We now gather for the memorial of our beloved Kang Dae-Ho. May we never forget all the good he did, even if they try to villainize him against us. Now we bow our heads in a moment of silence 💔🥀😔
🌟 A Cry for Help: My Family’s Struggle to Survive in Gaza 🌟
Hello, my name is Areej Kassab. I’m a 27-year-old English teacher and writer from Gaza, and I’m reaching out to you with a heavy heart and a desperate plea for support. My family and I are enduring unimaginable hardships as relentless bombings devastate our home and our dreams.
We are a family of 15—10 adults and 5 children. Every day is a battle for survival. Food is scarce, humanitarian aid is not reaching us, and my little nieces and nephews go to bed hungry. Among them is my sister, who is deaf, and another sister who has a newborn baby. They, too, are suffering in this crisis, and I’m doing everything I can to protect and provide for them.
💔 A Life in Ruins
The war has robbed us of everything: safety, peace, and even the hope of a future here. My family’s needs are basic yet critical—food, clean water, diapers for the babies, gas for cooking, and other essentials to make it through each day.
With rising prices and limited access to necessities, we are struggling to provide even the most basic items. My sister’s home has been destroyed, and we are working together to ensure everyone has shelter, food, and warmth.
✨ My Plea for Your Support ✨
I’m a writer, and I’ve been documenting the harsh realities faced by my community under siege. But words can only do so much. We need action, and we need help. Your kindness can save us.
🙏 How You Can Help
Donate: Every contribution, no matter how small, brings us closer to securing the essentials we desperately need.
Share Our Story: If you can’t donate, please share this post to help us reach others who can.
Your support will help provide food for the children, clean water for my family, and basic supplies to help us survive this unimaginable crisis.
My name is Melissa and I am supporting Areej to help her family surviv… Melissa Saul needs your support for Emergency Evacuation for Aree
Thank you for reading, for caring, and for standing in solidarity with us. Together, we can create a lifeline for my family—a chance to live, to dream, and to hope again.
── .✦ fantasy, knight!yunho x princess!reader, slowburn, fluff, angst, forbidden romance, royal politics, prince!woosansang, knight!mingi, duty vs. desire, power struggles
── .✦ playlist.
In the quiet solitude of your royal chambers, a restless heart yearns for freedom, torn between the delicate chains of duty and a desire to feel truly alive. The weight of your father’s expectations looms over you, while the whispers of an unseen knight pull at the edges of your thoughts. A chance encounter with Yunho in the garden stirs something within—a flicker of something more than mere duty. Yet, the path you walk is fraught with peril, where the delicate balance of royal life and your own hidden desires threatens to unravel. And as you stand at the threshold of something unspoken, you wonder: can a fragile princess dare to dream beyond the walls that bind her?
a/n: i was listening to disney soundtracks earlier and thought “speechless” by naomi scott suited not only this chapter, but the entirety of this story itself—hence the last-minute revision of the title (it is a line from the song). your feedbacks are dearly treasured within my heart, so it would be much appreciated if you were to inform me of them <3
The dining hall gleamed under the flickering glow of candlelight, painting a warm sheen upon the long, polished table where you, your father, and a few of his advisors sat in extravagant splendor. Your mother had traveled to the land of Farlvichium—found just right beside Masreathen—where she was to purchase a new set of attire for both you and herself to wear. She would be returning to Elythria later during dawn, hence the absence of her presence. The scent of roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and spiced wine curled through the air, yet none of it stirred your appetite.
You sat adorned in one of your finer gowns—soft silk embroidered with delicate golden thread, shimmering under the dim light. It was a dress you often wore on more casual days within the castle, yet tonight, as you sat among the laughter and self-indulgent celebration of your father’s so-called triumph, it felt like a cruel mockery. A prison spun from gold and silk.
How ironic it was to be draped in luxury, feasting on the finest delicacies Elythria had to offer, while your spirit felt like an old, tattered rag left out in the storm. They all dined with satisfaction, savoring each morsel with ease, unaware—or perhaps simply unbothered—by the suffocating weight that settled upon your shoulders.
Your father, seated at the head of the table, was in high spirits, his deep, commanding voice filling the hall as he conversed with his advisors, speaking of diplomacy, of power, of the inevitable success of his ambitions. Every word he uttered twisted your stomach further.
And then, as expected, he turned to you.
“So, my dear,” his voice, though smooth, carried the sharp edge of expectation. “Tell me, how did it go? What did you and the two princes speak of?”
Your grip tightened slightly around the silver goblet in your hand. You had anticipated this question. Prepared for it. And yet, as his keen eyes settled upon you, it felt as though he could already see past the veil of pleasantries you had crafted in your mind.
Still, you smiled, a carefully curated expression of warmth. “Prince Wooyoung was most charming, as expected. He seems quite… fond of me.”
Your father’s brows lifted with interest, a pleased smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Is that so?”
You nodded, glancing down at your untouched plate. “He even plucked one of the lilies from the royal garden. He wished to take something with him to Zaule—something to remind him of Elythria.”
The reaction was immediate. Your father let out a satisfied hum, setting his goblet down with a clink against the table. His expression brimmed with triumph, as if Wooyoung’s simple gesture was all the confirmation he needed that his plan was unfolding exactly as he had envisioned.
“Good,” he murmured, mostly to himself, before lifting his goblet once more. “Leaving an impression upon them is the first and most crucial step. If they find themselves longing for another encounter, we have already planted the seed.”
You remained silent, merely nodding along as he took another slow sip of his wine, pleased with the progress. But then, inevitably, he asked, “And what of Prince Yeosang?”
Yeosang.
The prince who saw through you far too easily. The prince who subtly—yet unmistakably—opposed the very foundation of your father’s ambitions.
The moment your father uttered Yeosang’s name, your pulse slowed—not in calmness, but in careful calculation. He was waiting, watching, expecting an answer that would assure him all was proceeding as he had so meticulously envisioned. But what answer could you possibly give?
Yeosang knew.
Of course, he hadn’t said it outright, but he hadn’t needed to. His every glance, his every carefully spoken word had told you that he had seen through the veil of pleasantries and understood the truth buried beneath it. He had read between the lines, deciphered the true intent of the ceremony, and—most dangerously—he had made it clear that he did not stand with your father’s ambitions.
That was what made this moment so precarious.
If you told the truth—if you revealed that Yeosang had seen through the ruse and had likely already informed Aunvoeir’s king—then your father would act. But what would that entail? Would he alter his approach, disguise his intent further? Would he grow more ruthless in ensuring his plan remained intact? Would Yeosang’s kingdom suffer the consequences of simply knowing?
But if you kept it to yourself… if you let your father remain blind to the fact that a crack had already formed in his grand design…
Aunvoeir may take action first.
They knew now. They understood the danger that Elythria posed should your father’s ambitions come to fruition. And if they decided they could not afford to sit idly by… if they chose to strike before your father could—
Your people would suffer.
Your beloved Elythria, your gentle, kind townsfolk, the ones who grew pink lilies in your honor, the ones who greeted you with warm smiles even as they labored under a kingdom built on veiled threats and unspoken fears—they would be caught in the crossfire.
“My dear,” your father’s voice came again, smooth, expectant. “Prince Yeosang?”
You met his gaze, finding only patience in his expression, but patience laced with demand. He would wait for an answer, but he would not wait forever.
A single breath. Then another. And then, finally, you spoke.
“He was…” You forced a softness into your voice, something light, something unassuming. “Reserved. More measured than Prince Wooyoung, but no less respectful.”
Your father hummed, fingers tracing the rim of his goblet. “And? Did he express any particular interest?”
Interest. Such a simple word, yet in your father’s mouth, it held an edge sharper than any blade. A pause. A heartbeat. A moment to decide.
Your lips parted, but the words that wished to be spoken—the warning, the truth—remained locked behind your teeth. Instead, you said, “He was intrigued by Elythria’s customs. We spoke of traditions, of history.”
Not a lie. But not the truth, either.
Your father considered you for a moment longer than he had before. You met his gaze, keeping your expression steady, your posture composed, your breathing even. If there was any flicker of doubt within him, he did not voice it.
At last, he leaned back slightly, lifting his goblet to his lips once more. “Good,” he murmured. “Then we continue as planned.”
