i’m gonna try to publish hot & cold part five within the week. i’m saur sorry for the delay ㅠㅠ work is very demanding this month for some reason… promise promise last part comes out this week aaaand a heeseung one shot 🖤🖤 maybe throw in a little sunoo smau too if i’m feeling a little generous mweheheh love u guys so much didn’t expect hot & cold to catch this much attention! y’all have a nice daaay and week!
your gym rat of a boyfriend ditches workout to paint your nails.
genre: fluff, short drabble, established relationship
warning: themes of adhd and anxiety
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“hold still.” he barks, yet his hold on your flimsy hand remains gentle, almost hesitant, while the other trembles slightly, a small brush dipped in your favorite shade of blue hovering with careful concentration.
it was both of your day off, which means neither of you had to spend hours dancing until your knees give out— his more than yours, though he’d never admit it. you’d plan to stay in, thinking it would be restful, but the quiet quickly turns restless. you can’t seem to stay still, stealth always itching for movement. you joked to yourself it might be time to get the undiagnosed adhd checked. the thought absentmindedly made you anxious, picking at the skin around your fingers, and to stop yourself from making it worse, you’d decided to pain your nails instead— something small, to keep your hands busy, too.
you had expected your boyfriend to be out of your shared apartment before your alarm went off. usually, he’d already be at the company gym for his morning workout so when you find him coming out of the shower downstairs, you pause— then curse softly under your breath. you’d sprawled yourself on the carpet in front of the couch, a good minute taking him in afterwards. in his favorite sweatpants and a black compression shirt, hair damp as he dries it with a towel. he tilts his head to you, and then— he offered to do your nails— catching you completely off guard.
“baby, i told you i can do it.” you giggle, flinching slightly as the cool polish brushes past your skin more than your nails. but it’s not just that— it’s the sight of his large hands, so used to precision and strength, now clumsy and delicate around your touch. “shouldn’t you be at the gym right now?” you add when he doesn’t answer, watching him instead, the silence stretching comfortably between you.
with brows knitted and a pout threatening to form, he leans closer to your hand instead of pulling it towards him. “shh. i’m almost done.” yeah, on the third finger.
“look.” you say, reaching for his phone from your lap, where he left it after settling on the floor beside you. “jay’s blowing up your phone. he’s asking where you ar—”
“don’t you have a bigger brush for this, baby? this thing doesn’t work.” he stares at the brush as if he has a personal vendetta against it before dipping it back into the blue vial. “i’m done.” he says, nibbling at his lower lip, his canine peeking just lightly.
oh my god, he is so cute. you squeal in your head.
you angle your hand up, watching as the third nail catches the light from the sun outside. he then cleans the edges with care, using his own finger to wipe away the excess. a faint smear of blue stains his thumbnail— quiet evidence of his effort— as he closes the bottle and gives it a small shake. you watch him, a little in awe, a little amused.
“how did you know how to—”
“yeji always bothered me to do her nails in high school because mom wouldn’t let her get them done at the salon.” he says, cutting you off gently. his tone is patient, easy, as he reaches over to his phone beside you, thumbs hovering the screen.
it shows. despite the slight tremble in his fingers, he did an incredible job. no uneven streaks, no bubbles— just smooth, careful strokes of blue that catch the light when you tilt your fingers. your cheeks slowly glow a faint shade of pink upon realizing that it isn’t a lack of skill. just the mismatch between the tiny brush and his large hands that made it difficult. and over the fact that your boyfriend— who never skips his routine, who’s always so disciplined, so set in his workout— chose to stay, to sit here with you, and paint your nails for you.
“let me see.” he rests his big hands on your lap, waiting for yours, and when you place them in his, “okay.” a satisfied smile spreads across his face, eyes softening with it. “blue really is your color. your hands look prettier with them.” he murmurs, almost to himself, the words slipping out like a quiet thought he didn’t mean to say aloud.
he leans down again to continue, and this time he’s better. his hands no longer tremble as much, movement steadier. each stroke comes a little quicker. by the time he reaches your second pinky, he struggles slightly with the size, but finishes it just as neatly. using the same stained thumb, he cleans the edges one last time before gently placing your hands back in your lap.
“look at them, baby.” he cracks his fingers lightly after setting the polish bottle on the center table, adjusting the throw pillow beneath your elbows.
“wow.”
sunghoon watches you closely, eager for your reaction. he looks softer like this— barefaced, a little damp from shower, his features relaxed in a way the stage never sees. the contrast tugs at something in your chest. moments like this, small and unguarded, are your favorite— the ones that belong only to the two of you. this isn’t rare, not really, but it still catches you off guarded in the best way possible. one for the history books, something you’ll surely remember long after it’s passed.
“i think you might’ve done them better than i ever did.” you admit, earning a proud smile from sunghoon. “really? i thought they looked a little wonky.” there’s a boyish gleam in his eyes as his grin widens, half-teasing and half-seeking your approval.
time slips by without either of you noticing. the warm sunlight streaming in from outside has shifted, now brushing softly against your eyes. you stand, stretching a little, then reach out to help your boyfriend up after you. “you know that i love you, right?” you ask quietly.
sunghoon frowns, caught off guard by the suddenness. he steps closer, not touching at first, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him— before his hand settles on your lower back, pulling you into a secure, familiar hug. “and i love you.” he replies, kissing the top of your head.
“i know. you didn’t crush the brush.” you joke, earning a soft laugh from him. “i didn’t,” he agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you. “i didn’t want to ruin your nails.” his voice soften as he adds: “i don’t want you to bite them until you bleed again.” worry dripping in his tone— but the way he looks at you never once felt like judgment. you never felt the need to pull away nor hide, never with sunghoon.
“i— i’ll try.”
“that’s my good girl.” he smiles, teeth showing, thumb carefully brushing over the apple of your cheek. you lean into it by instinct. like if he left them there long enough, he’d burn a hole through you. sunghoon dips down and presses a firm kiss on your lips, you feel him smile into it before he pulls away.
“now, let’s go,” giving his biceps a quick squeeze and tap. “i’m going to drive you to the gym and watch you compete with jongseong.”
sunghoon scoffs, “i do not compete with jay. or with anyone, matter of fact.”
“except,” you look back at him through your shoulder, “you do, baby. he tries to deadlift 400, you’d do 450.”
his mouth falls open, half-surprised and half-offended that you clocked him. “okay—” he attempts to argue, “because he used to turn down my invitations to go to the gym, and now suddenly he’s all about it.” he explains, voice fading behind you as you make your way to your shared bedroom to grab your keys and change.
getting kicked out of your dorm and forced to live with your ex boyfriend and his conniving best friend isn’t the end of the world— the hatred condensing into something close to pleasant could be the closest thing to it, though.
genre: romance, smau, inspired by xo, kitty, sunghoon is literally moon minho, fluff, angst if you squint hard enough
warning: a little suggestive, lots of cursing, forced proximity, light playful banters, avoidant!reader, light jealousy, lmk if i missed any
getting kicked out of your dorm and forced to live with your ex boyfriend and his conniving best friend isn’t the end of the world— the hatred condensing into something close to pleasant could be the closest thing to it, though.
genre: romance, smau, inspired by xo, kitty, sunghoon is literally moon minho, fluff, angst if you squint hard enough
warning: lots of cursing, forced proximity, light playful banters, avoidant!reader lmk if i missed any
note: 13 ss, 1.3k wc
001 002 003 004 005
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“stay right there.”
before sunghoon could even cross the threshold, you were already off your bed, palm held out his direction. he paused mid-step, then swiftly lifted both hands in mock surrender.
he was just glad to see you again they way a smirk tugged at his lips—effortless, annoying, very him. noticing almost too quickly, you hated that it made your chest feel warm.
“if you wanna talk,” you said, crossing your arms, “talk from there.”
he raises his brows, a habit of his you’ve grown fond of and as much as you hate to admit, you missed. “okay, okay. fine.” he nodded, too agreeable, which somehow made it worse. “but can i at least come in and close the door? i don’t want jake to barge in— or anyone to interrupt. you know how he is—no sense of timing, no sense of boundaries, probably no sense at all.” you seal your lips in a line to suppress a giggle from escaping. you weren’t gonna let him off that easily.
his eyes found yours then, quieter, asking. not pushing. a beat passed. you sighed, like this was the greatest inconvenience of your life, then gave a small nod.
he didn’t waste it. he stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and—of course—didn’t break eye contact once.
“just so you know,” you started, pointing at him like you were about to issue a fine, “i have nothing else to say to you.”
