoke of his own court, where the trees are forever red and orange and yellow, stuck in an eternal fall, where every house has a candle lit in their windows and every night is a perfect night to stay in and watch movies and drink hot chocolate, or go out on a walk and feel the crunch of the drying leaves underneath your feet. He spoke of how he and Jeongguk and Jin used to sneak out at night and go to the pumpkin patch, sit on the biggest pumpkins they could find and just stare up at the stars, talking until the sky lightened. He spoke of the way Jeongguk liked to climb the trees and shake the branches while Yoongi and Jin stood underneath, spinning and laughing as the leaves fell past them and onto the ground. He spoke of the warmth giving in to cold as the sun set. Yoongi spoke of home, and somewhere along the way both of them realized that Jimin would never see Yoongi’s home.

When Yoongi was done talking, he watched as a tear rolled sideways down Jimin’s temple.

“Jimin…”

“It sounds beautiful,” Jimin shot him a watery smile. “God, it all sounds…so beautiful.”

“Why don’t you leave your court, Jimin? Why can’t you leave?”

Jimin was silent for long minutes. “I just can’t, Yoongi. I used to wish every single night that one day I might be able to…but it’s impossible. I can’t.”

More tears fell from his eyes and collided with the snow, and Yoongi wanted nothing more than to stop them.

“The Winter Court is beautiful, too,” Yoongi said. “The snow…I’ve never seen snow before this, did you know that?”

Jimin turned red rimmed eyes to him, sniffling slightly. “Really? Never?”

Yoongi shook his head. “When I first got here, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Now that’s you.

“The snow is all I’ve ever known…” Jimin trailed off, fingers grazing the snow lightly by his sides. Hating the solemn look in the other boy’s eyes, Yoongi hopped off the bench and let his body fall into the snow, right beside JImin.

“Yoongi?” Jimin sat up on his elbows. “You’re going to get too cold, what’re you doing?”

Spreading his legs apart and wildly flapping his arms up and down, Yoongi grinned at Jimin. “Making my first snow angel.”

He rubbed his body against the snow for a few more seconds then sat up and twisted around to see his work.

The wings were uneven, and one leg was outrageously larger than the other, and Jimin took one look at it and burst into loud laughter.

Yoongi stared at him, a teasing affronted look on his face.

“Don’t laugh at me, it’s my first time, Park Jimin.”

Never stop smiling at me like that.

Jimin continued giggling and he leaned in through his laughter, brushing some snow from the back of Yoongi’s head.

Relaxing under the touch, Yoongi grabbed the hand and kissed his cold fingers.

I hope you stay like this, Yoongi thought to himself. Happy and safe for the rest of your life. I hope you stay like this, even if it’s not by my side.

✼

It happened quickly.

The two of them had dozed off side by side in the snow, the imprint of their snow angels fanning out around them. Their fingers were intertwined in-between their bodies, breaths deep and even and visible as they breathed out.

Yoongi startled awake when he felt Jimin being wrenched away from his hold.

Jimin’s eyes flew open, immediately meeting Yoongi’s as the two of them were dragged away from each other by unknown hands.

“Get the fuck off me,” Yoongi yelled, shoving his elbow back with so much force he could swear he heard his attacker’s rib crack. Bringing a knee up, he pulled a small knife from his boot and slashed behind him blindly, uncaring of anything but getting to Jimin.

He could hear the other screaming, and that only made him more desperate to get to the him. He saw Jimin kicking wildly, using all of his strength in an attempt to push himself away from his attackers’ grip.

Yoongi watched as one of them smacked Jimin across the face, causing him to see red and Jimin to scream even louder.

“Shut the prince up,” a voice came from behind him, winded as he struggled to keep Yoongi under control.

He saw a hand try to grab his arm wielding the knife, but he slashed their knuckles clean across.

His assailant cursed loudly.

Bucking his body back and forth as violently as he could, aiming the hard soles of his boots against his attacker’s shins, Yoongi felt a moment of pure relief as he felt the strong band of an arm lose its grip from around his torso. Turning around quickly, he crouched slightly and tightened his gloved hand around the knife, ready to aim as quickly and efficiently for the man’s throat as he could. Though Jeongguk has always been the better fighter of the two of them, they were both trained from a young age to be able to hold their own in a fight, and during the heat of the moment Yoongi wasn’t afraid to kill to make sure Jimin was safe.