Your chest remained tight, your stomach twisted, but you only nodded. Your father turned his attention elsewhere, speaking now of trade agreements, of alliances and strategies and matters that should have concerned you more than they did. You let the conversation wash over you, feigning engagement while your thoughts spiraled elsewhere.
Had you made the right choice? Had you condemned your people to danger by remaining silent?
Or had you merely delayed the inevitable?
The feast continued around you, a symphony of indulgence and ambition, of rich flavors and empty victories. But you tasted none of it. You felt none of it. Because no matter what you did, no matter which path you took…
The storm was already gathering.
—
Your footsteps echoed in the silence of your chambers, a rhythm upon the cold marble floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. A caged bird fluttering, desperate, uncertain where to go when every direction was a dead-end in disguise.
You could not sit still. The weight of the evening’s events were heavy as stone, suffocating as a noose drawn ever so slowly. The candlelight flickered upon your vanity, illuminating the untouched sheet of parchment that lay waiting beside a quill, its tip glistening with fresh ink.
Write to him. Tell him. Confide in Wooyoung.
The thought wove itself through your mind, threading its way between your doubts and hesitations. Wooyoung was your friend, your confidant—if there was anyone who could understand the turmoil that burdened your heart, it was him. He, too, was born into the golden shackles of royalty. He, too, knew what it meant to be a pawn in a game far greater than oneself. And yet… Would he understand? Truly?
Or would he, like any ruler, place his kingdom first?
He was the Prince of Zaule, his loyalty bound to his people before all else. If you told him of your father’s schemes, he would listen—yes, he would listen—but he would also tread carefully. He would no longer look at you with the same ease, the same warmth. You would no longer be simply you in his eyes, but rather a liability, a possible danger, a piece on the board he must maneuver with caution.
And perhaps, eventually, he would sever the ties between you altogether.
You would lose him.
You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temple as if the pressure might force your thoughts into order. You hated this. You hated every moment of it. Every choice felt like walking blindly through a burning corridor, each door leading only to another wall of fire.
You had never wanted any of this.
Not the gilded dresses, nor the suffocating titles, nor the burdens that came with ruling lands and wielding influence over thousands of lives. If it were not too much to ask, if the gods were not so cruel, you would have simply wished to be normal—a girl whose greatest worries were fleeting things, whose hands bore the marks of labor rather than the touch of silk. A girl who could walk the streets of Elythria and live among her people, not above them.
Your knees buckled.
Before you could catch yourself, you sank to the floor, your trembling fingers clutching the fabric over your chest as if you could steady the storm within. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the candlelight, and then they fell—silent at first, rolling down your cheeks in quiet surrender. But the silence did not last long.
A choked sob tore from your throat, muffled as you pressed your hands against your face. Your shoulders shook, your breath hitched, and suddenly, the walls of your chamber felt too close, too stifling, trapping you in this wretched reality you could not escape.
This would not do. You could not stay here, drowning in your own despair, surrounded by nothing but luxury and walls too thick to hear your screams.
With a sharp inhale, you pushed yourself to your feet, unsteady but determined. You cared not for the state of your hair, nor the tear-streaked ruin of your face. You cared not if a maid saw you in such a state or if the knights stationed in the corridors whispered amongst themselves after witnessing their princess fleeing into the night like a phantom haunted by her own existence.
You just needed to run—so you did.
Your bare feet carried you down the dimly lit halls, past the towering columns and the grand staircases that once seemed insurmountable. And when you stepped beyond the palace doors, the night air greeted you like an old friend—cold and crisp, biting at your damp cheeks but not unkind.
The path to the royal garden was no longer a daunting abyss of darkness. Where once you had hesitated, lamps now flickered in a soft, guiding glow, illuminating the way with newfound clarity.
You did not know who had arranged this within a single day, but you were grateful nonetheless. Whoever it was, it had to be someone who knew of your foolish decision to depart and welcome the darkness with open arms the other day—perhaps Mingi, or…
No. Such delusions must be perished from your mind.
At last, you reached the heart of the garden, the place where peace had once felt tangible, where you had once been able to steal moments of solace amidst the chaos of your life. The scent of lilies lingered in the air, sweet yet melancholic, a reminder of the love your people bore for you. It was comforting and cruel all at once.
You sank onto the stone bench nestled beneath the flowering arches, drawing your legs up and wrapping your arms around them, seeking whatever warmth you could find. And then, at last, you spoke—though there was no one there to hear you but the night itself.
“I am tired,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “Tired of playing the obedient daughter. Tired of smiling when all I want to do is scream. Tired of carrying a crown I never asked to bear.”
You exhaled, resting your forehead against your knees. “I am not a warrior, nor a ruler. I am not a strategist nor a schemer. I do not wish to play this game of power, to weave words into lies and dance upon a stage where my own heart is nothing more than a piece to be sacrificed.”
“I truly love Elythria,” you continued, voice cracking, “but I despise the choices I must make for it. If I tell my father the truth, it may lead to war. If I say nothing, Aunvoeir may strike first. And if I confide in Wooyoung, I may lose him forever. No matter where I turn, no matter what path I take, I am destined to betray someone.”
A shuddering breath.
“I do not know what to do.”
The night answered with silence. Only the rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the quiet hum of the wind threading through the garden. No answers. No guidance.
Yet suddenly, a voice, deep and steady, sliced through the quiet like a blade through silk.
“You should not be out here alone at this hour, Your Highness.”
A sharp inhale. Your body flinched before your head snapped upward, eyes wide, pulse quickened with startled surprise. You turned swiftly, your tear-streaked face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, only to find yourself met with a figure standing tall against the night.
Yunho.
Of all the wretched moments in time for him to bear witness to, it had to be now—when you sat upon the cold stone bench, disheveled and frayed at the edges, a breath away from madness itself. Your hands, still trembling, immediately moved to your face, hastily wiping at the remnants of sorrow upon your cheeks, though it did little to mask the redness in your eyes, the uneven rise and fall of your chest.
You straightened your dress, your movements deliberate, as though the mere act of correcting your appearance would undo the state he had already seen you in. A beat of silence stretched between you. Then, with a voice made feignedly even, you asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you.” His response came simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “You ran off.”
You cast your gaze downward, hands clutching the fabric of your gown. Had you been so careless? So lost within your own turmoil that you failed to ensure no eyes bore witness to your escape? Or was he simply that perceptive, that attuned to every shift in the palace?
A realization then settled upon your shoulders. If he saw you leave… then had he also heard?
Your lips parted, then hesitated. You forced yourself to meet his gaze again, searching, measuring. Yunho’s expression remained unreadable—calm, unwavering, yet there was something beneath it, something just beyond reach.
Your voice softened, slow and careful. “Did you hear anything… of importance?”
“I have not.”
A lie.
The response was too swift, too carefully measured, lacking the natural ease with which he normally spoke. He had heard. There was no doubt in your mind. You exhaled, your fingers curling at your sides. “Enough lies.” Your tone was firm, pressing. “Tell me the truth.”
His lips parted as though he wished to speak, but instead, he pressed them together once more. His gaze, unwavering as ever, held yours, yet there was something different this time. A silent refusal. A decision already made.
At last, he exhaled, shaking his head. “Your words were meant for yourself alone, Your Highness. I have no right to keep them.”
The answer unsettled you more than any interrogation might have.
Had it been another knight, another loyal servant of Elythria, they would have pressed further. They would have demanded to know the weight of your concerns, the nature of your sorrows—because you were the kingdom’s princess, and any unrest within you was unrest within Elythria itself. They would have sought answers, demanded explanations, drawn lines between what you confided in yourself and what must be shared for the sake of the realm.
But Yunho? He let them be.
It was almost cruel, the way he granted you that privacy. As if allowing you to keep your burdens meant he, too, must bear them in silence. And yet, before you could press further, he spoke again, his voice lighter now. “Still… speaking to oneself in the dead of night is hardly the only way to release one’s frustrations.”
You furrowed your brows, looking up at him with no small amount of confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
Yunho then merely lifted something in his hand.
Moonlight gleamed upon the blade of his sword as he unsheathed it slightly from his side, the polished steel catching the pale glow of the night sky.