“understood, ma’am.” he replied easily, like he hadn’t just walked straight into the line of fire.
he lowered his hands, smoothing down his black shirt where it clung to him—slightly damp, like he’d just come from the gym. of course he had. of course he’d show up looking like that. you swallowed, trying very hard to be unaffected.
but it was affecting you. it reminded you of that gym photo he sent you a while back—the one you absolutely did not zoom into. not even once. maybe twice. okay, fine, multiple times, but that wasn’t the point. it was the first time you thought about him.
the first time you really looked at him. and, objectively speaking—strictly for academic purposes—he was very attractive. more than average. enough that students and even professors occasionally swoon over him. you just never noticed before, too busy at each other’s throats like it was a competitive sport you strive to win.
but even that, you enjoyed.
“i’m sorry.”
“you said that already,” you cut in quickly. “stop saying it.”
sunghoon exhaled through his nose, a short, quiet laugh slipping out like he couldn’t help it.
he straightened a little, composing himself—at least attempting to. “but i am, yn. i don’t like the way i handled it. especially not the way i talked to you.” his voice softened, less teasing now, and more careful. “i want nothing more than for you to be all over my space.”
you blinked.
“do you.. not think before you speak.. like at all?”
“…in my defense,” he added, scratching the back of his neck, “that sounded way less weird in my head.”
you tilt your chin up, slow and deliberate, your brows lift in silent question, waiting—if he had anything else to say to save himself.
he doesn’t. so you sigh, already bored. “proceed.”
“what is this? a trial?”
“oh, you didn’t know?” you deadpan, shifting your weight like you’ve done this a hundred times before. “this decides whether you get to keep both heads or not. so i suggest you get it together.”
“both heads… what—” he mumbles, genuinely thrown for a second, brows knitting as he tries to process whatever kind of court you’re running. his gaze snaps back to you. “yn.”
you press your lips together, clearly fighting a smile, and hum in response—soft, noncommittal, entirely unhelpful.
he squints at you. “you’re enjoying this.”
“immensely.”
“that’s a relie— concerning.”
“you should be concerned,” you reply lightly. “your life is quite literally on the line right now.”
“pretty sure that’s not how the justice system works.”
“this is a private institution,” you shrug. “very exclusive. very biased.” he lets out a breath, dragging a hand down his face like he’s already tired—and yet, there’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips again.
“you’re unbelievable.”
“and yet,” you tilt your head, voice syrup-sweet, “here you are. on trial.”
he huffs, shaking his head before looking back at you, something softer slipping through his expression despite himself.
“…do i at least get a lawyer?” you pause, pretending to consider it, tapping your chin.
“no,” you decide. “budget cuts.”
“of course,” he mutters. “figures.”
you gesture toward him like the floor is his stage. “go on. defend yourself. i’d like to see you try.” he exhales, straightening a bit, like he’s actually about to take this seriously—which, somehow, makes it worse.
“right. okay.” a beat. “your honor—”
“don’t call me that.”
“—i would just like to say,” he continues anyway, because of course he does, “that i am being severely misunderstood.”
“objection,” you cut in immediately.
“on what grounds?”
“everything.”
he stares at you, deadpan now. “you can’t just object to everything.”
“watch me.”
he feigns a look at his watch—tapping it like there’s actually something there worth checking. “look, we can still make it to english , your honor.”
you just stare at him. no comeback. no eye roll. just heavy and loaded silence—one very dangerous if you stay in it a second longer. it throws him off for half a second. he exhales, something in him settling. the teasing has fades
“i was confused,” he says, quieter now. “not anymore.” a small pause. “or maybe i wasn’t really confused… i was scared. i still am.” he lets out a breath, almost a laugh at himself. “because i for sure did not plan to like you, yn. consider it the last thing i’d ever wanna do.”
you almost choke on your words. “oh, i’m sure it was torture. goody for me.”
“yeah?” he tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “i enjoyed every bit of it.” he takes a step closer—just one, slow, like he’s testing the waters. “looking for you, missing you, thinking about you—”
“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE—” you cut him off, a little too fast, a little too loud. heat beginning to creep up your neck, blooming across your face.
you point at him like he’s committed an actual crime. “i a-agree, we can still make it to english . t-this is adjourned. everyone dismissed.” you wave your hand dramatically, already turning away. “you—go. SHOO.”
he doesn’t move.
“you’re not even listening to your own ruling,” he says, amused. “i am,” you insist, grabbing your bag with unnecessary force. “i’m enforcing it. leave.”
“hmm.” he nods slowly, like he’s considering it. “no.”
“…no?”
“no,” he repeats, entirely too calm about it. “i think i’d like to finish my statement.”
“overruled.”
“denied.”
“you can’t deny my overrule—this is my court!”
“yeah, well,” he shrugs, taking another step closer, “corrupt system. i’m appealing.”
“to who?”
he doesn’t even hesitate. “you.” you open your mouth only to close it again. you open it again, yet nothing comes out. he smiles, softer this time, like he knows he’s got you cornered in a way that has nothing to do with walls or doors.
“looking for you, missing you, thinking about you,” he repeats, slower now, like he’s not going to let you dodge it again, “it wasn’t torture.”
“it was the only part that made sense.” you swallow, glaring at him like that might somehow fix this.
“…you’re unbelievable.”
“yet,” he echoes from earlier, just a little quieter, “you didn’t throw me out.”
“i tried. very hard.”
“half-heartedly.”
you scoff. “don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“too late,” he says lightly.
your grip tightens around your bag strap as you fight the urge to smile—and lose, just barely, at the corners of your mouth.
you immediately drop it. “court’s still dismissed,” you mutter.
getting kicked out of your dorm and forced to live with your ex boyfriend and his conniving best friend isn’t the end of the world— the hatred condensing into something close to pleasant could be the closest thing to it, though.
genre: romance, smau, inspired by xo, kitty, sunghoon is literally moon minho, fluff, angst if you squint hard enough
warning: lots of cursing, suggestive, forced proximity, light playful banters, light parental pressure, avoidant!sunghoon, lmk if i missed any
getting kicked out of your dorm and forced to live with your ex boyfriend and his conniving best friend isn’t the end of the world— the hatred condensing into something close to pleasant could be the closest thing to it, though.
genre: romance, smau, inspired by xo, kitty, sunghoon is literally moon minho, fluff, angst if you squint hard enough
warning: lots of cursing, suggestive, forced proximity, implied accidental flashing, mention of the word breast, light playful banters, light parental pressure, avoidant!sunghoon, lmk if i missed any
RANDOM TEXTS WITH YOUR HUSBAND ABOUT YOUR KIDS ( hyung line )
note: fought my inner demons to exclude sunghoon’s newest gym pics because i lowkey wanna make something out of it. : p ++ this is made out of swift impulse literally no outline or thought so mian
bits with your husband and how you both navigate through parenthood and married life.
genre: romance, smau, marriage, idol!jake x female!reader, dad!hoon, dad!jake, lots of fluff
warning: suggestive, inaccurate pregnancy drabble, (i’m so sorry. i didn’t notice until publishing + i’m too lazy to edit it), mention of bomb in a light joke, light playful banters, emotional pressure, lmk if i missed anything
a knight is bound to his sword as a princess is to her throne. duty is both their birthright, but one is a slave to it and the other a soldier.
genre: romance, angst, knight x princess trope, love triangle, historical drama, fiction
warning: kissing, making love, political marriage, monarchy, violence, arrows, swords, war, death
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▶︎ i get to love you ▶︎ meet me on the battlefield ▶︎ slip away
▶︎ dynasty ▶︎ haunt ▶︎ astronomical
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the palace had always been too large for a child.
its corridors stretched endlessly, a procession of pale marble and tall arched windows where sunlight filtered through colored glass. in the mornings the light would scatter across the floors in fragments of sapphire and amber, and the servants would walk through those fragments quietly, careful not to disturb the hush that seemed to belong to royal places. even the sound of footsteps behaved differently in such halls. they echoed longer, as though the palace itself insisted on remembering every movement made within it.
courtiers passed like soft shadows. guards stood rigid beside towering doors. silk skirts whispered along polished floors.
for most children, such grandeur would have felt lonely. but the palace had never been lonely when sunghoon ran through it beside you. he had been smaller then, a narrow-shouldered boy with wind-tangled hair and perpetually scuffed knees that betrayed how often he slipped out to climb orchard walls or wander into places he was not meant to be. his mother served among the palace maidens who raised the princess, which meant he existed perpetually near the edges of your life— at first only a quiet presence lingering in corridors or waiting patiently near the kitchens.
children notice each other in small ways. you noticed how he bowed very seriously despite being no older than eight. in return, he noticed how often you escaped your tutors.
the first time he truly spoke to you, however, happened because you had climbed a tree far higher than any princess should.
it was a cherry tree in the inner courtyard, one that bloomed extravagantly each spring. that afternoon the branches were heavy with pale blossoms, petals drifting lazily in the breeze like quiet snowfall. the servants below had grown frantic when you refused to climb down, your slipper caught stubbornly between two branches.
“your highness, please,” one of them called desperately from the ground. you leaned further out on the branch instead, determined.
then someone else began climbing. the bark scraped under small hands and shoes, quick and determined, until a boy’s head appeared through the blossoms beside you.
