Chapter Text
Seungmin rises with the sun.
It is the loss of warmth that wakes him. Last night it had already been late when Minho had slipped under the covers; his bed already cosy with the heat of the body already deep in slumber. The room had been dimly lit, dying embers glowing in the fireplace and a half-open book resting over Seungmin's sleeping figure. Minho had buried himself into the comfort of his bed, and let the tension melt away from his shoulders.
Now, however, without Seungmin inches away from him, the biting cold seeps in and makes a home in his bones. He wakes slowly, blinking away sleep even before the bed has lost the heat.
On the other side of the room, little of the warm and soft Seungmin of the night, who whines and pouts when Minho pries the book from clenched hands remains. In his place stands Seungmin of the morning; poised and pulled together in a way becoming of the Consort of the King, even in the quarters of his room.
Minho curls opposite to his side of the bed, fighting the temptation to bury his nose into the rapidly fading warmth and the strong scent of his husband, and observes silently as Seungmin pulls layers upon layers onto himself, his deft hands swift and precise, back steeled straight and gaze turned away.
Minho looks, imprints Seungmin's unaware silhouette at the back of his head, filing it among the rare private memories he gets to have with Seungmin, until Seungmin inevitably feels the weight of his stare.
Seungmin turns– a full one-eighty degree– his eyes wide and surprise colouring his face, before the last of him shutters away from the world and the remainder of his guard goes up. Minho suppresses a flinch.
"I apologise for waking you up," Seungmin says, head bowed, and his fingers working through his clothes quicker. Already running and slipping through Minho's fingers. "I tried to not be too loud."
Minho shakes his head but doesn't move to get out of bed. Minho had learned early on that chasing Seungmin only just pushed him away further, led to him fleeing faster.
"You didn't wake me up," Minho replies, because Seungmin had not. At least not in the ways he was apologising for. It simply was not Seungmin's fault that Minho slept better when he was there.
Seungmin hums, unconvinced, but does not call him out. He ties the last of the knots and only once he has turned towards the mirror, away from Minho, needlessly fiddling his collar, he suggests, "You should go back to sleep. You came back pretty late."
Minho yawns, reflexively.
"Yeah, the meeting ran too long. Nobleman Kim really loves the sound of his voice."
Seungmin looks back and raises an eyebrow. Did I ask?
Minho, despite knowing better, smiles amused, and shrugs. He may have been married to Seungmin for a few months, but he has known him for far longer. Minho may not know what Seungmin is thinking most of the time, but Minho is familiar with Seungmin's incessant curiosity and his aloof facade.
Minho's amusement does not escape Seungmin's notice. Years ago, Seungmin would have rolled his eyes. He would have stomped his feet and stuck his tongue out defensively. He would have pouted and whined and clung to Minho, until Minho was forcibly unclenching his hands from his robes and pushing him away. In the present, Seungmin's mask cracks only for a singular second. Displeasure tugs at his mouth and sourness tightens at the edge of his eyes before his expression settles back into his uncaring previous one. If Minho did not know better, he would have attributed it to the trick of light.
"Sleep, Your Majesty." Seungmin reiterates. Minho huffs and splays himself over the bed, inching further towards Seungmin's side and looking away.
Seungmin's footsteps still echo in the empty room long after he has left.
Minho does not go back to sleep. He stays starfished on their shared bed staring at the ceiling but unable to will himself to get out. Exhaustion shackles him and Seungmin's scent holds him ensnared. He yearns to sink into the mattress and hide away from the world that awaits him outside his chambers.
Seungmin must know his exhaustion, his reluctance to leave the bed despite his inability to fall back into slumber because a little while later, there is a quick knock on their chamber before a maid is stumbling in. As Minho had expected. As has been the norm.
Minho only lifts his head to see the tray of breakfast in the woman's hand, the sparkles in her eyes, and the flush on her cheeks before he is averting his eyes again.
"The King Consort sent me," she says, placing the tray on the table and bowing. "He said you wanted breakfast in your chambers."
Minho hums but makes no motion to get up.
The woman doesn't leave either. Minho waits a beat, before raising his head again and cocking his eyebrow and the woman flushes darker, more embarrassed than flustered.
"The King Consort said to not leave until you have started your meal."
The fucking audacity of this man.
"As the King Consort wishes," Minho deadpans to the ceiling.