You blinked. Then, slowly, your gaze flickered between the sword and his expression, realization settling upon you in a few seconds.
Before you could form a coherent response, Yunho spoke once more, his tone neither teasing nor commanding, but resolute. “Your training shall begin tonight.”
Your mouth parted in disbelief. “You jest.”
His brow quirked slightly, amused by your reaction. “I do not.”
Your hands instinctively gathered a portion of your attire, lifting the silk slightly in emphasis. “I am wearing a dress.”
His lips curved—not quite into a smirk, yet something akin to quiet amusement glimmered in his gaze. “Are you not a princess?”
Your brows furrowed as you frowned. “I fail to see the relevance.”
Yunho tilted his head slightly, his grip adjusting on his sword. “You wish to be a princess who knows how to defend herself, should the time ever come. That is what you told me.”
You had said that. But still—
“You expect me to wield a sword in this attire?”
Yunho nodded, as though the thought had never once been questionable. “Training would serve little purpose if you wore armor. You are to fight as you are, beneath the veil of royalty, are you not?”
Your lips parted to argue, to call him absurd, to point out the impracticality of it all—but no words came. Because, truthfully, he was right.
Your training was never meant to strip you of your identity as a princess. You were not preparing to become a knight, nor a soldier, nor a warrior to fight in the heat of battle. You were preparing to stand as a royal who would not be powerless should the moment demand otherwise. To wear armor would be to forsake that lesson entirely.
Your eyes remained locked onto Yunho’s as the weight of his words settled upon you, as if waiting for the final push. He did not give it. He simply extended the hilt of his sword toward you, patient, unwavering, silently offering a path forward should you choose to take it.
The choice was yours.
And you felt as though there was power in that alone.
Your fingers traced the length of the blade with an almost reverent touch, grazing the steel as though it were spun glass rather than a weapon forged for war. The metal, though cool beneath your fingertips, carried an unmistakable weight—one that you could feel even without grasping it in full. Your hands, soft from a lifetime of silks and embroidery, barely pressed against the sharpened edge, yet the contrast between you and the man standing before you was stark.
Yunho held the sword differently.
Where you touched it with delicate curiosity, he wielded it with certainty. His grip was firm, unyielding, and practiced, his calloused fingers wrapped around the hilt as though the blade was an extension of himself rather than an object to be studied. In his hands, the sword was a thing of purpose, honed through years of discipline and duty. In yours, it was something distant, foreign—a thing to be understood rather than wielded.
Yunho said nothing at first. He only observed you, the depths of his gaze unreadable in the dim light. Perhaps he had expected this contrast. Perhaps he had always known that a princess and a knight, no matter how closely their paths intertwined, would always carry the marks of their respective worlds.
There was a vastness between you, one that went beyond the differences in status and duty, one that spoke of experience and purpose. Where his hands bore the stories of countless battles fought and won, yours had never so much as held a weapon with true intent. And yet, here you stood, fingers ghosting over the steel, a princess daring to step into a world that was never meant for her.
Slowly, you rose from your seat, standing tall once more. The weight of your decision settled upon your shoulders, yet before you could even open your lips to speak, Yunho’s voice cut through the silent breeze.
“You recall the conditions I set, do you not?”
You blinked, momentarily taken aback, before nodding slowly.
His gaze did not waver. “You are to heed my every command during combat.” A pause, slight but deliberate. “And only during combat. I see no purpose in placing you under my orders beyond the battlefield.”
His words held weight, a silent reassurance that whatever hierarchy formed between you was not meant to extend past the steel you wielded. He had no wish to command you beyond the realm of necessity, nor did he wish to impose upon you a role that did not belong to you.
Yunho’s grip tightened ever so slightly upon the sword, his gaze never straying from yours. “But know this, Your Highness—these terms are not indefinite. There will come a time when I no longer hold authority over your blade. When I see that you are no longer a creature confined within a cocoon, these conditions shall dissipate. From then on, no longer shall we stand as mentor and student, but as equals upon the field.”
Something in your chest tightened at his words. An equal. Not a princess and her knight. Not a royal and her sworn protector—but two individuals, standing upon the same ground.
A breath you had not realized you were holding slipped past your lips. You met his gaze with a firm nod. “I understand.”
Yunho studied you for a moment longer before he gave the faintest inclination of his head. Then, with practiced ease, he pulled the sword from your grasp, reclaiming its weight as if it had never left him in the first place.
“You will be given a blade of your own,” he said, turning slightly. “For now, follow me.”
And with that, he began to walk.
You hesitated only for a second before falling into step behind him, trailing his silhouette as he moved toward the training grounds. The night air was cool against your skin, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and distant blooms. The gentle rustling of leaves filled the silence between you, your own soft footsteps nearly swallowed by the far heavier ones of the knight before you. Yet, as you walked, a thought formed in your mind—one that you could not ignore.
Quickening your pace, you skipped forward until you were no longer trailing behind but walking beside him. Your shoulder barely brushed against the gleaming armor at his side, the contrast between your silk and his steel strikingly apparent.
You tapped his shoulder lightly, seeking his attention. Yunho glanced down at you, brows slightly raised in question. You hesitated, only for a moment, before tilting your head. “Do knights ever grow weary of carrying their swords?”
Yunho blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
You pressed on, your expression thoughtful. “You always have it with you, do you not? Even now, even in moments of peace.” Your gaze flickered briefly toward the blade in his grasp before returning to his face. “Do you never tire of its weight?”
A beat of silence followed.
Then—
Yunho exhaled, a faint, almost amused sigh slipping past his lips. “A knight does not question the weight of his sword, Your Highness,” he said, his tone laced with something unreadable. “It is simply part of him.”
You frowned slightly, unsatisfied with such a practiced answer. “But does it never become a burden?”
His gaze softened—just barely, but enough for you to notice. “If a sword feels like a burden, it is because the one wielding it has forgotten why he carries it.”
His words settled deep, lingering in your mind long after they had been spoken. You stared at him, lost in thought, before looking down at your own hands. Would a blade ever become part of you? Would there come a day when you, too, bore such weight without question?
The training grounds stretched vast before you, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. The air carried the faint scent of damp earth and steel, the silence only broken by the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of crickets. It was a place meant for discipline and toil, where knights forged themselves into warriors under the watchful eye of the night sky. And at its very center, gleaming beneath the pale light, lay a single sword.
Your steps faltered as your gaze settled upon it. It was not an elaborate weapon, nor did it boast intricate engravings or jeweled embellishments. It was simple, unadorned—made for function, not display. And yet, there was something about it that held your attention, something that made your fingers twitch with an unfamiliar urge to reach for it.
Before you could give voice to the question forming on your lips, Yunho spoke.
“It is yours.”
Your gaze snapped to him, eyes wide in the soft glow of the torches. He stood beside you, arms loosely at his sides, his expression unreadable. “To wield?” you asked, though the answer was already clear.
“To wield,” he confirmed.
You turned back to the sword. Something inside you stirred—a mix of anticipation and hesitation. It was one thing to say you wished to learn, to dream of strength that was not merely borrowed from those who protected you. It was another thing entirely to reach out and claim it.
Still, you willed yourself forward, step by careful step. The hem of your dress brushed against the dirt as you lowered yourself, mindful of the way the fabric moved. Your fingers hovered above the hilt for a moment before finally curling around it. The metal was cool against your palm, unfamiliar yet strangely inviting.
You braced yourself, waiting for Yunho to correct you, to tell you that your grip was weak, that you were not holding it tightly enough. But the words did not come. Silence stretched between you.
You glanced up at him, half-expecting to see disapproval or impatience. Instead, you found him simply watching, unmoving, waiting—not with judgment, but with patience.
Your grip tightened instinctively. Slowly, you straightened, lifting the sword with you as you rose to your feet. The weight was manageable, far lighter than the one Yunho wielded. You tested its balance, adjusting your hold, feeling the way the steel shifted with your movements.
“It is lighter than yours,” you observed.
“It is meant to be,” Yunho said, stepping closer. “Tonight, you will learn the foundations of combat—nothing more. The weight will increase with time, as will the difficulty of your training.” His voice was calm. “You will not be thrown into battle unprepared, nor will you be expected to wield a knight’s weapon without first understanding the basics. Strength is built, not bestowed.”