“you will fall,” sunghoon said breathlessly, pulling himself up beside the branch where you sat, hair filled with petals.
“i will not,” you replied as the branch creaked. sunghoon glanced downward and then back at you with a frown far too thoughtful for an eight-year-old boy.
“princesses should not climb trees.”
“and boys should not lecture princesses.”
for a moment neither of you moved. the wind shifted softly through the blossoms, scattering petals around your shoulders.
sunghoon studied your trapped slipper, then the drop beneath the branch.
finally he said, with quiet determination, “then i will climb after you every time, instead.” you laughed, the sound bright and careless.
at the time, it sounded like nothing more than childish stubbornness. to sunghoon, however, it was a promise he’d made to himself.
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childhood has a way of folding itself quietly into memory.
one year you were racing through palace gardens with grass-stained hems, and the next you were sitting upright before tutors while learning the languages of neighboring kingdoms. dresses grew heavier with silk and embroidery and lessons grew longer. the king began asking you to sit in council chambers so you could listen to matters of trade and diplomacy.
sunghoon too, had changed.
where he had once chased you through the orchards, he now stood at the edge of the palace training grounds holding a wooden practice sword.
the first time you truly noticed the difference, the sun had been lowering over the courtyard walls, painting the rough stone in gold. you had escaped your etiquette lessons— again— wandering toward the sound of striking wood.
he stood alone before a training post.
each strike of his practice sword landed with focused precision. sweat dampened the collar of his tunic. the boy who once climbed trees now moved with disciplined control, shoulders broader, stance steady.
he did not see you at first. you leaned against the archway, watching quietly. you waltz deeper into the room, running fingertips through the freshly carved bows hanging near the rack, contemplating if any of it were good enough for your next class.
when the sword struck the post one final time with a sharp crack, you spoke. “you are too serious now.” he turned immediately. for a brief moment surprise flickered across his face. then he lowered the sword and straightened.
“your highness.”
the title sounded unfamiliar coming from him. you wrinkled your nose. “do not call me that.”
he hesitated. “it is what you are.”
“but it is not what i am to you.”
the training yard fell quiet except for the distant flutter of pigeons settling along the palace roofs. sunghoon placed the sword carefully against the post.
“very well,” he said after a moment. “then what should i call you?”
you stepped forward, sunlight catching in the dark strands of your hair.
“the same thing you always have.”
your name rested gently between you.
sunghoon looked down at his hands— palms roughened with new calluses. “i have made a decision,” he said quietly.
“what might that be?”
“i will become your knight.” the words were simple. yet the weight behind them made the air shift. you tilted your head slightly, figuring out whether he was to say anything else like it were simply an attempt to mess with you, yet none came.
“why?”
for a moment he did not answer.
instead he stepped closer and placed his hand over his heart in a gesture that felt strangely solemn for two teenagers standing in the quiet courtyard.
“i promised you once,” he said. the evening breeze lifted the edges of your sleeve.
“that i would always climb after you.”
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by the time you reached twenty, the palace had grown accustomed to a certain image. wherever the princess walked, two knights followed.
the court had begun whispering about them long before anyone dared speak aloud. servants noticed first— servants always did. then the whispers reached courtiers, and from courtiers they slipped into the curious corners of the nobility.
the princess and her knights.
the first was park sunghoon.
even among the royal guard he stood apart. there was a quiet gravity about him that commanded attention without demanding it. when he entered a room, conversation softened instinctively— not out of fear, but out of recognition that discipline and purpose seemed to follow him wherever he stood.
he spoke rarely. when he did, it was with careful certainty. when he stood behind the princess’s chair during court assemblies, his gaze never wandered.
the ministers admired him. the soldiers trusted him. and the people, when they saw him ride through the capital streets beside the royal carriage, spoke his name with the kind of quiet confidence reserved for men who would never falter.
and then the knight nishimura riki.
where sunghoon was composed silence, riki was warmth that filled a room before he even spoke. he laughed easily, greeted servants by name, and carried himself with a brightness that softened the rigid formality of palace life.
even the most severe ministers found themselves smiling when riki bowed after delivering messages.
if sunghoon was the still surface of a lake, riki was the sunlight dancing across it. the two could not have been more different.
and yet they stood beside each other as though they had always belonged that way.
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one afternoon the palace balcony overlooked the lower courtyard where soldiers practiced their drills.
sunlight spilled over the stone railing, warming the air with the early comfort of spring.
sunghoon stood near the archway adjusting the leather straps of his armor. his movements were precise, practiced— every buckle secured with quiet efficiency. across from him, leaning lazily against the balcony railing, riki watched the courtyard below.
the clang of training swords echoed upward.
“you know,” riki said suddenly, “people keep saying we grew up together. like, brothers.”
sunghoon did not look up from the strap he was tightening. “you arrived later.” riki tilted his head thoughtfully.
“that is technically correct,” he admitted.
then he smiled faintly. “but i arrived at the right time.” sunghoon finally glanced at him. riki’s attention had drifted toward the far end of the balcony.
you stood there speaking with one of the palace attendants, the breeze tugging lightly at the silk of your sleeves.
the moment the attendant bowed and left, you turned— and your eyes found sunghoon immediately. it happened every time, not because you meant it to but because your gaze simply knew where to go.
sunghoon looked away first. the younger boy beside him noticed.
of course he did. he noticed everything.
“do you know what the court thinks?” riki asked casually. sunghoon returned to adjusting his armor.
“that you talk too much.”
“that too,” riki admitted with a grin.
“but mostly they think the princess favors you.”
sunghoon’s hands stilled briefly against the leather strap. “that is irrelevant.”
“is it?”
riki rested his elbows on the railing, watching the courtyard soldiers spar. “you should see the way she looks at you,” he continued lightly. “even the cooks in the kitchen have noticed.”
sunghoon’s jaw tightened faintly.
“it means nothing.” riki glanced at him sideways.
“ah.”
there was no mockery in the sound. only quiet understanding. he had seen the way your hand lingered on sunghoon’s sleeve when you spoke. the way sunghoon carefully stepped back each time you moved too close.
nothing like rejection, but restraint.
the kind that only existed when someone cared too deeply to allow themselves even a moment of selfishness.
riki understood it well, because he loved you too.
but his love had never carried the sharp, consuming weight that sunghoon’s did.
sunghoon loved you the way soldiers loved their homeland — with the certainty that he would give his life without hesitation.
riki’s affection was gentler.
he admired you.
sometimes, when you laughed during dinners in the smaller palace halls, riki would feel a warmth in his chest that made the world feel briefly brighter. but he had never once imagined keeping you for himself. you were something meant to be cherished, not possessed.
and more importantly— he had seen the way sunghoon looked at you when he thought no one noticed. riki had been a knight long enough to recognize devotion when it stood before him.
sunghoon did not simply love you.
he belonged to you.
riki pushed himself away from the railing.
“anyway,” he said lightly, stretching his arms behind his head, “if either of you plans to confess your feelings before we all grow old and gray, i would appreciate a warning.”
sunghoon stared at him flatly. “there is nothing to confess.”
“of course.” he grins wider.
“then i suppose the way she looks at you is purely academic.” the other turned away, clearly finished with the conversation, riki watched him go with quiet amusement.
then his gaze drifted back to where you now stood alone near the far end of the balcony, looking out over the gardens. the sunlight caught in your hair and for a brief moment something soft flickered through his expression.
not longing. not regret.
just quiet fondness.
“she deserves someone brave enough to stand beside her,” riki murmured under his breath.
his eyes followed sunghoon’s retreating figure across the balcony.
“and unfortunately,” riki added with a faint smile, “that someone is you.” then he clapped his hands once and headed after his friend.
because if the two most stubborn people in the kingdom were determined to spend years pretending they felt nothing— riki had every intention of ruining that plan.
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there was a small lake beyond the northern forests where the royal carriage sometimes traveled under the excuse of “inspecting the outer provinces.”
in truth, the trips existed for a different reason.
simply to breathe.
or perhaps simply to sit across from sunghoon without a court full of eyes watching.
the carriage ride always began formally. by the time it reached the forest road, riki would lean forward from his seat and say cheerfully, “i believe i hear trouble on the perimeter. i should ride ahead.”
“there is no trouble,” sunghoon would reply flatly.
“then i will go ensure there continues to be none.”
and with that, he would disappear into the trees, leaving you alone with the knight who refused to meet your gaze.
the lake was quiet that day. you walked along the water’s edge while he followed half a step behind, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier on duty.
“do you ever tire of this?” you asked suddenly.
“of what?”
“standing so far away from me.” he stopped walking. the wind rippled across the lake.
“your safety requires distance.”
“my safety requires trust.”
silence stretched between you. then you turned, stepping closer. “sunghoon,” you said softly, “do you not trust yourself?”
his breath caught — barely noticeable, yet unmistakable. “i trust myself too much.”
but not around you. he thought.
your hand brushed his sleeve. for a fleeting moment, the knight who feared nothing on a battlefield seemed entirely undone by the warmth of your touch.