The woman fidgets again, skirts rustling against the wooden floor, and Minho has to wait for only a few seconds before she speaks up, "Your Highness if I may be a little forward–"
"Just say whatever it is you wish to." Minho prompts, resigned, letting his eyes fall shut, already knowing what he is about to hear.
"The King Consort is very kind and charming," she rushes through her words– almost as if afraid that Minho will cut her off before the spiel ends – bewitched by the same magic that ensnares everyone within Seungmin's certain proximity. "He is very soft-spoken and polite, just like you sire. Don't you think you match each other well? Aren't we lucky to have him here? The other nobles and staff have taken such a liking to him already in such a short time–"
Minho feels his eyes twitch.
"Okay, thank you Eri," Minho cuts her off and throws away his blankets. "I'm going to have breakfast, and you can go tell the King Consort to put his mind to ease."
Eri covers her mouth and bows. She picks up her skirts and scurries away. Only once her footsteps fade away does Minho look up and groan.
Very lucky indeed.
It is not that Seungmin has changed. Seungmin had always been like this. Prim and proper. Sophisticated yet charming as befitting of a prince, no matter his position way down the line of the throne. There had been a reason his council had been strongly in favour of a possible engagement with Seungmin after Minho's engagement with Jisung had dissolved.
"He is so lovely," Minho's mother, the dowager queen, had insisted. "So polite and respectful."
"You had been such good friends when you were younger," Noblewoman Chaewon had reminded him.
"He is really easy to be around," Jeongin, his younger brother, had vouched.
The problem simply is that this was never how Seungmin had behaved with him back then, when all Minho had held for him was disdain, when he only had eyes for Jisung.
Seungmin had been clingy and bratty. He always had a comeback to whatever Minho had to say, had chased Minho with a wooden sword raised in the air to convince him to play with him. He had been stubborn, stomping his feet when Minho had denied him. The Seungmin Minho had known had not held back, had bantered and fought. Had been vocal about his desires and distastes.
It is not that Minho is unaware of the sophistication and poise that Seungmin wears like a second skin. It is just that Minho had never been on the outside of Seungmin's walls. Had never needed to look past his façade and had never wanted to.
Despite the intensity with which he craves Seungmin's attention and honesty now, there had been a time it had been unwelcome.
This marriage perhaps is his karmic retribution for how strongly Minho had resisted Seungmin's relentless efforts.
It is the sound of Seungmin's laughter that draws Minho to the garden, like a moth to a flame.
Minho should have stayed in bed in the morning. He should have dragged Seungmin with him. He should have convinced Jeongin to head the council in his stead.
Exhaustion weighs on his shoulders and he had been looking forward to collapsing in his chamber but Seungmin's clear giggle echo in the corridor and Minho's feet drag him towards the sound without his permission, a starving man drawn to the mirage of water in the desert.
It is Changbin that spots him first. He turns a little left before his eyes widen and he is stepping back from where he was leaning over Minho's laughing husband.
Seungmin looks around next and all mirth falls from his expression when his eyes find Minho. Despite expecting it, the change in his demeanour pains Minho like a blow to his chest.
"Your Highness,” Seungmin stands at his place and bows, hair falling into his impassive eyes, body language having none of the loose comforts that had been there before he had realised Minho was there. His back is rigid, his hands clasped on his front. His bow is as low as the ones they used to mock during their etiquette classes as children.
Seungmin, the perfect student. Perfect warrior. Perfect consort.
On another day, Minho would have been inclined to show tolerance. He would have calmly corrected the use of his title instead of his name, indulged Seungmin in his pursuit of apathy and simply been pleased just by Seungmin’s proximity.
Today, however, Minho is at the end of his patience. Cold has made its home in the marrow of his bone and his body has not regained its warmth ever since Seungmin's absence in the morning. His muscles cramp painfully and his morning duties only contribute to the headache building behind his eyes.
He has sat through enough pleasantries since the morning to entertain them pleasantly from his husband too.
He looks towards Changbin and nods curtly towards the castle urging him to leave. He does not move his gaze even when Changbin glances once toward Seungmin for reassurance. Reassurance, not permission because even the King Consort’s guard is incapable of going against the King’s direct order, no matter how silent.
“You didn’t have to,” Seungmin says apathetically, sitting back on the bench, poised and dignified as opposed to the carefree curl of his body before. “It is not like him being here would change anything.”
"Don’t be difficult today, Seungmin.” Minho grits and plops next to Seungmin, closing his eyes and facing the sky. "Not today.”