You nodded, absorbing his words. Your fingers adjusted around the hilt once more as you turned the sword slightly, watching how the moonlight glinted off its edge. You had never held anything like it before, had never imagined yourself doing so. And yet, here you stood, a princess with a blade in her grasp.
Yunho observed you in silence, arms loosely crossed over his chest, his ever-disciplined posture unyielding. Yet, beneath the rigid armor of his composure, something unfamiliar stirred—a hint of amusement as he watched you turn the sword in your hands, studying it with the curiosity of one who had never wielded steel before.
You were careful, almost delicate, as though the blade were something precious rather than a weapon designed to wound. Your fingers traced the hilt, adjusting your grip every few moments, your eyes reflecting a determination that seemed almost at odds with the soft elegance that had long defined you.
It was… unexpected.
Yunho had not known what to anticipate when you had first spoken of learning to fight. Perhaps hesitation, fear—a wavering resolve that would break the moment the reality of combat set in. You had been raised among silk and flowers, spoken of in whispers as the most fragile jewel of Elythria, a princess who had never needed to lift a blade because the world bent to protect you.
And yet, here you stood, gripping a sword as though you intended to carve something new for yourself, something untold.
He nearly smiled.
The thought unsettled him enough that he suppressed it before it could reach his lips.
You were a curious contradiction—soft hands gripping a weapon, delicate features set with determination. There was no doubt in his mind that the sword in your grasp would tire you before the night was through, that your body was unprepared for the strain of battle, that your first steps into this world would be unsteady.
But you did not waver.
Yunho had trained many before. He had seen men shrink away from the weight of a blade, had witnessed seasoned warriors succumb to exhaustion, had observed even the most promising knights falter. Yet, as he watched you now, there was something in the way you carried yourself that struck him differently.
Perhaps it was not despite your fragility that you stood here, but because of it.
Perhaps you wished to wield strength not to abandon who you were, but to defend it—to be something more than a mere figurehead of peace, shielded by others.
Yunho exhaled, steadying himself against the thought before it could settle too deeply. It was not his place to wonder about your reasons, nor to dwell on what this choice meant for you beyond the training grounds. He was here to instruct, to mold your stance into something practical, to ensure that when you lifted a blade, it would not be in vain.
Even so, as you turned to him, sword still gripped in your hands, determination clear in your eyes—he found himself watching you with something dangerously close to admiration.
“Familiarize yourself with the weapon first,” he instructed. “Feel its weight, its balance. Learn how it moves with your body. Only then can we begin.”
You nodded, turning your attention back to the sword. Slowly, you tested your grip, adjusting your fingers along the hilt, feeling the way it sat in your palm. The balance was different from what you had imagined—it did not feel unwieldy, but rather, an extension of movement yet to be learned.
Finally, after a moment of studying the weapon, you turned to him, meeting his gaze with a sense of determination. “I am ready.”
He held your gaze for a beat longer before nodding. “Then we begin.”
Yunho stepped behind you, his presence a steady force at your back. The shift in proximity was almost startling, the warmth of him a stark contrast to the cool night air. Before you could dwell on it, his voice cut through the quiet.
“Stand with your feet apart,” he instructed. “One foot forward, the other angled slightly outward. Stability is key.”
You did as he said, adjusting your footing. The earth beneath your soles felt more solid than it had before, as though you were no longer merely standing upon it but grounding yourself with intent. Yunho moved closer, and before you could react, his hands found your arms. The contact was brief, nothing more than a firm yet careful adjustment as he repositioned your grip.
“Relax your shoulders,” he murmured. “Tension will only slow your movements.”
You tried to ease the stiffness in your posture, though the awareness of his presence made it somewhat difficult. He was close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath against your ear, close enough that the scent of steel and leather clung to the space between you.
He was a knight—your knight.
And yet, at this moment, he was simply a man guiding you through unfamiliar territory, his voice measured, his touch precise.
He stepped back after ensuring your stance was correct. “Hold the sword steady,” he said. “Raise it just above your waist—yes, like that. The blade should not waver.”
You did as he instructed, lifting the weapon, adjusting your grip. The weight no longer felt as foreign in your hands, though the strain in your arms was already beginning to form.
“Good,” Yunho said, a trace of approval in his voice. “Now, we begin with the first stance.”
The moon bore witness to your training, casting its silver glow upon the field as you stood before Yunho, sword in hand. His voice had been a steady guide through the night, instructing you on the fundamentals—your grip, your stance, the balance required to wield a weapon with purpose. He had been patient, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a steady current, leading you toward something greater.
“Lower your shoulders,” he instructed, stepping to your side. “Tension is your enemy. If you hold yourself too rigidly, your movements will be unnatural. A knight does not fight with mere strength, but with precision.”
You obeyed, adjusting your posture beneath his watchful gaze. But even as you followed his guidance, you could not shake the feeling that something was missing. Every motion felt rehearsed, structured, as though you were merely acting out a role rather than truly stepping into the art of combat.
It was not enough.
Your grip faltered, and you lowered your blade. A frustrated sigh left your lips, causing Yunho to glance at you with a furrowed brow. “What is it?” he asked.
“This will not do,” you murmured, eyes dark with something unreadable.
He did not speak, waiting instead for you to elaborate.
“I wish to fight.”
A beat of silence. Yunho’s expression did not shift immediately, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He studied you as though searching for the true meaning behind your words, as if he could decipher the reason hidden beneath your resolve.
“This is neither the time nor the night for such a thing,” he said at last. “You have yet to learn even the simplest techniques. Entering combat without a foundation is reckless.”
“I know.”
Your voice was quiet but firm, and it was that—your certainty—that made Yunho hesitate.
“I will lose,” you admitted. “There is no doubt about that.” You met his eyes, your own filled with something raw. “But that does not matter to me. I need to fight. I need to—” You faltered, unable to voice the weight pressing against your chest.
This was not about victory. This was not about proving anything to him or to yourself. This was about releasing all that remained pent up within your heart.
Yunho remained silent for a long moment, and then—understanding. He exhaled slowly, his gaze softening, though his voice remained composed when he finally spoke.
“Very well.”
You had expected him to prepare his stance, to meet your reckless demand with the tempered skill of a knight. Instead, he did something that left you momentarily breathless.
He threw his sword aside.
The weapon hit the ground with a dull thud, and you stared at it, brows knitting together in confusion. Your grip on your own sword tightened instinctively. “Set yours down as well,” he said.
You did not move. “Why?”
“You wish for combat,” Yunho answered, his expression blank yet not devoid of emotion—no, never. “Then let it be with nothing but our hands.”
Your breath stilled. Yunho watched you with patience, waiting for your response. He could see the hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers curled slightly against the hilt of your sword as if searching for something to anchor you.
“This is the best way to release your frustrations,” he continued, his voice steady. “You seek not victory, but release. Then let us fight in a way that allows it.”
Your heartbeat quickened. Slowly, you lowered your sword, the weight of it suddenly feeling unnecessary in your hands. You set it down beside his, your fingers lingering against the hilt for a fraction of a second before you pulled away.
Yunho gave a small nod of approval before taking a step forward. His presence was unwavering, steady as the earth itself. He raised his hands, fingers curling slightly in a ready stance. “Come, then,” he murmured.
The air between you and Yunho was thick with something unspoken, something that neither of you had dared to put into words. The weight of it was heavier than the finest silks draped upon your frame, heavier than the crown your father sought to place upon your head. Your breath came unsteadily, the rush of emotion stirring within you like a storm barely contained.
And then you moved.
You struck first—without thought, without hesitation. Your fists met nothing but the solid resistance of Yunho’s forearm as he blocked your attack with effortless precision. He did not recoil, did not step back, did not so much as blink. His stance was firm, unwavering, like a mountain that would not be moved by the winds that battered against it.
Frustration clawed at your throat. You struck again. And again. And again.
Each movement was unrefined, untrained, a flurry of emotions manifesting in desperate attempts to land a blow upon him. You felt the burn in your limbs, the strain in your muscles as you forced your body to move faster, harder, beyond its limits. Yet Yunho remained steadfast. His arms rose and fell in perfect rhythm, deflecting your attacks with ease.