It ended as quickly as it began.

Suddenly, swarms of winter guards were piling in, having cut away the tiny entrance after hearing Jimin’s screams. The majority of them went straight for their prince, enraged yells and the sound of metal on metal cut through the peace of the snow. Some broke off to help Yoongi, and soon his attacker was knocked unconscious and dragged away.

Yoongi turned and ran straight for Jimin, but couldn’t spot his silver hair. He saw the men who were attempting to take Jimin away fighting against the hold the winter guards had on them, and saw another one of the attackers on the floor, still and unmoving.

As he got closer, he saw a hint of blue lace peeking from in-between one of the guards’ feet. Pushing his way past, Yoongi fell to his knees beside Jimin’s body on the snow.

“Jimin, angel, where are you hurt? Are you okay?” Yoongi’s hands fluttered frantically over his body, scared to touch, but he saw no blood.

Jimin was mouthing something, a hand brought up to his own chest and clutching it frantically.

“I was…too scared. I got too scared,” Jimin rasped out.

Bringing a gloved hand over Jimin’s cheek, Yoongi shook his head. “It’s okay now, they won’t hurt you. You’re okay, angel, you’re okay.”

But still, Jimin’s breathing wouldn’t return to normal, and he grew even paler. Yoongi rubbed a hand up and down Jimin’s arm to attempt to warm him, to comfort him, but Jimin knocked it off.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Namjoon. Get Namjoon.”

When Yoongi looked up, Namjoon was already running towards them.

He fell on his knees on the opposite side of Jimin, and put a hand on Jimin’s forehead.

“What’s the matter? Where is he hurt, Namjoon?” Yoongi demanded.

Namjoon looked up and saw Yoongi, eyes angry. “This is why I told you not to overstep, Yoongi.”

Without another word, Namjoon scooped Jimin up and ran back to the castle, unfazed by the thick layer of snow covering the ground.

Stunned, Yoongi sat back on his haunches, and was hit with so much guilt he could hardly breathe.

He shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

He should’ve fought harder to get to Jimin.

He should’ve held onto Jimin’s hand, just a little bit tighter.

But following the guilt now was anger.

Anger at being kept in the dark for so long, anger for being hated by Namjoon for simply caring about his brother, anger because he opened his entire heart to Jimin yet Jimin was still holding himself back.

So Yoongi got up and ran after Namjoon, ignoring the burning in his lungs, ignoring the snow slowing him down. He followed as Namjoon ran to Jimin’s room, carrying him in a way where Jimin wouldn’t be pressed up against his chest.

Yoongi stood in the doorway of what he assumed was Jimin’s room, panting, as Namjoon quickly set Jimin down on the marble floors.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asked, glancing over at the perfectly made bed. Namjoon ignored him as he scurried over to the thermostat, frantically pressing a button over and over again, until thick snowflakes began raining down.

“What…”

He watches as Namjoon goes back over to Jimin, and combs his hair back from his forehead.

“You’re okay, Jimin. Deep breaths, calm your heart down.”

In about fifteen minutes, Jimin’s breathing is normal again.

“Thank you,” he says, eyelids fluttering.

Namjoon brings him over to the bed, laying him down gently, but doesn’t pull the thin sheets over his body. “Get some rest.”

Jimin falls asleep almost instantly.

Yoongi steps back as Namjoon exits the room, closing the door silently behind him. He immediately grabs a fistful of the other prince’s robes. Dragging him into the nearest empty room, not wanting to be seen by anybody else, Yoongi slams the door shut.

“Tell me,” though Yoongi was shorter than Namjoon by a couple of inches, his anger coursed power through his arms that had allowed him to shove the winter prince around. “Tell me what exactly is wrong with Jimin, Namjoon, or I swear to god…”

Past his anger, Yoongi expected Namjoon to shove him back, to raise his voice, to deny his request. He was ready to fight tooth and nail to pry the truth from Namjoon’s lips, uncaring if the other was willing to share or not.

