Mino is lost. Lost and confused between portals and universes he doesn’t know what to do.
It worked before, hadn’t it? Some managed to settle down, some managed to meet their other halves again.
He’s confused and agonized—and pained.
But no, he tells himself. He managed to always meet Yoon in all universes, in all dimensions—this time, maybe he will. It's a wild bet, an all-for-nothing gamble . . . but anything, anything, if that meant he could have the only person who completed him.
Closing his eyes and muttering a prayer to a god he never believed in (until now), he steps in a universe he hadn’t visited much before.
He’s now dressed in the finest of robes, situated in the grandest of palaces, sitting amidst scholar-looking gentlemen in uniform robes.
They address him as the king.
And from a distance, a lean youth in eunuch’s robes approaches him, scrolls in hand. He bows, and gives the scrolls to Mino—who pales in shock as he sees the eunuch’s face.
“Yoon,” he whispers under his breath, and looks straight in Yoon’s eyes. His heart drops to his stomach when he realizes that Yoon, this time, does not seem to recognize him—a complete contrast to all the times he’d met him before.
Yoon always smiled, his beautiful face glowing and eyes sparkling with joy. But now—
“Your Majesty,” Yoon says, his voice even, “Her Majesty, the Queen, wishes that you meet her tonight.”
“The Queen?” Mino echoes, dread filling him.
“Your wife, I mean,” Yoon clarifies, his eyes tightening slightly for some reason. “She wishes that you meet her.”
Mino feels like he forgot to speak. Or breathe.
“I will,” Mino replies, his voice emotionless, struggling not to drown in the darkest emotions threatening to swallow him.
It’s horror and pain wrapped in hell’s sweet tongues of fire.
Mino sits dazedly on his room, thankful—and honestly, terrified—to be alone. He can sit, he can think through, but most of all, he can let his tears flow.
This is too much, Mino thinks. This is too much of a joke the universe threw on him—did he commit a mistake?
A miscalculation? A wrong decision? A grievous mistake he couldn’t redeem himself from—?
Mino grabs the nearest pillow and screams out.
Later that night, he meets the Queen in his chambers. She is indeed beautiful, intelligent-looking—a perfect woman, he’d heard one of the maids say.
But he can’t see that. He can only see a human girl who is absolutely nothing to him.
“My Lord,” she says, bowing. “I am thankful for your presence. I believe you have been informed by your eunuch on what I want to discuss with you?”
“I meant Seungyoon, my Lord. Your best eunuch at that, I might say.”
A sharp pain pierces Mino’s chest, yet he does his best to conceal it as he says, “No, he hasn’t. He only said about you wanting to see me.”
“Is that so,” the Queen sighs, her eyes downcast. A second later she looks up, her eyes determined, and tells him, “My Lord, do forgive my bluntness, but do you not wish for a child?”
Mino is truly taken aback by her words. “What?”
“U-um, no, I mean, a lot of scholars have been saying that w-we should have a child by now,” the Queen stutters, flustered. “I-I am not rushing, my Lord, b-but just asking, that’s all.”
Mino feels like somebody kicked him in the stomach—or in the nuts, probably.
He’d forgotten this—in the midst of his desperation and longing for Yoon—that he must play his part in whatever universe he’s in. He must never break such rule as a time traveler—otherwise, it would mean heavy consequences.
For example, history may change greatly because of one impulsive decision, causing irreparable distortion in the future.
Mino knows that, Mino understands that, but sometimes he wishes he never did.
“Forgive me,” Mino says after recovering himself. “You are right—indeed we must have a child, an heir to the throne. However,” he pauses, scrambling for words, “I would wish for a peaceful kingdom for our family, for our child not to live in this turbulent period. I would not want to see our child live in war, but in peace. I work hard for it—I hope you understand.”
The Queen stares right into his eyes, genuine surprise and awe in her face. “My Lord,” she breathes, “Never have I thought of that. You are too selfless—please, allow me, as a Queen, to help you on that.”
Mino tightens his mask as a king and husband, and says in a convincing tone, “Of course I will. I shall inform you everything once I set it right.”
“It’s getting late,” Mino murmurs. “I shall return to my room—I am pretty tired.”
“Ah, yes, do so,” the Queen says kindly, and Mino’s heart is gripped with guilt. “Good night, my Lord.”
They rise up, bow at each other, and Mino quickly turns to return to his chambers.
Lies, Mino sneers at himself. How many more lies do you have to spin?
He doesn’t want to return yet, so he takes his time to walk back to his room.