You could hear your own breathing—ragged, uneven. Every strike that failed to reach him only seemed to fuel the fire within you. This was not about learning. This was not about strength. This was about the unrelenting ache buried within your chest, the suffocating weight of your father’s expectations, the helplessness of being trapped within a fate you never chose.
“Why?” you rasped, barely realizing you had spoken.
Your foot twisted against the dirt as you lunged at him again. A flicker of something crossed Yunho’s eyes—perhaps surprise at your sudden voice—but his expression remained composed. He blocked, as he always did.
“Why will you not fight back?”
Still, he did not answer.
Another strike. Another deflection.
You were not weak. You refused to be weak. You had spent your life bound to fragility, a delicate thing meant to be sheltered, protected, admired from a distance like the flowers in your royal garden. But flowers withered. They bent beneath the wind, crumbled beneath careless hands. You were tired of being something that could break so easily.
Your anger lashed out in the form of a sharp jab aimed at his side, but Yunho stepped back effortlessly, your fist cutting through empty air. “Yunho.” Your voice trembled, demanding an answer. He stood there, his hands still raised in defense, his face carefully neutral. But there was something else in his gaze now—something that made your chest tighten, something so unexpectedly gentle.
“This is not a fight, Your Highness.”
The title upon his tongue only stoked the fire within you. You gritted your teeth, hands curling into fists at your sides. “Then what is it?” you demanded. “A mere lesson in futility?”
He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “This is not meant to be a lesson in victory.”
You exhaled sharply, frustration surging through you like a crashing wave. “Then what is the purpose? What is the point of this—” You gestured between the two of you, at the tension thick enough to be tangible, at the battle you waged against a man who refused to fight back.
His answer came quietly, but it struck you harder than any of his deflections.
“This is for you.”
You froze.
The weight of those words settled into your bones, pressing against the deepest parts of you, the places you had tried to keep buried. Yunho’s gaze remained firm, as though he could see through every wall you had built, every fragile defense you had tried to hold onto.
“This is for you to let go,” he said. “To strike, to burn, to break if you must. To free yourself of the chains you cannot escape elsewhere.”
You wanted to be angry. You wanted to argue, to insist that this was not enough, that you needed more, needed to prove yourself in ways that could not be so easily dismissed. But the words refused to come.
Your breath was unsteady. Your hands trembled at your sides. Yunho did not move to comfort you, nor did he step away. He merely stood, waiting, patient as ever. You clenched your fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, willing the shaking to stop—willing everything to stop. The fire in your chest, the ache in your limbs, the storm in your mind that had been raging long before this night began.
You were exhausted, but you could not break.
Not now. Not in front of him.
You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat to disappear, forcing the tears that threatened to spill to retreat. You would not—could not—allow yourself to shatter before Yunho. He was your mentor, your guide through the path of strength, the very person who was teaching you to be something greater than the fragile girl your father had deemed you to be. How shameful it would be for him to witness you crumble when the purpose of this night was to mold you into something unbreakable.
Your breathing was unsteady, and though you tried to conceal it, Yunho saw through you. Of course, he did. His eyes, sharp yet unreadable, traced the way your shoulders tensed, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow movements. He was not a man who easily let things slip past his notice.
“Why will you not let yourself fall apart?”
His voice was quieter now, softer than it had been all night. There was no authority behind it, no expectation, only a question—one that left you feeling more exposed than all the strikes you had failed to land on him combined. Your lips parted, but no words came out.
He waited. And when you still did not answer, he took a step forward. “Your Highness,” he murmured, “why do you refuse to let yourself break?”
You inhaled sharply. Your entire body was tense, locked in place as though the sheer force of your will alone could keep the dam from bursting. You could not break, you could not break, you could not—
“I cannot,” you forced out, voice barely above a whisper. “I cannot allow myself to.”
Yunho’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, only watching, waiting for you to continue.
You exhaled shakily. “I have spent my life being caged by my father’s expectations, by the court’s whispers, by the very image they have created for me. I am Elythria’s beloved princess—the flower of the kingdom, delicate and pure.” Your voice wavered, but you pressed on. “And yet, I am here. I am training beneath the stars with a knight who should not even be entertaining the thought of teaching me such things. And if I break now—if I fall apart before I have even proven myself—I will only confirm what they already believe.”
A bitter laugh left your lips. “That I am weak. That I am not meant for strength.”
Yunho’s expression did not change, but something in his gaze darkened. His arms remained crossed over his chest, his stance relaxed, yet there was an intensity in the way he looked at you. “That is absurd,” he countered.
You blinked, startled by the certainty in his tone.
Yunho tilted his head slightly, regarding you with an unreadable expression. “You believe I expect strength from you simply because I am training you?” He took another step forward, closing the distance between you, though not enough to make you retreat. “You believe that strength is measured by the absence of weakness?”
Your lips parted, but once again, you had no answer.
“Strength is not a title, nor is it a state of being,” he continued, his voice lower now, as if meant only for you to hear. “It is not a thing to be granted or taken away. Strength is not the absence of fragility, nor the ability to endure without breaking.” His gaze bore into yours, unrelenting. “True strength is knowing when to stand and when to fall. When to fight and when to yield. And above all—”
He paused, his voice dropping even further, almost a whisper now.
“—when to allow oneself to be human.”
Something inside you cracked. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was enough. Enough to make your breath catch, enough to make your eyes sting, enough to make the dam you had built tremble at its foundation. Your throat tightened as you tried to speak, tried to push back against his words, but nothing came. You bit the inside of your cheek, willing the tears to retreat, willing yourself to stay whole. But then—
A quiet sob escaped your lips. It was soft, barely there, but Yunho heard it. You knew he did.
And he did not look away.
Suddenly, a sound pierced the stillness of the night. The groaning of iron gates being pulled apart. The heavy creak reverberated through the training grounds, breaking through the fragile silence that had settled between you and Yunho. The sound alone was enough to send a jolt through your body, your breath hitching, your entire form going rigid.
Your mother had returned.
Your mind barely had time to process before instinct took over. Your hands moved swiftly, wiping away the remnants of unshed tears, forcing composure back into place as if it had never wavered in the first place. With practiced precision, you straightened, forcing the exhaustion from your limbs, the trembling from your hands, the emotions from your face.
You could not let her see you like this. Not here. Not now.
Before Yunho could react, you shoved the sword towards his chest, the hilt pressing against the cold metal of his armor with unceremonious urgency. He caught it out of reflex, his fingers closing around the grip just as you pulled away, your breaths still uneven from the weight of everything that had transpired tonight.
“I must go.”
Yunho’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, a glimmer of hesitance, of something akin to concern—but you did not give him time to voice it. You turned sharply on your heel, lifting the hem of your dress with both hands to keep yourself from stumbling as you rushed toward the back entrance of the castle.
“Your Highness—”
His voice followed you, firm yet not demanding, a plea rather than a command. You felt the warmth of his presence shift, the subtle movement of his hand reaching—almost—before it stopped midair, retreating just as quickly as it had risen. He did not hold you back. He did not force you to stay.
Instead, he was left standing amidst the quiet night, sword in hand, watching as you disappeared through the entrance without a single glance back. And then—silence.
Yunho exhaled, slow and measured, his grip tightening around the hilt of your abandoned sword. His eyes lingered on the space where you had stood mere moments ago, the lingering trace of your presence still palpable in the air. His thoughts swirled, a storm of contradictions, each one battling for dominance in his mind.
You were an enigma. A contradiction in its truest form. The princess of Elythria—the beloved flower of the kingdom, delicate in name yet restless in spirit. You were expected to be untouched by the world’s cruelty, yet you stood before him tonight with a fire in your heart, wielding a blade you were never meant to hold. You claimed fragility, yet the way you fought against it—desperately, fiercely—spoke of a strength that was far more terrifying than the absence of weakness itself.
He had watched you tonight. Watched as you tried to swallow your sorrow, as you forced yourself to keep standing even when your body longed to fall. Watched as you struggled against emotions you had been taught to suppress, as you clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your skin. Watched as you tried—tried so terribly hard—to convince yourself that breaking was not an option.
And it was then that Yunho realized—perhaps you did not fear weakness itself. Perhaps what you feared was being seen as weak. The difference was subtle, yet profound.