But when Namjoon said nothing and collapsed into the nearest armchair and buried his face in his palms, Yoongi had all this anger built up inside of him with no one to direct it towards. He felt as if he were vibrating from the inside out, frustration and guilt and fear making him shake apart. The image of Jimin, with pale cheeks and labored breath lying on his floor, the snow in his room coming down thick and heavy, wouldn’t stop haunting the forefront of Yoongi’s mind.

Sitting down across from him, Yoongi breathed out a sigh.

“Namjoon…”

Shaking his head slightly, Yoongi watched as tears trickled through the cracks of Namjoon’s fingers and rolled down his arms.

Completely deflating, Yoongi came closer and placed a hand on Namjoon’s knee. Yes, he was scared for Jimin, so scared that he felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath, but Jimin was Namjoon’s brother. Namjoon must be just as scared, and that thought pulled the fight right out of Yoongi.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi croaked. “I should have protected him. I shouldn’t have overstepped. But I care about Jimin, and I just want to understand…”

“I’m going to lose him,” Namjoon said, voice muffled. He looked up at Yoongi then, eyes rimmed red and tears flowing freely down his cheeks, dripping off his jawline and darkening the material of his pants. “My baby brother is going to die and I’ll never see him smile again, I’ll walk to his room and have no one to see, I’ll—”

His voice cracked, and his body seized into itself, as if he were holding back sobs, his chin dipping to his chest in an attempt to hide his face.

Yoongi could do nothing but desperately watch, his own despair heightened by watching Namjoon break down.

“I tried,” Namjoon continued in a whisper. “My entire life, all I’ve wanted to do was keep him safe. Make sure he never ran, or got too excited, or overheated…but while I was doing that, I was depriving him of living a life. We’ve kept him locked in his room and I don’t think he’s known true happiness until…”

Namjoon looked up at Yoongi, holding his gaze.

“Until you.”

Yoongi swallowed thickly.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what’s wrong with him. Please.”

Eyes searching Yoongi’s, Namjoon sucked in a shaking breath.

“He was born with a heart made of ice, Yoongi.”

Disbelief had Yoongi sitting back in his chair. “What?”

“I know it sounds impossible,” Namjoon said. “But it’s true. Jimin thrives in the cold weather. If he overworks his heart, does too much physical exercise, gets too shocked or nervous or anything that could quicken his heartrate for a prolonged amount of time, his heart will melt.”

“And…and he’ll die?” Yoongi shook his head, not wanting to accept it.

Namjoon nodded. “That’s why we kept him a secret for so long. To protect him.”

“So is that what just happened? His heart was…melting?”

Another nod.

“But he’s going to be okay, right?”

Namjoon’s eyes were a thousand years old, shoulders sagging with the weight of a sadness he’s carried around for his entire life.

“If it’s not this time, it’ll be the next, or the next. There’s no way…anyone could keep on living like that. Not for long, Yoongi.”

Yoongi wanted to deny it. Wanted to scream until his throat rubbed raw, wanted to rush to Jimin’s room and reassure himself that the other was okay, would always be okay if he continued being careful.

When he turned his head towards the storm outside, Yoongi couldn’t help but notice the snowflakes sticking to the window emanating heat from the room.

They barely lasted a minute before they melted and disappeared.

✼

Jimin was completely fine the next morning.

When Yoongi visited his room, Jimin beamed as brightly as the sun.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Jimin worried.

Yoongi shook his head, sat on the side of the other’s bed and entwining their fingers. “No, angel. I was worried about you.”

“Who were those men?”

“The marauders were trying to use you as bait to get riches from your father, but they weren’t part of an organization. They were too desperate and undermanned.”

Jimin hummed.

“Namjoon told me,” Yoongi blurted. “About your heart. I don’t completely understand, but…everything makes sense now.”

Jimin looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Namjoon? He told you?”

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know, I just—I was going crazy not knowing why you were hurt, Jimin. Why you had to be so careful all the time, why you can’t leave this court. I didn’t know what was happening and so I pressured him into telling me. I’m sorry.”