The sun has not been out for a few days now. The dry air is biting and the cold steel of the bench digs into his flesh. His country is not made for winter and neither is Minho.
Half of him regrets coming to the garden, when he could have simply avoided the pain and the ache by retiring to his chambers, but the rest of him, the parts of him that fear the emptiness and loneliness rejoices at the prospect of a conversation with Seungmin with his barbed words and sharp tongue. Anything is better than nothing. Minho would accept whatever Seungmin offered out of his own will with open arms.
The silence stretches between them for long enough that Minho fears that Seungmin has silently taken his leave; a waning ghost, and abandoned Minho to the dead grass and cold snow.
Filled with an irrational dread, he cautiously cracks his eye open to catch Seungmin nervously kicking the snow with his feet, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
"I take it the meeting did not go well?" Seungmin asks, voice timid and small.
Minho smiles to himself.
"No," he whispers. "There are reports of troops gathering in the south but Councilman Kim only wants to talk about his produce. Councilman Lee wants a foreigner suitor for his daughter and Councilman Choi does not know when to stop talking."
Seungmin fingers twist in the fabric pants and Minho is staggered by the insane urge of disentangling his fingers and kissing the thin skin on the inside of his wrist.
"That sounds… awful," Seungmin says, glancing towards him for a split second before digging his fingers deeper and continuing in a timider voice. "Do you want me to string along tomorrow?"
Minho's heart swells until he can feel it in his throat. How long has it been since Seungmin has offered scraps of affection without hiding behind impenetrable walls? Minho wants nothing more than to give in and agree. To allow his eyes to find the younger in the room when he grows he is close to pulling his hair out with frustration. To listen to his sweet lilting tones between the useless dronings of the council, even if it isn't directed towards him.
But the hall is stuffy and sitting long hours listening to the ravings of self-important men is arduous. Minho should spare Seungmin the torture.
He shakes his head and leans further back. "No, I'm okay. Instead of the meeting, Jeongin is going out on the hunt. You should accompany him. I remember you used to be good at those."
Seungmin sits up straighter. "Then you would do well to remember that I am also very good at council matters."
Minho smiles. "I remember."
Seungmin has always been the perfect prince.
"Then you should take me with you."
"What kind of husband would I be to subject you to that?"
It has to be the wrong thing to say because Seungmin's expression shutters up again, the nervousness and timidness replaced with a blank look and hard eyes.
Disappointment curls in Minho's abdomen. Seungmin had let Minho peek through his front and Minho had unknowingly fumbled and put his foot through his mouth. There had been a time when Minho could say no wrong where Seungmin was concerned. Now, he constantly dangles at the edge of one word away from Seungmin closing up whatever little Minho is allowed to see.
"Let's go in,” Seungmin says, cordial and polite, brushing off his robes as he stands, “It is a little late. The sun has already started setting."
His hands move on their accord, grasping Seungmin’s wrist before his sense return to him. Minho ducks his head in shame but does not back down when the latter raises a pointed eyebrow. He tightens his fingers
“Let's stay a little longer,” Minho says, a little dizzy and desperate, like an addict already craving a little more, just a few more moments of euphoria. "The weather is really nice."
Granted, their current conversation could have gotten better, but Mimho would take this over one-word replies and dismissive gazes. He would rather fight with Seungmin every day than live trying to ignore each other's existence. There is so much he wants to ask, so much he wants to know.
“The weather is nice,” Seungmin repeats stonily, not sharing the same sentiment. He slowly drags his eyes over the snow, and the cloud darkened the sky “Is that really what you want to go with?”
*Min-ah, I can't keep going like this.*
Seungmin raises one eyebrow in a perfect arc.
"Can’t we be friends’” Minho elaborates, begs, “Can’t we try?”
Seungmin's pretence falls apart in a split second. Rage burns in his eyes and his nostrils flare as his lips twist in a cruel imitation of a smile. He scoffs, and a beat later, as if it registering it a little delayed, laughs out loud and incredulous.
“Friends?" He mocks, "You want us to be friends?”
“Seungmin– listen”
"That is so rich coming from you, hyung." Seungmin spits, "Why didn’t I ever think about that.”
“Must you–”
Seungmin stands straighter. Digs his fingers into Minho's hold and forcibly extracts his wrists. And then in the coldest voice Minho had ever heard from him, he replies with finality, “I apologise your majesty, but that ship sailed years ago.”