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the night of your twenty-first birthday arrived wrapped in all the ceremony the kingdom believed a future queen deserved. from the moment dusk settled over the palace towers, the great ballroom came alive with light. hundreds of candles burned within crystal chandeliers suspended from the painted ceiling, their glow reflected endlessly in polished marble floors and gilded mirrors. musicians tuned their instruments along the balcony above while servants moved through the crowd carrying silver trays of wine.
silk gowns shimmered in shades of ivory and deep sapphire. jewels glinted along graceful necks. laughter rose and fell like waves as nobles from every province of the kingdom gathered to celebrate the princess who would one day rule them.
it was a magnificent spectacle.
and for the most part, you endured it beautifully.
you greeted ambassadors with practiced elegance, accepting bows from visiting princes whose smiles were polite but calculating. you danced when invited, steps flawless, expression warm in the way royal daughters were trained to be.
but there was something restless beneath your composure. because each time the music shifted and partners changed, your gaze drifted— almost involuntarily— toward the edge of the ballroom.
two knights stood there in ceremonial uniform. one of them laughed easily with a passing guard. the other stood perfectly still.
even among the glittering nobility he looked immovable, like a quiet pillar holding the room upright. his dark uniform caught the candlelight in faint lines along the polished buttons, but his attention remained fixed somewhere far from the center of the celebration.
not quite on you but close enough.
across the room, riki followed the direction of your gaze and smiled. he leaned slightly toward sunghoon, nudging him with his elbow.
“you should dance with her.”
sunghoon head turned sharply. the expression that crossed his face bordered on alarm.
“that would be inappropriate.” riki lifted an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed. “so is staring at her all night.” his gaze flickered instinctively toward the center of the ballroom— toward you, he looked away again just as quickly.
before sunghoon could object further, riki stepped forward. the movement was smooth, almost theatrical. he crossed the ballroom floor through clusters of nobles and drifting skirts until he reached you just as your latest dance partner finished his bow.
riki bent deeply at the waist.
“your highness,” he said loudly enough for several nobles nearby to hear, “may i borrow my fellow knight for a moment?”
curious murmurs rippled through the surrounding crowd. you glanced toward the far side of the ballroom where sunghoon still stood frozen beside the wall.
and you smiled.
moments later he found himself walking toward you as though summoned by forces entirely outside his control. if sunghoon had faced an army charging across a battlefield, he might have looked calmer.
the music slowed as the orchestra shifted into a waltz. you extended your hand in which he hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking.
the moment your fingers touched, the world seemed to tilt slightly off balance. you moved into the center of the ballroom together. hundreds of eyes surrounding, though strangely the room felt quieter than before— as if the music itself had softened out of courtesy.
sunghoon placed his hand lightly against your waist carefully, afraid to break you, that perhaps even that small contact required restraint.
for the first few steps neither of you spoke. the familiar rhythm carried you through the motion effortlessly, skirts sweeping across marble, polished shoes gliding beneath the glow of candlelight.
but you felt it immediately. the tension in his hand. the faint tremor he tried desperately to hide. “you are trembling,” you whispered. he did not meet your eyes.
“i am not.”
“you are.”
the music carried you through a slow turn. candles above scattered warm light across his features, softening the careful composure he wore like armor. his hand at your waist remained respectful.
too respectful. he was afraid that even the air between you might betray him.
“you do not have to be afraid of me,” you said quietly.
“i am not afraid of you.”
“then what?”
for a moment he did not answer. instead his gaze lifted. and when sunghoon finally looked at you— truly looked— something fragile cracked open in the silence between your steps.
the orchestra swelled around you, violins rising into a sweeping crescendo.
“i am afraid of forgetting my place.”
the words came softly, but they carried the weight of years. your fingers tightened slightly around his. the dance continued, but the rest of the ballroom had faded into little more than moving shadows beyond the circle of candlelight surrounding you.
“perhaps,” you said gently, “your place is closer than you think.”
for the briefest moment sunghoon faltered. not enough for the watching nobles to notice but enough that his breath caught quietly in his chest.
and though the dance carried you onward through its measured turns, something in the air between you had changed— something unspoken, undeniable, and impossibly close to breaking.
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the palace courtyards had emptied early that evening. servants hurried through the corridors with folded cloaks over their arms, and the lanterns along the stone walkways flickered under the steady patter of water against their glass covers. rain softened the palace in a way sunlight never did and the vast courtyards grew quiet, the marble shining like polished silver beneath the storm.
you had slipped outside despite the weather. not far— only beneath the wide balcony that overlooked the lower gardens, where carved pillars held the stone above like silent sentinels. the rain could not reach you there, though the wind carried the cool scent of wet earth and jasmine drifting from the garden beds.
sunghoon found you quickly as he always did.
“your highness,” he called from the courtyard path, voice firm but not unkind. the rain had darkened his hair, strands clinging lightly to his forehead. his cloak hung heavy with water, droplets sliding from its edges as he approached.
“you should not be out here.” you turned toward him, leaning lightly against the stone pillar. “even queens-to-be must breathe sometimes.”
“you are not yet queen.”
“then perhaps i should take advantage of that while i still can.” he stopped a few steps away. even in the quiet of the rain, he did not come closer. his discipline held him there, rooted like the marble statues lining the garden walls.
“please return inside,” he said gently.
you studied him for a moment.
“why do you always speak as though i am fragile?” his brow furrowed faintly.
“because protecting you is my duty.”
“and is that all i am to you?”
it slipped out softly, carried almost too easily by the rain that it stilled him. his shoulders rose slightly with a slow breath, as though steadying himself before answering something difficult.
“you are my princess.”
the words sounded rehearsed. all too proper. yet there was something strained beneath them. you stepped away from the pillar. the distance between you closed gradually, each step quiet against the stone floor. the rain fell steadily beyond the balcony’s edge.
“sunghoon,” you said softly, “look at me.”
the moment his eyes met yours, something fragile shifted between you. perhaps it had always been there— the quiet understanding carried through years of shared childhood and stolen moments by the lake. yet that evening it felt sharper, clearer.
the world beyond the balcony blurred into rain and distant thunder. “do you remember the cherry tree?” you asked suddenly. a faint crease appeared between his brows.
“you climbed too high.”
“and you followed.”
“you would have fallen.” you smiled faintly.
“and you said you would climb after me every time.”
sunghoon exhaled quietly, almost like a laugh that never quite formed.
“i was eight.”
“yet you have kept that promise every day since.”
the silence stretched between you— not uncomfortable, but full. “you still stand far away from me,” you continued gently.
his voice lowered. “because i must.”
“or because you are afraid to come closer?”
the rain intensified briefly, tapping against the balcony stones. sunghoon looked away.
“your highness—”
“do not hide behind that title.” your voice had softened, but the words landed with quiet certainty.
“not tonight.” you stepped closer. so close now that you could see the faint line of tension in his jaw, the careful stillness in the way he held his hands behind his back— as though even the act of reaching toward you required permission he refused to grant himself.
“sunghoon,” you said quietly, “i have never once been afraid of you.”
his eyes flickered back to yours. “you should be.”
“why?”
“because i forget myself around you.” you catch air in your throat. the confession fell into the space between you like something fragile.
“then forget,” you whispered. he stared at you, unmoving. then, very slowly, you reached for him. your hand touched the front of his uniform— fingers curling lightly against the damp fabric near his chest. beneath your palm, his heartbeat was steady but strong. for a moment sunghoon did nothing. the discipline that had shaped him for years seemed to hold him frozen in place.
then his hand rose. not quickly— almost cautiously, as though afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast. his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.
“princess,” he murmured. the word carried warning but it also carried longing.
you shook your head slightly.
“just my name.”
the rain softened again, falling in quiet rhythm.
it was you who closed the final distance— you who rose slightly onto your toes, pressed your lips against his with a certainty that came not from impulse but from years of unspoken understanding.
sunghoon did not respond right away, the kiss remained gentle, tentative until his composure broke. his hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer with sudden urgency as he kissed you back— deeper now, the restraint he carried for so long unraveling all at once.
the rain seemed to grow quieter and as if time slowed.
when the kiss ended, you remained close, breath mingling softly in the cool air. resting his forehead lightly against yours.
“you should not do that,” he said hoarsely.
“i would do it again.”
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sunghoon feared what it meant.
summer had settled over the palace, warm air drifting through open windows that overlooked the gardens. lanterns light glowed softly along the walls of the private chamber you had escaped to— one of the smaller rooms tucked high in the palace where few attendants ventured.
sunghoon stood near the doorway, unsure whether he should remain.
“you are going to leave again,” you said gently.
“i should.”
“why?” his jaw tightened slightly.
“because staying would be a mistake.” you stepped closer.
“you have said that before.”