“No, Yoongi, it’s okay, I’m just…surprised that he trusted you enough to tell you. Only my immediate family and my physician know, and they forbid me from ever telling anyone. That’s the only reason I kept it a secret from you for so long.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding.

“I…what do you…” Jimin bit his lip, unable to finish the sentence. But Yoongi understood.

“I think you’re the strongest person on this planet,” Yoongi said, conviction behind his words. “And despite this, I think you’ll live a beautiful life. I truly do.”

✼

It was Yoongi’s last night at the Winter Court.

Neither he nor Jimin were thinking about their inevitable separation — when the subject was brought up, it was quickly and immediately dispelled with assurances that they’d write each other, and when Yoongi could find the time, he would visit Jimin once again.

The two of them were in Jimin’s room, Yoongi wearing multiple layers of clothing under his thick fur cloak so that he could stay warm enough to withstand the cold temperature. He was sitting on the couch as he watched Jimin sitting at the vanity, brushing his silver hair with a golden brush.

“You’re beautiful,” he croaked out, eyes meeting Jimin’s in the mirror.

And he was.

Not just his physical appearance — which was beautiful — but in everything Jimin did.

The way he laughed with his entire body when he let himself go, inexplicably happy in an almost childlike manner.

The way he brushed his fingers against every winter flower he passed in the gardens, infinitely gentle with everything and everyone.

The way he stayed so strong living with the most fragile heart on earth, watching his every breath and step to ensure that he would survive. Jimin’s survival and his will to live was beautiful — a flower blooming in the winter despite the cold and the snow, a butterfly braving the winds and the skies with paper thin wings.

Jimin smiled and put the brush down, moving across the room until his knees were pressed against Yoongi’s, looking down at him.

“You’re beautiful,” Yoongi repeated, an ache in his throat.

Reaching out, he pulled Jimin onto his lap, uncaring of the shiver that wracked up his spine when Jimin’s skin touched his. Though he could wear gloves, Yoongi didn’t want to give that contact up for anything. He reverently traced Jimin’s hands, then cupped the other’s face in his palms.

“I’ll miss you,” Jimin whispered.

“I know,” Yoongi whispered back.

“Don’t forget about me,” Jimin’s eyebrows pulled inward towards each other, an almost desperate lilt to his voice.

“How could I?” Yoongi half-laughed. “I’ll think of you every second of every day, until we see each other again.”

Jimin leaned in and pressed their lips together, cold hands going up to cup Yoongi’s neck. Wrapping his arms around Jimin’s waist and pulling him closer, wishing he could feel the lace of Jimin’s dress against his bare arms, wishing they could be more than they ever would be, wishing for a lifetime of that exact moment and knowing he would never have it, Yoongi kissed him back frantically, drawing whimpers from the other boy’s mouth.

“I love you,” Yoongi whispered as they pulled back for air. Their lips were still touching, fluttering against each other, delicate and fragile and feeling more like a goodbye than Yoongi was prepared for.

“I love you,” Jimin breathed out in a sob. Running a hand up his back and cupping the back of his neck to calm him, Yoongi kissed him again. Jimin moved impossibly closer, legs on either side of Yoongi’s, dress bunched up to his thighs.

Yoongi couldn’t think past this moment — past his lips pressed to Jimin’s, past the warmth in his stomach, past his frantically beating heart, past the little noises Jimin made that he wanted to swallow again and again, past the almost addicting feeling of Jimin’s ice-cold skin on his heated face.

Yoongi couldn’t think.

Because if he could, if he had been, he would have realized that Jimin was too close, absorbing too much of his body heat, the kissing working his heart into a passionate, dangerous frenzy.

When Jimin sucked in a pained breath, Yoongi pulled back.

Jimin pressed a shaking hand up to his chest, panting desperately.

“Jimin…?”

Shaking his head, the silver-haired boy tried to wrench himself from Yoongi’s grip, but Yoongi followed, collapsing forward on his knees as Jimin did the same, waist held in Yoongi’s large hands.

“Jimin, breathe, please, you’re okay,” Yoongi said frantically. “Angel, you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Looking up at Yoongi, tears rolling down his paling cheeks, Jimin nodded, eyes never leaving Yoongi’s, chest moving up and down so quickly it looked like the fluttering of a bird’s wings.  Jimin’s hand slipped from where he was clutching at his own chest.