He had spent years honing his perception, years training to read his enemies before they could strike, years observing the way people carried themselves to discern their truest intentions. And tonight, he had seen more of you than you had likely intended to reveal.
You had stood before him, desperately gripping the edges of your own composure, forcing yourself not to collapse under the weight of expectations you had never asked for. And yet—when you had reached your limit, when your voice had trembled and your shoulders had tensed—your first instinct had not been to seek solace. It had been to run. Run from your emotions, run from the moment of vulnerability, run from him.
And Yunho—who had spent his life witnessing the battlefield, who had seen both the strongest and the weakest fall before his blade, who had stood unwavering against the storms of war—was left with a feeling he could not quite place. A part of him wondered if he had done enough. If he had said enough. If he had reached you at all.
His gaze lowered to the sword in his grasp—your sword. The one you had abandoned in your haste. A sigh left his lips, barely audible beneath the wind that rustled through the training grounds. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them once more, his grip around the hilt firm, resolute. You may have left, but Yunho had no doubt that this was far from the end.
For now, he would wait.
—
The night air clung to your skin as you ran, the fabric of your dress flowing behind you like a phantom. Each hurried step echoed faintly against the stone pathways, your breath shallow, your chest rising and falling with exertion as lanterns that lined the castle’s corridors flickered dimly. You had to make it back before your mother entered the castle.
As you passed the main hall, your heart pounded wildly, threatening to betray your presence. But then—through the grand arched windows, you caught sight of her.
Outside, beneath the soft glow of the moon, your mother stood conversing with Madame Forestier. The latter had likely been waiting for her arrival, ever the dutiful seamstress, no doubt eager to discuss the details of the garments she had procured from Farlvichium. The two women appeared engrossed in their conversation, your mother’s delicate hands gesturing as she spoke, her expression poised, unreadable.
Relief flooded you so abruptly that you nearly staggered.
She had not noticed your absence. She had not heard the clash of blades, the sharp breaths, the raw words exchanged in the training grounds. For now, your secret remained safe—or at least you hope so.
With one final glance, you turned and ascended the staircase as swiftly as your trembling legs would allow, weaving through the empty corridors with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. Each corner you turned, each hall you passed, you expected to hear her voice calling out for you, but none came.
By the time you reached your chambers, your hands were already trembling against the door. You pushed it open hastily, stepping inside before shutting it behind you with a quiet but decisive thud. The moment you were alone, your back pressed against the wooden surface, your legs giving out beneath you as you slid down to the floor.
A shallow breath. Then another. Your hand gripped the fabric over your chest, fingers tightening over the erratic beat of your heart. Tonight was… no different from the nights before.
You had spent countless evenings like this, lingering in the haze of your own mind, drowning in thoughts you could not voice aloud, battling against emotions you did not know how to tame. But there was one thing that made tonight unlike all the others.
Before, no one had witnessed your unraveling. No one had seen the moment you faltered, the moment your strength gave way to exhaustion, the moment the weight of your struggles crashed down upon you.
But Yunho had. Not by your choosing. Not by intention.
Yet there he had stood, watching as your walls cracked, as the tears threatened to spill, as your voice trembled with the force of what you tried so desperately to contain.
What had he thought of it? Had he seen you as pathetic? Had he expected such an outcome from the moment you first gripped the hilt of your sword? Had he thought to himself that this was the inevitable fate of the fragile princess he was sworn to protect? You did not know, and perhaps it was better that way.
Your gaze flickered to your vanity, where the parchment and quill remained untouched, precisely where you had abandoned them before you fled into the night. A quiet, breathless laugh escaped your lips.
You rose to your feet, slow and deliberate, making your way towards the mirror. As you settled into the seat, your reflection stared back at you—a girl disheveled, strands of hair clinging to the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the hem of her dress dust-streaked, her expression a careful balance between exhaustion and something dangerously close to resignation. You had seen yourself in many states, but never quite like this.
You reached for the quill, twirling it idly between your fingers before dipping it into ink. The first few strokes against the parchment were hesitant, your mind piecing together words that could not betray too much, yet needed to be said.
Dearest Prince of Zaule,
Tonight was as insufferable as all the nights before.
The dining hall was cold as ever, though not in temperature, but in spirit. The conversation was measured, the laughter forced. My father, as always, played his role well—the benevolent ruler, the ever-watchful patriarch, the man who commands both fear and obedience with the mere weight of his gaze. I dined. I smiled. I listened. I spoke when spoken to. The evening passed as it always does, each minute stretching into eternity, each word another carefully placed stone in the road I must walk without misstep.
I excused myself early. My father allowed it. Perhaps he saw no need to keep me there any longer once he had assured himself that I remain exactly where he desires me to be—beneath his grasp, beneath his will.
I sought solace in the garden, though I do not think I found it.
You hesitated here, the tip of your quill hovering over the parchment. You had written to Wooyoung about many things—your grievances, your fleeting moments of joy, the absurdities of court life—but this… this was different. And yet, you wrote it anyway.
There, beneath the moonlight, I crossed paths with the knight we spoke of the day you paid Elythria a visit.
You will find this amusing, I am sure of it—I did what we spoke of that time. I asked him to train me. A ridiculous notion, is it not? A princess wielding a sword. A girl raised to be seen and not heard, suddenly yearning to carve out something more for herself, as if she had the right.
I do not know what I expected. Perhaps I believed that if I pushed myself hard enough, if I moved fast enough, struck fiercely enough, I could turn all my frustrations into something tangible. Perhaps I thought that strength could be forged through mere desperation alone.
You told him of the training, though you omitted the truth of why. You described the motions, the techniques, the struggle, but not the breaking. Not the emotions that had surged past your control.
Wooyoung did not need to know that part.
The ink bled smoothly onto the parchment as you continued, recounting the events as if they were mere trivialities of your day, carefully leaving out the moments that had shaken you the most.
And now, I sit here, writing to you, as I always do. I imagine you would be laughing if you were here, calling me a fool for taking this endeavor so seriously, for thinking even for a moment that I could change anything about my place in this world. You would not be wrong. But still…
I think I will return to the training grounds tomorrow.
When you finally signed your name at the bottom, sealing your words with the weight of finality, you leaned back in your seat, exhaling a breath you had not realized you were holding. For now, this would suffice.
For now, the truth of tonight would remain yours alone.
genre: mutual pining, friends to (implied) lovers, fluff fluff and more fluff
warnings: alcohol consumption? nobodys super drunk tho, no pronouns used, reader is mentioned to wear a dress once
wc: 3.9k
note: inspired by my friend who wanted to get drunk but didn't so that she could drive me home bc she could tell i wasn't vibing. i tried my best to edit/proofread if u find any mistakes lemme know ill fix it up.
you scrunch your face in distaste as the alcohol burns down your throat. a gag rises in your throat but you push it down, biting into the lime that brings welcome relief.
“that shit tastes like soap.” you whine, glaring at the bottle of tequila as if it had launched a personal attack on you.
the next person reaches for a card and you fold your arms in front of you where you lay, stomach down on the carpet. with a huff, your head drops down to your arms and your eyes flutter closed.
unknown to you a concerned pair of eyes follow your movements from their place on the couch across the room. yunho is nursing a glass of water, excluding himself from the game in favour of sobering up.
“can we move outside now?” wooyoung suggests for the fifth time. a groan leaves your lips as - for the first time tonight - everyone agrees with him.
as the group stands to go outside, you don't move from your place on the floor, lifting your head to see empty glasses kicked over and forgotten cards strewn across the yellowing carpet.
the music seems louder now that the room has emptied and it causes your head to pound. you curse silently at your own behaviour.
you really did want to have a good time tonight, but as the first drop of alcohol hit your tongue, any energy you might’ve had at the beginning of the night dissipated.
with a groan, you push yourself upwards with your arms, sitting up with your legs folded, looking around the room tiredly. the velvet of your dress rests softly over your knees, the skin of your legs glowing slightly blue beneath the lit christmas tree.
you take in the speaker; still blasting music despite the group's departure, the empty chairs strewn about the room; all of which are surrounded by empty cans and glasses, telling of how intoxicated the rest of your friends already are.
finally your eyes come to rest on the couch, mild surprise shoots through you, your heart jumping, as you finally notice yunho, still sitting on the couch.
having been keeping his eye on you, he immediately noticed your gaze on him, giving you a warm smile.
you briefly wonder why he didn't follow the rest of the group outside, your heart beating faster at the thought that he stayed for you.
dismissing the thought quickly, you push yourself up onto your knees, then onto your feet. smiling back up at yunho, you carefully navigate the carpet of cans, glasses, cards and food as you make your way to the couch.
with a sigh, you flop down onto the couch, close enough to yunho to rest your head on his shoulder, his knitted brown sweater soft on your cheek.