“and i was right.”
“but you stayed.”
sunghoon closed his eyes briefly, the faintest hint of frustration crossing his usually calm expression.
“you make it very difficult to remember my place.”
“is it so hard for you to be with me?” he looked at you again then. really looked.
whatever restraint had kept him distant these past months began to crumble under the quiet weight of the moment.
“you deserve more than this,” he said quietly.
“more than what?”
“more than a knight who forgets his duties.” you reached for him again— slower this time. fingers slid gently into his, lacing together.
“i want the boy who climbed a tree for me when we were eight.”
sunghoon’s grip tightened around your hand. “do not say things like that unless you mean them.”
“with every heartbeat, i do.” the silence that followed felt sacred.
he kissed you this time. a hand on your cheek, the other on the small of your back. not hesitant. not restrained. but careful— reverent with meaning.
he touched you the way a man touches something precious: slowly, with patience, with awe at the simple reality of closeness he had denied himself for so long. nothing about the night felt hurried.
the lantern light dimmed, garden breeze drifted softly through the open windows. and when you finally lay together, the world beyond that quiet room seemed very far away.
sunghoon held you long after. your head rested against his shoulder while the moonlight traced pale shapes across the ceiling. he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, expression softer than you had ever seen it.
“forgive me,” he whispered.
“for what?”
his forehead rested gently against yours. “for wanting more than i am allowed.”
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winter came quietly that year, arriving first as frost along the palace gardens— thin silver threads clinging to the rose stems each morning before the sun burned them away. then the air turned sharper. servants began lighting fires earlier in the day, and the courtyards grew emptier as wind swept through the open archways.
instead the palace, the rhythm of life continued with the careful steadiness expected of a royal household.
you attended council meetings beside your father more often now. ministers bowed when you entered. documents were placed before you for review. the king watched you closely during these gatherings— not with doubt, but with the quiet pride of a man preparing his daughter for the weight she would one day carry.
sunghoon stood behind your chair during those meetings. always at the same distance but there were moments when you felt his presence more strongly than the voices filling the chamber. a shift in the air when you turned a page. the quiet warmth of him standing just behind your shoulder.
sometimes, when the council dismissed for the afternoon, you would linger longer than necessary— pretending to examine maps or letters— simply because sunghoon remained there as well.
riki noticed. as per usual.
“you two are unbearable,” he muttered one evening while the three of you stood beneath the palace balcony overlooking the winter gardens.
the snow had not yet begun to fall, but the air carried that strange cold stillness that often came before it. you leaned against the stone railing, your cloak drawn close around your shoulders.
“what have we done now?” you asked.
riki gestured vaguely between you and sunghoon. “this,” he said. “this quiet thing you both do. the staring. the pretending you are not staring.”
sunghoon stiffened slightly beside him.
“i do not stare.”
riki gave him a long look.
“you are doing it right now.” you laughed softly, the sound warm in the cold air. sunghoon looked away immediately. but even in the fading evening light, you caught the faint flush along the tips of his ears.
winter announced itself to the kingdom in the quietest possible way.
not with storms or harsh winds at first, but with a stillness that crept slowly into the air. the palace gardens grew pale beneath thin frost each morning, and the fountains in the lower courtyards began to freeze along their edges. servants walked the corridors carrying extra firewood. tapestries were drawn tighter against the stone walls to keep warmth inside the chambers.
from the windows of the upper palace halls, the capital below looked softened by the season— smoke rising from chimneys, rooftops dusted faintly with white.
life continued.
yet beneath the steady rhythm of court, something fragile lingered in the air. perhaps it was the king’s health. perhaps it was the strange way the court physicians had begun moving through the palace more often, their expressions careful and quiet whenever they passed the princess in the halls.
or perhaps it was simply the way sunghoon had begun watching you more closely.
he never said anything. he stood where he always had— half a step behind you during council meetings, a silent presence during evening dinners, a shadow beside the palace corridors when you wandered them too late at night.
however, there were moments when you caught his gaze lingering longer than usual. moments when the quiet between you felt heavier.
the first snow fell on a night when the palace had already gone to sleep. by morning it had settled across every rooftop and courtyard in a pale, untouched blanket. the world beyond the palace windows looked hushed beneath it— the kind of silence that seemed almost sacred.
you were standing by the eastern gallery window when the bells began ringing.
at first the sound was distant.
one slow chime.
it echoed across the city below in long, hollow tolls that rolled through the morning air.
then another bell joined it. and another. until the entire capital seemed to tremble beneath the weight of their sound.
you did not need anyone to explain what it meant. behind you, footsteps stopped along the corridor. servants stood frozen in place. one of the palace maids lowered the tray she had been carrying, her hands trembling as the bells continued their slow announcement. somewhere down the hall, a guard removed his helmet and bowed his head.
the bells rang again and again.
the king was dead.
grief did not arrive with dramatic displays. it settled over the palace the way the snow had— quiet, steady, impossible to ignore.
the court dressed in black. the banners along the great hall were lowered. even the palace gardens seemed subdued beneath their winter covering, the roses long since buried beneath frost.
in the days that followed, the palace moved carefully around you.
ministers spoke in softer tones. servants bowed lower than usual. everyone watched the princess who would soon become queen and failed to see the grieving daughter. sunghoon rarely left your side during those days because he did.
not in any way that would draw attention— he was far too disciplined for that— but whenever you entered a chamber, he was already there. whenever you walked through the palace halls, he followed at the precise distance expected of a royal knight.
once, late at night, you found him standing alone outside the chapel doors.
the candles inside flickered faintly through the stained glass. he straightened immediately when he noticed you.
“princess,” he said quietly. you studied him for a moment.
“have you been here long?”
“long enough.”
the chapel doors remained closed between you. inside, priests murmured their evening prayers for the late king. sunghoon did not ask if you wished to enter.
he simply stood beside you in silence until you turned away again.
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winter had tightened its quiet hold over the capital by then. snow still clung to the palace rooftops and gathered softly along the ledges of the tall windows, turning the world outside pale and distant. the sky remained the color of mourning silk.
inside the palace, the great hall had never looked so solemn. black banners hung from the towering pillars, their heavy fabric swallowing the chamber’s usual gold and crimson. hundreds of candles burned along the walls, their flames trembling faintly in the still air. the light spilled across the polished marble floor in wavering reflections where the court had gathered in silent rows.
the nobles stood waiting. ministers who had once debated loudly beside your father’s throne now kept their hands folded tightly before them. generals stood stiffly in ceremonial armor. advisors who had served the crown for decades lowered their eyes as you entered the hall.
they all watched.
not as they had once watched a princess. but as they now watched the woman who would rule them.
the mourning silk you wore was heavier than you had expected. the fabric pressed against your shoulders like the weight of something unseen, and the long train of the gown followed behind you across the marble floor like a dark shadow that refused to lift.
each step forward felt slower than the last.
the sound of your footsteps echoed faintly through the chamber.
for a moment you thought you might hear your father’s voice somewhere in that echo — the low murmur he used when discussing state matters, the quiet laughter he reserved for evenings when court was finally dismissed.
but the hall remained silent.
near the far end of the chamber, the throne waited beneath the towering stained-glass windows. winter light filtered through the colored panes in muted shades of red and gold, scattering dim fragments of color across the stone floor.
the archbishop stood beside the throne holding the crown upon a velvet cushion.
ancient gold. set with stones older than any living memory in the room. the crown had belonged to kings for generations.
now it waited for you.
you hesitantly reached the steps, gaze drifted toward the edges of the chamber. the royal guard stood along the walls, armors reflecting candlelight in faint glimmers and among them was sunghoon.
you found him instantly. his posture was as composed as it had always been— shoulders straight, expression calm, hands resting near the hilt of his sword. but he stood farther away than he had in days. farther than he had ever stood before.
not beside you.
not close enough for you to hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing the way you once could during long council meetings.
just another knight among the guard. where a knight was meant to stand.
the distance between you felt suddenly immeasurable. you forced your gaze forward again. the archbishop lifted the crown and the hall grew so silent that the faint crackle of candle flames seemed loud in your ears.
time felt strangely fragile— as though the world had paused just long enough to remember what it had once been.
the princess.
the knight who followed her everywhere.
two people who had once existed before crowns and duties had drawn their lines so sharply.
then the gold touched your hair. the metal was colder than you expected. something in the air shifted the moment it settled against your head. the archbishop’s voice carried across the chamber. the nobles knelt. silk rustled softly as the court bowed to their new ruler.
the kingdom crowned its queen.
and somewhere behind you, sunghoon bowed his head with the rest of them.