And just like snow, Yoongi watched as Jimin collapsed and disappeared in the very palm of his hands.

✼

Yoongi couldn’t breathe.

When he was younger, he would wail loudly for his mother when he fell from a tree and broke his arm, when he and Jeongguk fought, when he burned his hand attempting to bake his father a birthday cake.

As he grew up, Yoongi learned to keep the pain silent, would clutch a hand over his mouth and flee to his room, trapping his cries in-between his knees, sobs quiet and wracking and painful.

Now, Yoongi could hardly keep quiet. He has never known loss like this — has never known what it felt like to give your heart to someone who would take it with them and then disappear.

Holding Jimin in his lap, arms tight around the boy’s smaller frame, Yoongi hated how his body didn’t even grow cold — it was already cold from the start. Yoongi hated how Jimin had to live his entire life without knowing warmth and freedom.

But most of all, Yoongi hated himself. He had been so determined to protect Jimin from everything that could harm him in the world, and forgot that he himself was one of those things.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Yoongi choked out. “Come back, angel. I’m so sorry.”

Silence rang in his ears like church bells.

“I love you, please.”

In the Autumn Court, there were days when Yoongi would sit outside and watch the sunrise.

His favorite thing to do was close his eyes and feel, feel the sun return to the sky and drape its warmth over everything like a golden blanket.

He would go out without a jacket, and feel his skin slowly regain warmth, the gooseflesh on his arms melting away, face tipped towards the sun.

Slowly, that familiar feeling washed over Yoongi.

Tears still staining his vision, he felt as Jimin’s body grew warmer and warmer, warmer than he’s ever felt it. It was as if the sun were finally rising within the winter prince’s body, after a 22 year long winter.

“Jimin?”

When his eyes blinked open, Yoongi cried out, overwhelmed.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his entire frame bent over Jimin’s body. “Oh my god, Jimin.”

“Yoongi? I…I feel weird. Why are you crying?”

Yoongi sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You were dead, Jimin, I don’t understand…how is this possible?”

“Yoongi, it’s cold.”

“What?”

Shivering violently, Jimin brought a hand down to the frosted floor and hissed through his teeth, yanking his hand up quickly.

Sitting Jimin up with a supportive arm around his back, Yoongi pressed a hand to Jimin’s heart.

It was beating, regular and strong.

“Your heart…is it…?”

Putting his hand over Yoongi’s, Jimin looked up at him.

“It…thawed? So all along, it was never in danger of completely melting away?”

Buzzing with excitement and relief and pure emotion, Yoongi let out an incredulous laugh. “I guess not. I think there was just a cast of ice around your heart, but once that melted away…”

Jimin let out a half-sob, half-laugh. “It melted away and I have a normal heart now? It was that easy all along?”

Scooping Jimin up in his arms, Yoongi spun in an ecstatic circle.

“Angel, do you know what this means? You can see the world — everything you’ve ever wanted to see! You can leave court, and try new foods and meet new people and—”

“Yoongi,” Jimin cut him off with a smile, eyes soft and full of a lifetime of possibilities. “All I want to do is be with you.”

✼

A year later, Namjoon visited the Autumn Court and watched his younger brother get married under a million red falling leaves.

Jimin’s ice blue wedding dress contrasted with the pink flush in his cheeks.

He watched as Jimin walked down the candlelit aisle, watched as Yoongi dragged him into a kiss before vows were even said, watched as Jimin laughed with his entire body, leaning into Yoongi’s chest, watched as Jimin downed glasses of champagne with Taehyung, watched as he danced wildly with Hoseok, watched as he threw his bouquet of flowers behind him only for Jeongguk to catch it, watched as Seokjin crushed him in a long, stifling hug.

He watched as Yoongi gazed at Jimin as if he wanted to hand him the world, and in a way Namjoon supposed he did. He watched as Jimin shivered as the night grew colder and Yoongi draped his robe over his husband’s shoulders.

He watched as Jimin radiated warmth and light, and Namjoon breathed out in happiness and utter relief.

Namjoon watched as Jimin finally got the life he deserved.