“yun-ah…” you whine and he chuckles quietly, reaching over you for the fluffy, grey blanket resting on the couch. leaning back, he pulls the blanket over the both of you causing you to press yourself into his side even more.
his breath hitches at your closeness, however the alcohol inhibiting your senses makes certain you don't notice this movement.
“yes (y/n)?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.
“wanna get out of here…” you mumble into his shoulder, curling the blanket around your fingertips and pulling it closer to your chin. you keep your voice low, afraid to break the bubble you two have created, sinking into the couch cushions together.
“i know,” he admits, reaching an arm around your shoulders and rubbing your arm comfortingly.
you squint up at him in confusion, your eyebrows scrunching. it takes everything in yunho to keep himself from reaching out to smooth your furrowed brow.
“been watching you, pretty,” he confesses with a surge of confidence. after registering his own words, his face flushed, red creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears.
your heart sits in your throat at yunho's admission, alcohol still clouds your mind and you think you must've imagined his endearment.
“you want me to take you home?” he asks, wanting to move on from his previous comment as fast as possible, especially considering your lack of response.
“haven't you been drinking?” you remind him, shifting around to pull at your phone from where it sits, beneath your leg.
“not for a while, i stopped drinking at like eight. i can be okay to drive by eleven? eleven thirty?” he takes another sip of his water as if to prove his point to you, but you only pout.
“why'd you stop? are you not having a good time?” you poke his chest with both questions and your phone finally comes free.
yunho's chest warms at your concern, especially considering you yourself were not having a good time. in fact, yunho had noticed your energy levels were lower than usual upon your arrival. after your first shot of the night, your demeanour dropped once more.
“no, i'm having a good time, you're not though.” he points out and you whine into his shoulder.
“having a great time… now.” you unlock your phone and open tiktok, once again pushing yourself further into the warmth of yunho's body.
“now… that you're not drinking and you're left alone?” he teases and you snort a small laugh at the picture his words paint in your mind.
“not alone, with you.” your free hand, not scrolling through your phone, reaches around for yunho's hand where it still rests on your arm.
pulling his arm forward so his hand rests on your lap, you turn his hand over so his palm is open to you.
yunho's heart is beating in his throat, his face feels hot. you begin to play with his fingers and he holds back the whine that wants to leave his lips at your touch.
you tilt your screen towards yunho so he can watch over your shoulder, despite the music blasting and preventing either of you from being able to hear the phone properly.
your eyes flit to the time, showing nine fifty-seven. a groan leaves your throat before you can stop it.
yunho notices your impatience and smiles to himself.
“(y/n)-ah…” he calls and you hum in response, eyes still on your screen. with the knowledge that you're still fairly far under the influence, yunho finds his courage and rests his hand over yours around your phone.
you turn your neck to look up at him, raising a brow at his sudden move. his cheeks burn for the nth time tonight - as do yours - yet he continues.
squeezing your hand with his own, your phone screen goes dark.
“why'd you do that?” you mumble in protest and he shrugs.
“you weren't paying attention to me.” is his only explanation and you laugh in disbelief.
yunho's face lights up, an affectionate smile resting on his lips.
“did you watch that new special you were excited about?” he asks and a sullen pout takes over your face.
“no, i wanted to rewatch the original show first, but they took it off of my streaming service.” with your phone turned off, you drop it in your lap and turn your attention completely to yunho who was humming thoughtfully at your words.
“what streaming service is it on?” he probes and you bring your hand up to trace the knitted patterns on his sweater.
“amazon i think, but i had to cancel my subscription a few months ago.” you try not to sound too ungrateful or whiney, your hand movements continuing absent-mindedly.
yunho thinks he must look like a fool, a blushing mess as his face feels hotter as the seconds pass.
“i have- i have amazon.” he says with no further explanation.
“hm?” you prompt, still focusing your attention on playing with his shirt.
“i mean we could… you could… well, we could watch it together?” his statement is not a question, but his inflection suggests otherwise.
“really?” you finally bring your attention from his shirt, lifting your head from his shoulder to look him in the eyes.
with your innocent eyes shining up at him, tired, but swelling with affection and fondness, yunho finds himself choking on his words. afraid that if he speaks, his voice will come out shaky, he gives a small nod in lieu of a verbal response and your smile widens.
“okay, but you know they only start at the new series, right?” you warn and he nods again, this time huffing out a laugh.
“yeah? why don't you tell me about the old seasons then?”
so you do. you rest your head back on yunho, cheek to his chest, faces warm and a pair of hearts beating faster than normal, and you explain the plot of each season that yunho won't get to see.
yunho practices active listening throughout your explanation, nodding and humming in response, gasping when it’s appropriate, even asking questions about the lore and history of the world.
with every gasp he lets out, every question he asks, you can feel your heart grow bigger and bigger. you would think that a big heart means you have room for everyone in your heart, but that's not true. at least not for you. because for you, yunho had rooted himself deep in your heart, and there was no room for anyone else.
your tangent was interrupted when a sharp ringing cut through the air. finding your forgotten phone hiding in the tangled blanket, you turn it over to see a reminder to take your tablets.
“did you bring them with you?” yunho's voice grabs your attention again, and you swipe the alarm away, turning back to him.
“i took them before i left.” you look back at your phone, checking the time again only to find that as you ranted about your show to yunho, over an hour had passed.
“eleven eleven, make a wish.” there was a teasing lilt to his voice as he too took note of the time.
but, looking up at yunho and his playful smile, his arm around you, your head on his chest and his hand in your lap you thought that if this was your life, you didn't need to make a wish.
the alcohol had started to wear off now, having been just over an hour since you'd had anything to drink.
yunho on the other hand, had been drinking water and snacking on spring rolls for the past three hours.
“shall we get you home now?” if yunho noticed your all but lovesick expression, he didn't say anything.
yunho simply writes off your affection as a result of the alcohol running through you which gives him the courage to tap your cheek affectionately in a gesture for you to sit up.
your cheeks went up in flames as you separated from yunho's side for the first time in about an hour. you hold back your whine at the loss of his warmth and instead stand from the couch.
you turn and hold out your hands for yunho and he raises a brow. despite his scepticism, he grips your hands and lets you try to lift him.
yunho moves easily from the couch at your first pull and you frown up at him.
“okay well you could've resisted a little. you didn't even try to make it seem realistic.”
“what do you mean? i didn't do anything, you're just that strong, really!” his tone is incredulous and you roll your eyes even as a smile spreads across your face.
“you couldn't just humour me? i could pick you up, im strong enough.” you state firmly and he shrugs.
“i’ve been taught it's bad to lie. now go get your stuff.” he places his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around and nudging you in the direction of your bag.
you reach through your bag checking you've got everything, phone, wallet, headphones, charger. deciding if anything else had been left, you could pick it up another day, you sling your bag over your shoulder.
turning back around, you find yourself alone in the room. you consider heading outside to say goodnight to everyone, but a wave of exhaustion washes over you again at the thought of rejoining the group, and you opt instead to message your close friends goodnight.
you pull out your phone and open messages, searching for the groupchat with your closest friends as you walk over to the front door. it had been propped open to allow for easy access to party goers and a cool, midnight breeze was sweeping through the entrance.
you lean against the wall next to the doorway, just out of the way of the entrance, avoiding any goosebumps that could be caused by the wind.
as you type out your message, yunho comes back into the house from the back door, tossing his keys into the air and catching them again.
“ready to go?”
“are you sure you wanna leave early with me?” you wonder, once again. you feel bad he hadn't been drinking with the others, instead staying inside and coddling you just because you weren't feeling it.