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midnight fell early that evening.
the corridors emptied quickly once the ceremony ended. servants moved quietly through the halls extinguishing lanterns, their footsteps soft against the stone floors. even the ministers, who had filled the palace with endless discussions over the past days, had finally retreated to their chambers.
grief and ceremony had exhausted everyone.
you had dismissed the court hours earlier but the throne room remained lit. candelabras burned along every wall, their soft light stretching long shadows across the vast chamber where the new queen now sat alone.
the crown rested beside you on the throne, its golden surface catching the flickering candlelight. even when it was not on your head, you could still feel its presence. a phantom weight against your temples. outside the tall windows, snow continued to fall in slow endless silence.
sleep would not come. your thoughts drifted restlessly through memories you could not quiet. your father’s voice echoing through the council chambers. the way the court had knelt earlier that day. and beneath all of it, the strange distance that had settled between you and the man who had once climbed palace trees simply to make sure you would not fall.
the doors behind you opened quietly, sounding sound softly off the cold walls. in the silence of the throne room it carried easily across the marble floor.
you did not turn immediately. you knew who it was.
sunghoon stepped into the chamber with measured strides. his armor caught the candlelight as he walked, polished metal glinting faintly with each step.
for a moment he stopped near the entrance.
neither of you spoke.
the distance between you felt wider than it ever had before. “sunghoon,” you said softly. the name felt unfamiliar in the silence.
he bowed.
not the small, familiar incline of his head that had once passed between you without ceremony.
a proper bow.
the sight tightened something painfully in your chest. even from across the chamber you could see it clearly— the change that had settled over him like armor heavier than the one he wore.
“your majesty.”
the title struck harder than you expected. you rose from the throne slowly.
“do not call me that.” you beg for the hundredth time. his gaze remained lowered.
“it is what you are.” the calmness in his voice felt deliberate so carefully held in place, it almost upset you. stepping down from the dais, the sound of your footsteps echoed softly through the chamber as you crossed the marble floor.
each step brought you closer until the distance between you had shrunk to only a few paces. close enough now to see the tension along his jaw. close enough to remember what it felt like when there had been no distance between you at all.
“my—”
“from this day forward,” he said formally, “i will serve only as your knight.” the words echoed faintly through the vast chamber. something inside your chest tightened sharply and then break simultaneously. there was something in his voice you had never heard before.
not anger. not coldness. something worse.
distance.
“please—”
“my duty is to protect the queen.” your breath caught. he said it more to himself than to you.
not the woman he loved.
the silence that followed stretched painfully long between you. for a fleeting moment it seemed as though he might say something else.
his jaw tightened slightly, the muscles in his throat shifting as if he had swallowed words that had nearly escaped him. his gaze lifted for the briefest second, just long enough for your eyes to meet.
the it dropped again. the moment closed. he resorts to bow once more. and when he straightened, the expression on his face had sealed itself completely.
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war arrived before the snow had fully melted. messengers rode into the capital at dawn, their horses lathered with exhaustion after days of hard travel. by midday the news had spread through the palace corridors like fire through dry wood.
northern armies had crossed the borderlands, villages burned, walls had fallen. enemy banners were moving steadily south.
the council gathered immediately. the ministers argued long into the night, their voices rising and falling through the chamber as they urged caution. negotiations are carefully made. patience are running low. all the same time the kingdom was still mourning. the army asked for time in which the queen allowed.
and when they had finished speaking, she ordered the army to ride.
the morning the army marched out, storm clouds hung low above the capital. the palace gates stood open while soldiers formed ranks along the frozen road outside. horses stamped impatiently against the cold ground, their breath rising in white clouds beneath the dark sky.
armor gleamed beneath the dim light of morning. war banners snapped sharply in the bitter wind.
sunghoon waited beside your horse.
he had already checked the saddle twice. now his hands moved carefully fastening the final clasp of your armor near your shoulder.
“you should remain in the capital,” he said quietly.
the words came without accusation. but the tightness in his jaw betrayed how much he wished you would agree. you watched him adjust the leather strap with careful precision. “i will not.”
“the battlefield is no place for a queen.”
you pulled on your gloves slowly, tightening the leather across your palms.
“it is my people. my battlefield.” his hands stilled. he hesitated to meet your gaze. then he did. he saw the distance he had built between you cracked slightly.
“you are all i am meant to protect,” he said. the words came more quietly than before. “then don’t leave me,”
“stay with me.” his fingers tightened briefly around the strap of your gauntlet before releasing it.
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the valley where the armies met stretched wide beneath a sky dark with gathering storm clouds. smoke drifted across the open field as the first clash of steel rang through the air.
it was louder than you had imagined. the horses screamed, soldiers shouted their battles cries, metal struck metal again and again until the sound seemed endless.
sunghoon never left your side.
through the chaos he moved with terrifying precision. each soldier who came too close fell before his sword. every arrow aimed in your direction struck his shield first.
riki fought nearby, his sword flashing through the thick of battle as he cut through enemy ranks. the fighting stretched on for hours. mud churned beneath galloping horses. arrows darkened the sky. and through it all sunghoon fought like a man who had already made peace with death.
riki would later say he had never seen a knight fight like that.
not like a soldier defending his queen, like someone who had already decided how the day would end.
by dusk the enemy line began to falter. it happened slowly at first— the kind of shift only those in the thick of battle could feel. a hesitation in the opposing ranks. a break in their formation. the faint ripple of uncertainty spreading through soldiers who had been confident only hours before.
victory was coming.
you could feel it in the way your army pressed forward, in the cries of soldiers gaining ground across the valley, in the way enemy banners began to retreat toward the distant ridge. the cold air tasted sharp in your lungs as your horse slowed beneath you.
for the first time since the battle began, you allowed yourself to breathe. your eyes moved instinctively through the chaos around you. in your quiet search, you found him several yards away.
sunghoon stood among the scattered bodies and churned mud, his chest rising and falling heavily beneath his armor after hours of relentless fighting. sword remained raised in his hand, the blade streaked dark from battle, the fading light of evening catching faintly along its edge.
even from a distance you could see the exhaustion in the way his shoulders rose and fell. but he was still standing.
still here.
your heart eased in a way you hadn’t realized it needed to. the noise of the battlefield seemed to fade around you momentarily.
he looked up across the broken field, through drifting smoke and falling ash, your eyes met. there was no time for words. no space for anything so fragile. but something passed between you anyway.
he was alive.
you were alive.
the war was ending.
and for one fragile heartbeat, it felt like perhaps the world had decided to be merciful.
sunghoon lowered his sword slightly. then he began moving toward you. each step was slower now, the weight of battle settling into his limbs after hours of relentless fighting. his armor was scuffed and darkened with dust and blood, his breath visible in the cooling air.
but he was walking toward you.
toward the queen he had sworn to protect. toward the woman he had loved long before either of you had understood what that love meant.
and then— the arrow struck. the sound it made was small. so small it almost disappeared beneath the distant shouts of soldiers and the clash of steel still ringing somewhere along the field.
a soft, sickening thud. sunghoon’s breath caught sharply in his chest as his body jerked. he stood there silently and too still, as if the world itself had paused around him.
the arrow had buried itself deep beneath the plates of his armor. right where the metal could not protect him. your heart stopped. no— you could almost hear it beating in your ears. and then a long deafening ringing
“no— NO!”
the word tore from your throat before you could stop it. he staggered slightly at first. you swiftly draw an arrow and followed the direction of where the stray came from, releasing it almost immediately, terminating the man hiding behind an oak tree nearby. your eyes don’t leave until he was choking on the ground from the blade severing his throat. you were almost blind from rage if it weren’t from riki’s scream.
his fingers tightened reflexively around the hilt of his sword as though his body refused to accept what had happened. it seemed as though sheer will alone might keep him upright.
as if the stubborn strength that had carried him through years of training and countless battles might somehow refuse this one final betrayal of flesh and bone.
he lifted his head. across the battlefield, his eyes found yours again. there was something in them you had never seen before.
not fear. not regret.
softer. almost… apologetic.
then the strength left his arm. the sword slipped from his hand. it struck the ground with a dull, lifeless sound.
the kingdom won.
the enemy army scattered into retreat as darkness crept across the valley. soldiers shouted in exhausted triumph. wat horns sounded across the field, signaling victory to the ranks still scattered through the smoke and mud.
but the sound of celebration felt distant.
muted.
like it belonged to a world far away from the one you now knelt in.
you reached him before the others could. your knees struck the frozen ground beside him, the cold barely registering through the shock that had seized your body.
“oh… sunghoon,”
“my love.”
his name broke from you in a whisper this time.
he lay on the ground where he had fallen, armor streaked with dirt and blood, the arrow still buried deep. his breathing was shallow now, uneven, each breath quieter than the last. you gathered his head into your hands without thinking. the metal of your gauntlets scraped softly against his armor as you pulled him closer.
“stay with me,” you cried.
“you took an oath— YOU PROMISED!”
the words sounded unfamiliar coming from your own mouth. his half-lidded eyes opened slowly. it took him a moment to focus, the world had grown dim around him.
when he saw you, something in his expression softened.
he murmured faintly. he called you by your name.
it shattered something inside your chest. “no,” you whispered quickly, shaking your head. “no, don’t—”
“please… my love— don’t..”
for a moment he simply looked at you.
in that quiet moment, the distance that had stretched between you since the crown had touched your hair seemed to disappear entirely.
there was no queen.
no knight.
just the boy who had once followed a stubborn girl up a tree and fell in love, and promised his life to her. his lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something more. but no more words came.
he had broken his promise.
snow began falling again sometime after dusk.
soft flakes drifted slowly from the darkening sky, settling silently across the ruined battlefield. across the two figures kneeling in the center of it all.
you refused to move. your body refused to move him. you couldn’t. couldn’t disturb his peace if it were the last thing you could do. long after the war horns had faded, long after the soldiers had begun clearing the field. you remained there, kneeling beside him as the snow slowly turned the ground white again.
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years passed. at first the passing of time felt unbearable.
days stretched endlessly through the palace halls, each one echoing with memories that refused to fade. court resumed its rhythm eventually— council meetings, diplomatic visits, endless petitions brought before the throne— but grief has a strange way of threading itself quietly through even the busiest hours.
you ruled because the kingdom needed you to. you rode through the capital during festivals, the people cheering for their young queen who had led them through war. but there were moments, often in the quietest hours of the evening, when the weight of everything would settle heavily across your chest.
the kingdom had won the war. peace returned to the borders. the people rebuilt their villages, their lives slowly knitting themselves back together.
yet one absence could never be filled again.
the court, however, could not ignore the future forever. a queen ruling alone unsettled the nobility. advisors began speaking cautiously about alliances, stability, heirs. their voices were careful, respectful, but the meaning beneath their words was always the same.
the kingdom needed certainty. and certainty often came with a crown placed beside your own. you resisted for years. long enough, that whispers began threading through courtly conversations. but even queens could not hold time still forever.
and so, eventually, you agreed.
you married nishimura riki. someone you trusted. someone you know would be by your side all the way. your best friend. and somewhere along the way, you did learn to love him the way he did you.
the wedding was grand in the way royal weddings were expected to be— banners across the capital, bells ringing from every church tower, nobles arriving from distant kingdoms to witness the union.
despite the festives, beneath the celebration, something quieter existed between the two of you. your marriage was not born from passion alone. it was born from understanding.
riki had stood beside sunghoon on the battlefield that day. he had seen the way the knight fought, the way he fell, the way you had knelt in the snow long after victory had been declared.
there were some things neither of you needed explained.
the boy who had once laughed easily on palace balconies had grown into a man who understood the quiet burdens of crowns. he never demanded anything from you that you could not give.
he stood beside you with steady loyalty— not as the mischievous friend who once teased sunghoon mercilessly, but as a king who understood that love could take many forms.
and that sometimes the truest form of love was simply allowing someone to carry their memories without asking them to put those memories down.
together, you ruled well.
the kingdom prospered.
years softened the sharpest edges of grief, though they never erased it completely. sometimes, late in the evening, riki would step out onto the palace balcony and find you standing there alone.
the city lights flickered softly below the hill where the palace stood, the distant countryside stretching into darkness beyond the capital’s walls. your gaze would always drift toward the same direction. toward the distant hills beyond the city. toward the valley where snow had once fallen across a battlefield.
riki never asked who you were thinking of. he never had to.
and sometimes, after a moment of quiet, he would simply step beside you— not to interrupt your thoughts, but to share the silence.
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a century passed. time moved the way it always does — quietly, relentlessly, wearing even the grandest things down to memory.
the old palace became history long before the stones themselves began to crumble. its halls, once filled with candelabras and courtly whispers, eventually stood empty enough to be preserved as relics of a distant age.
castles became ruins.
ruins became museums.
names once spoken with reverence slowly dissolved into pages of history books. the queen, her knight, the kingdom, the war — the world moved on.
and somewhere, far from those echoes of the past, a modern wedding hall glowed with laughter and soft music. a young painter stood quietly before her canvas.
she had been hired to capture the ceremony— not with photographs, but with careful brushstrokes that would preserve the moment in color and light.
the hall was warm and alive. guests moved around her in suits and silk dresses, champagne glasses catching the glow of chandeliers, conversations bubbling softly like water over stones. near the front, the bride laughed nervously, adjusting the lace of her veil.
the painter’s brush moved slowly, tracing shapes of light and shadow, of motion frozen mid-breath.
as she immerse into her work, near the front, something— someone— catches her attention momentarily. a tall young man in a tailored black suit stood beside the groom’s sister, one hand resting lightly in his pocket, his posture relaxed but attentive. someone had mentioned he was a figure skater— his name had drifted through the room like a quiet note of music and yet, she didn’t catch it, out of sheer focus on her job.
then, almost without thinking, he turned his head. and at the exact same moment, the painter looked up.
their eyes met and time stuttered.
it was not recognition. he had never seen her before. but in that instant, the world sharpened, the air itself seemed to hum, and something unnamable brushed against them both— like a memory borrowed from another life.
a slow, tender warmth spread through the painter’s chest. her hand froze mid-stroke, the brush suspended above the canvas.
his heart thudded in a rhythm he did not know he could feel, a quiet insistence that this— this fleeting, impossible moment— meant everything.
no one else noticed. the music played on. guests laughed and murmured, the hall glowing with the mundane magic of celebration. but in the center of the room, woven almost imperceptibly into the painting, a massive cherry tree stood. its branches stretched gracefully, petals suspended mid-fall, a silent witness to the meeting of two souls across time and circumstance. only someone truly looking— truly seeing— would notice it.
across the room, their eyes lingered, slow and careful. a century old longing whispered inbetween, yet neither knew the words. it was sweet. it was quiet. it was the feeling of seeing the love of your life again for the very first time, as though centuries of forgotten lives had conspired to bring them to this single, delicate moment.
and in that pause, in the soft gold glow of the hall, two hearts recognized something eternal.
your brother’s best friend follows you like a puppy from middle school up until college, learning to become a better man because he knows exactly what you deserve.
genre: fluff, romance, brother’s best friend x female reader trope, college au
warning: mention of getting drunk, jealousy, mild depiction of love making
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▶︎ fall ▶︎ catching feelings
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you have known jake since he was eight years old and missing his two front teeth.
back then, he used to trail after your brother like a quiet echo. jay was all noise and energy, bursting through doors and claiming space like it belonged to him. jake, on the other hand, would slip into your house carefully, placing his shoes neatly by the door, greeting your parents with soft politeness.
he was three years younger than you. at that age, three years wasn’t a number. it was a wall.
you noticed the way he looked at you even then.
the way his words tangled when you spoke directly to him. the way he sat up straighter when you entered the room, as if posture alone could make him older. when you’d walk past him, he’d subtly shift his knees aside to make space, though there was always more than enough room. he behaved around you like you were something fragile and revered all at once.
“jaeyun, do you want something to drink?” you would ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.
he would blink too much. “y-yes, please. thank y-you.”
once, you reached over him to open a stubborn jar he had been struggling with. your arm brushed his shoulder. you felt him go rigid under your touch, his breath caught mid-inhale.
“you’ll get stronger,” you teased lightly.
he looked up at you with startling seriousness. “i will.”
you laughed then, not realizing he had made a promise to himself.
at the time, you found it adorable. your little brother’s best friend with a hopeless crush. you never addressed it because it wasn’t childish, it was sincere. so you never teased him either. you let it exist quietly between you, like a secret folded carefully into the lining of your shared history.
but children grow.
and jake did. but not out of you.
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it was a week before valentine’s day when a boy from your class stopped you just outside the school building. he wasn’t dramatic about it. no crowd. no spectacle. just a slightly nervous smile and a small bouquet that looked like it had been picked out with careful thought.
“i know you’re probably busy,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but i was wondering if you’d want to go out on valentine’s day.”
you didn’t even have time to process the question before you felt it— that subtle awareness of someone watching.
jake had come to wait for jay after practice. you hadn’t known he would be there, leaning against the low concrete wall by the gate, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, listening to music through one earbud.
when the boy asked you, jake looked up.
that was all.
he didn’t move. didn’t frown. didn’t interrupt. he watched.
you don’t know why your first reaction wasn’t flattery or excitement— it was worry.
worry that he had to see it.
you turned the boy down gently. you said you were focusing on school. that you weren’t really looking to date. you smiled so he wouldn’t feel embarrassed. you walked away without looking back at jake.
he didn’t say anything about it on the way home.
later that evening, jay mentioned casually over dinner that jake was coming over to play— some game they were determined to finish— but’ll run late as a girl from class had asked him to be her valentine.