“(y/n) i just spent the last hour and a half sitting on a couch with you while everyone parties outside, i don't know what else i can do to show you that you are who i want to spend my time with.” he affirms, but you say nothing.
conveniently, the hem of your clothing becomes very interesting. you look down, picking at the seam as if you can't feel him approach you.
“besides, i didn't spend the last three hours not drinking just so i could end up not driving you home.” you huff out a laugh, still playing with the velvet that hangs around your legs.
yunho reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder, however you are still unable to meet his eyes with your heart swelling, cheeks hot, blood pumping loudly in your ears.
suddenly you wish you'd waited in the doorway maybe the breeze rushing through the door frame would've aided in cooling your body down.
“i told them all you said goodbye and that i was taking you home. didn't think you'd feel up to braving the masses again.” he places his large hand on the small of your back and leads you out the front door.
“you make me sound like a loser.” you complain, letting him shuffle you to his car that sits at the end of the driveway.
“not a loser. just sleepy. hm?” he reaches past you to open the car door for you. you throw your bag to the floor first, then, finding yourself still a little off balance, you grip the centre console with one hand to aid your entrance into the car.
the warmth of his hand doesn't leave your back until you settle into your seat when he finally pulls away he closes your door and disappears from your side.
you watch him through the windscreen as he rounds the car. his dark hair rests on his forehead just above his eyes, shining in the moonlight, looking softer than the blanket you'd been wrapped in half of the night.
his cheeks were flushed and while it was probably from the cold, you could only hope that maybe, the red in his face and neck was an indicator of an effect that you might have on him.
he closes his own car door behind him and smiles at you from his place in front of the wheel. you give a weak smile in return, your head lolling to the side, unable to keep holding your neck up as it nears midnight.
the drive seemed fast as you dozed in the passenger seat, the late night talk shows on the radio droning on and on putting you in a tired trance.
yunho had to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road, knowing that if he glanced over at your sleeping frame, he wouldn't be able to pull his gaze away.
all too soon, he was pulling into the carpark underneath your apartment building, parking in the visitor section.
“is your roommate home?” he asks and you mumble an incoherent response, eyes still closed.
“jagi… are you awake?” he reaches a hand over, resting it on your shoulder, his warmth spreading over your body once more.
“no.” you say, leaning into his touch.
“no?”
“mm mm.” you hum with a minuscule shake of your head.
“ah okay.” is all he says before exiting the car and closing his door.
in a split second, yunho is at your door, the night breeze sweeping over you and his body leaning over you to unbuckle your seatbelt. you can't tell if the goosebumps prickling at your skin are from the wind, or from the proximity of the man above you.
“come on, time to get inside.” his hand rests on your cheek and jaw and you peek an eye open.
“will you stay? don't want you driving home so late alone.” yunho's smile makes your chest hurt, his eyes scrunching and smile lines creasing on his cheeks.
“okay sweetheart, i'll stay.” a smile of your own makes its way to your face and you lean forward into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your waist to pull you out of the car and to your feet.
leaning into his side, he places one arm around your shoulders and grabs your bag using his free arm. he throws your bag over his shoulder and closes the car door, locking it and shoving his keys in his back pocket.
“keys in my bag yun,” you mention. exhaustion seeps from your pores and you let yunho support your weight almost completely, simply focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
despite your whole body weight being placed upon yunho along with your bag, yunho walks you both into the building, up the elevator and to your apartment door with no complaints.
as you reach your own door, a relieved sigh falls from you and you leave yunho's side to lean against the wall while he rummages through your bag for the keys.
when his fingers brush against the telling seahorse keychain, he hooks the keyring on his index finger and pulls them out. with ease and familiarity he unlocks the door and pushes it open.
you duck under his arm to enter the apartment before he's even fully opened the door and he chuckles at your eagerness.
locking the door behind him, he leaves the keys in the deadlock and puts the chain across.
while his back is turned you make your way through your apartment, heading straight for your bedroom.
“(y/n)?” he calls out for you when he turns back to the empty living area. you call out to him from your bedroom and when he enters behind you he can see you at your linen closet, pulling out spare pillows and blankets.
your own bed looks hurriedly made, the top blankets pulled over, however the lumps underneath suggest that the sheets below the top layer have not been as carefully fixed.
“don't look at that.” you mutter, pushing a pillow into his chest as you pass him on your way out of the room.
he grabs the pillow, hugging it to his middle, turning on his heel and following you back out into your living area, feeling a bit like an overgrown puppy as he trails you through your house again.
in the living room, you finish setting up the couch with the spare blankets before turning back to him.
“will this be okay? or you can take the bed and i can take the couch” immediately he's shaking his head at you, with two large strides he's at your side, placing his pillow on the couch conclusively.
“if the other option was a couch made of rocks i still wouldn't take your bed from you.” he ushers you back towards your bedroom.
“you're so dramatic, the couch is comfy enough.” you whine and he laughs, pushing past you into your bedroom and pulling the covers on your bed back. his earlier suspicions are confirmed when he finds your second sheet scrunched up in the middle of your bed.
choosing not to comment on the mess of a bedspread, yunho turns to you, gripping your shoulders gently and spinning the both of you around so the back of your knees hit your bed. you huff playfully at his actions, which he also ignores in favour of pushing down on your shoulders, prompting you to sit on the edge of the mattress.
“if that’s true, i'll be fine to sleep on it then hm?” you don't respond to him, a pout resting on your lips as he crouches in front of you.
“what are you doing yun?” you swing your legs forward and back slightly before he stops your movements with a gentle yet firm grip.
yunho doesn’t answer, instead he smooths his hands down your calf and unties the laces on your left shoe, ignoring the pitchy sound you release in surprise, yunho slips the shoe off with minimal effort.
focusing his attention on your right shoe next, yunho misses the look in your eyes as you gaze down at the man undoing your laces for you. you think you could cry at the sight, unable to make sense of his behaviour tonight, but your heart feels full.
finally standing, yunho pushes on your shoulders and you follow his lead as he lays you down, petulant frown morphing into a sleepy smile at the teddy bear of a man above you.
he pulls your blanket up around your shoulders and tucks it in tightly beneath your neck and around your shoulders. another cute smile spreads across his face as he takes in your frame, wrapped up in the ocean blue of your blanket, blinking sleepily up at him.
“yunnie?” he crouches down once more to be face to face with you and his hand comes to rest on your cheek.
“hm?”
“jagi?” you ask, finally finding the courage to clarify whether or not you had imagined the term of endearment in your sleepy state.
yunho swallows, face hot as it always seems to be around you.
“yeah. yunnie?” he fires back and you let out a weak, tired laugh.
“touche.” yunho smiles warmly and your eyes close.
he takes a deep breath, pulling all the courage from every crevice of his body, leans over, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
assuming you're too far into your sleepy state to respond, he lets out a sigh and begins to stand, only to be stopped by your hand shooting out and gripping his neck.
he lets out a small yelp of surprise as you pull him back down and press a hard kiss to his cheek.
his knees go weak, legs wobbling slightly and his heart leaps into his throat at your affection. recovering from the surprise, he opens his eyes to see yours open again and searching his face as if trying to see inside and find out what he’s thinking.
“we'll talk about this tomorrow, hm? get some sleep.” he leaves his own, softer kiss on your cheek, before disappearing from your line of sight. shortly after he’s left your field of vision, you can hear your bedroom door click softly closed.
despite your racing heart, and your bubbling excitement for the following morning, your eyes flutter closed and you finally let sleep overtake you.
you never wanted a public proposal. you had told your boyfriend every time you saw someone get down on one knee in times square on new year’s eve or in front of cinderella’s castle at disney world that you would absolutely die if he did that to you.
and maybe it speaks to your naivety, to your complete disregard of just how shitty he’s treated you over these past five years, that you thought that would ever be a problem in your relationship. because he’s the guy who ditches you for his friends and religiously forgets date night, who falls asleep right after extremely unsatisfying sex that has you faking orgasms, who doesn’t answer your texts all day but freely like posts on instagram.
and evidently, he’s also the guy who breaks up with his girlfriend in the middle of dinner.
i’m watching squid game 2 rn and i have mixed feeling but god bless them for having an ex-marine dude who knows how to play a girly game because he grew up with FOUR OLDER SISTERS. this is the best inversion of a trope i’ve seen in a while