“and?” you asked, too neutral, too composed.
jay shrugged. “and? he said yes.”
the word didn’t sting.
it unsettled.
you didn’t know why your chest tightened the way it did. it wasn’t jealousy. it wasn’t even hurt. what was it, then?
you thought of jake at ten, turning red over a glass of juice. you thought of the way he had looked at you by the gate that afternoon— not angry, not upset. just quiet.
you stayed up longer than usual. you told yourself it was because you were studying. but your ears were tuned to the sound of the front door.
it was past midnight.
jake stepped in softly, trying not to make noise. he looked different somehow. there was a faint smell of perfume clinging to him— not yours, not anything familiar. and when he stepped into the light, you noticed it.
a lipstick mark just under his jaw.
not excessive. not scandalous. just… visible.
“it’s late,” you said before you could filter the tone from your voice. it came out softer than you expected.
he shut the door and looked at you, his keys clanking.
for a second, something flickered in his expression— defensiveness, maybe. or confusion.
“how was your date?” he asked.
you blinked. “what date?”
“the guy,” he said, almost too casually. “from earlier.”
“oh.” you shook your head lightly. “i didn’t go.”
you didn’t elaborate. you didn’t say why. you didn’t look at him long enough to let him read into it.
a pause stretched between you.
you noticed then that he seemed less steady than usual. you noticed the shift in his face almost immediately. as if the evening hadn’t gone exactly the way he expected.
“i’m glad you had fun,” you added quietly. and you meant it. or at least you tried to. “goodnight, jaeyun.”
his jaw tightened slightly at that.
something moved in his chest— guilt settling in places he didn’t have words for. he could see it now, the way your shoulders had gone just a little stiff. the way you weren’t teasing him the way you normally would have.
he realized then that he hadn’t wanted to go. he had wanted to prove something— to himself, maybe. that he could move on.
but standing in front of you, with someone else’s lipstick marking his skin, he felt strangely small.
that was the night something shifted. not dramatically. not visibly.
but you became more careful after that.
still kind. still warm. but you stopped initiating the small talks. you stopped lingering in doorways when he was there. you laughed, but not quite as freely. you gave him space he hadn’t asked for.
it was subtle enough that no one else would have noticed.
jake did.
because he had always noticed you.
he never brought it up. he never asked if he had hurt you. he didn’t want to presume that he mattered that much.
instead, he made a quiet decision.
if something had shifted, he would earn his way back.
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by the time you graduated and began working, life shifted again.
jay and jake were in college not long after, and because campus was near your place, the two of them moved in with you. it was practical.
it was dangerous.
sharing a home meant blurred lines.
you would come home late from work, heels dangling from your fingers, exhaustion draped over your shoulders— and jake would already be there in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, cooking something simple for the three of you.
“you should sit,” he’d say. “long day?”
he would stand whenever you entered a room. still as always.
sometimes your fingers brushed when you reached for the same glass. sometimes you’d find him watching you from across the dining table— not boldly, not hungrily— but like you were something he was still trying to earn.
he remembered your schedule better than you did. he noticed when you skipped meals. he left water by your bedside on nights you worked late. if you mentioned being tired in passing, he would take over dinner without comment.
he never flirted.
never pushed.
he simply stayed.
if you reached for something heavy, he was already there. if you came home exhausted, he would look up from wherever he was and his expression would soften, as if the day had shifted into focus.
you told yourself you were imagining it.
you weren’t.
and the worst part was that you had begun to love him.
not suddenly. not recklessly.
gradually. against your will.
you loved the steadiness in him. the way he carried responsibility without being asked. the way he spoke about you to others— like you were remarkable. the way he never made you feel like an object of desire but a choice he was making over and over again in silence.
you never entertained it.
you had felt something for him before. you knew that now. it had been there during high school, unnamed and inconvenient.
but watching him become this— steady, dependable, quietly attentive— undid you completely.
still, you said nothing.
he was younger. that had been the line for so long that crossing it felt impossible.
but he entered college and shed the last of his boyish edges, your resolve began to crack.
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the night everything unraveled began with your phone ringing close to one in the morning.
jay’s name flashed across the screen.
you answered with a sigh. “what happened?”
a burst of laughter on the other end. music in the background. jay’s voice thick with alcohol. “we miscalculated.”
“you mean you got drunk.”
“we’re very responsible drunk people,” he replied solemnly. jay muffled away from the phone. in the background, you heard jake’s voice— lower, clearer despite the noise. “jake, tell her we’re responsible.”
steady but thick with alcohol. “we’re responsible enough to know we shouldn’t drive.”
jay grabbed the phone back. “can you pick us up?”
when you pulled up outside the house party near campus, jake was the first one you saw. he was holding jay upright, one arm firm around your brother’s waist, the other steadying him as he laughed too loudly at nothing.
even drunk, jake was careful.
when he spotted your car, relief softened his features.
“thank you for coming,” he said once jay was settled in the backseat. you smiled when he got into the passenger seat.
the ride home was quiet. jay mumbled incoherently before passing out entirely.
back at your apartment, you helped guide him to the couch, collapsing face-first into a pillow, shoes still on.
jake lingered in the living room, leaning slightly against the wall, cheeks flushed. his eyes softer than usual.
“you should drink water,” you said.
he nodded, watching you instead. the air felt thicker than it should have.
and then his phone rang. the sound cut cleanly through the silence.
he glanced down. you didn’t mean to look— but you did. a girl’s name illuminated the screen. not someone you recognized.
something inside you shifted. not sharp. not angry. just… displaced.
“you should answer it,” you said lightly, already stepping back. “goodnight, jaeyun.” it triggered something in him.
you turned toward the hallway.
“don’t do that.”
his voice was low. unsteady. you paused, looking over your shoulder. “do what?”
“act like you don’t care.”
the phone kept ringing.
“i don’t.”
he let it go to voicemail.
“please,” he said softly. “don’t pretend.”
the alcohol had stripped something raw in him. not recklessness— fear. you held his gaze.
“jake, you’re drunk.”
“i’ve been trying not to say this for years,” he admitted, stepping closer. “but i’m scared of losing you without ever having had you.” you watched him in silence.
“i’ve loved you since i didn’t even know what love was,” he said, voice shaking now. “i tried to bury it. i tried to be younger. older. different. i went out with that girl in high school because i thought you were moving on. i thought i was supposed to.” your breath caught.
“you rejected him,” he continued, eyes searching yours desperately. “i didn’t know. i found out later. and i’ve carried that guilt for years. the look on your face that night… i hated myself for it.”
the memory hit you like a wave.
“i didn’t reject him because i wasn’t interested in dating,” you said quietly. “but because it felt wrong. like i’d be hurting you.” he stared at you. the silence continued to stretch.
he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “tell me i imagined it,” he murmured. “tell me there was never anything there.”
you swallowed.
“you were young,” you said softly.
“that’s not an answer.” his voice wasn’t demanding. it was pleading. you looked at him fully then. at the man he had become.
“i didn’t go that day,” you said, almost absently. “because it didn’t feel right.”
“why?”
for a second, you hesitated.
because you mattered too much.
because losing the way you looked at me would have hurt more than any date could fix.
because i already knew.
but you didn’t say any of that.
instead, you reached up, brushing your thumb lightly over his jaw where a faint shadow had grown in over the years.
“you know, jakey.” you whispered. his breath caught.
you kissed him slowly. years of restraint dissolving carefully rather than breaking. he responded like he had been waiting for permission his entire life.
his hands framed your face first— steady, reverent. when they slid to your waist, they did so with intention, not urgency. he kissed you like he was memorizing you. like he needed to be certain this was real.
“tell me to stop” he murmured against your mouth.
you didn’t.
he carried you to your room as though it meant something more than proximity.
under dim light and tangled sheets, he undressed you slowly— not from hunger alone, but from awe. his hands traced your skin with care, learning you. your fingers curled into his shoulders as his mouth followed, leaving heat in its wake.
when he made love to you, it was measured. deep. a rhythm built from devotion rather than haste. every movement careful, every breath shared. pleasure unfurled gradually, tension winding tight before breaking beautifully.
he held you through it. forehead to forehead. whispering your name like it was something sacred.
afterwards, you lay wrapped around each other, skin warm, sheets twisted.
“i’m never letting you go again.” he said quietly.
this time, there was no doubt in his voice.
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multiple knocks sounded before the door opened and before neither of you could adjust to the light invading your sleepy eyes.
then jay’s voice called casually. “what do you guys want for breakfast? i’m ordering since we forgot groceries—”
you and jake woke beneath the sheets.
jay blinked.
“…pancakes or bacon?” he finished, unfazed. you stared at him in disbelief. jake made a strangled sound beside you.
jay groaned. “i’m hungry.”
“jay—” you started.
“i am not that dumb.” the implication was evident.
you buried your face into jake’s shoulder, half mortified, half laughing. jake exhaled in relief, laughter rumbling through him.
“pancakes,” he called finally.
jay nodded. “good choice.”
when the door shut, silence fell again. you looked at jake as he brushed a strand of hair from your face, smiling softly.
he kissed you again. this time, with gentle certainty. “good choice.” he mumbled against your lips, a smile stretching bigger.
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