He can definitely ditch this place—leave this universe and try to find Yoon again. It won’t change much, right?
After all, he only borrows this king’s body, but substantially he isn’t the king at all. Even if he leaves this universe, the king will carry on, and history won’t even stutter a bit.
In fact, it would be better if he is gone as there may be no complications in the future.
But Yoon. What if he never meets him anymore? What if this may be the only universe where he can see him for the last time?
Mino pauses, his entire frame trembling—but it is not from the chilly evening air.
Will I stay? Or will I leave?
Both choices will leave me dead, anyway.
Moments later, he reaches his place, and he is surprised to see somebody standing by the doorway.
“Y-Seungyoon?” Mino asks tentatively, trying to see the visitor’s face.
“Ah, Your Majesty,” Seungyoon starts, bowing. “I have been waiting for you.”
“For what?” Mino tries to keep his tone calm, yet his heart beats so fast and hard in his chest.
“There are a few things I’d like to clarify regarding the scrolls I gave you earlier,” Seungyoon informs him.
“Is that so?” Mino remarks, and in a louder tone just in case anyone is eavesdropping, “Come to my study—we’ll discuss those.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
“That would be all, Your Majesty,” Seungyoon wraps up, rolling the scrolls. “Do you have any questions?”
Mino blinks, hearing Seungyoon’s question. Earlier, he tried to focus on the eunuch’s explanation, but he ended up staring instead, memorizing his face. He only listened to the music in his voice—and prayed he would, at least, recognize him.
“I-I have none,” Mino says after a beat. “You have explained them well.”
“Thank you,” Seungyoon breathes in relief. “Would you wish to know more, Your Majesty?”
Yes. Like why do you not recognize me at all. Like why the hell am I a king yet you are a fucking eunuch, Mino wants to say.
“I will inquire you about that tomorrow,” Mino tells him instead. “I’ll read through the scrolls first.”
Seungyoon rises up, about to say his farewells, when Mino grips his hand tightly. His hand is still warm and pinkish as he had remembered, and he still feels the same current flowing through his skin.
This may be the craziest move Mino will ever do, but he has nothing to lose, right?
“Yoon,” he says softly, his voice thick with pain, “do you . . . do you not recognize me?”
Seungyoon’s face is only a calm mask as he stares back at him, which dissolves as soon as he looks at Mino square in the eye.
All Mino sees in his face is recognition—and to his anguish, resignation.
Kneeling down, he cups Mino’s face and murmurs, “Even if I recognize you, even if my soul knows that we are in the same dimension, it will certainly not help us now.”
Mino feels as if frost is starting to crawl up in his body—from the tips of his toes up to his heart. “Why?” he chokes out.
“We can’t, Mino,” Seungyoon whispers, sadness lacing his voice. “Not in this universe, definitely not in this timeline.”
“But I want you!” Tears finally stream out of his eyes, yet Mino doesn’t care anymore. “Stay—stay with me, not just as my eunuch. Please,” he begs.
Seungyoon gently wipes his tears. “You are my king, I am your eunuch,” he murmurs, pain etched in his beautiful face. “We can’t go beyond that.”
Mino tries to grab his face, but Seungyoon stops him. The eunuch holds the king’s hands instead, and softly kisses each tip of his fingers.
Mino feels the flames now engulf him, replacing the cold, desperation and wanting filling him.
His plush, soft lips have never looked this inviting—
Seungyoon, sensing his inner turmoil, lets his hands go.
“Yoon,” Mino breathes, his voice now choked.
“Good night, Your Majesty,” Seungyoon says softly, then stands up, bows, and leaves.
As soon as he’s alone again, Mino crumbles to the floor, tears dampening the wood, and feels himself wither.
He wants to scream, he wants to cry out, but he remains silent in the dead of the night.
He has no more coherent thought left, only infinite pleas for Seungyoon to come back—and never let him go.
“Mino,” a soft voice rouses him awake, and he feels something warm and soft tap his arm. “Mino-ya, wake up, please.”
Mino wills to flutter his eyelids open, and he sees Jinwoo hovering over him, his deer eyes tight with worry.
“Jinwoo . . . hyung?” he whispers, his voice gruff from sleep.
“Thank goodness,” Jinwoo breathes in relief and quickly embraces him gently. “I thought I might never wake you up anymore.”
Mino sits up and rubs his eyes. “What?” he asks, disoriented.
“Mino, you have been asleep for a long time—some nightmarish sleep it must have been for you,” Jinwoo tells him, giving him a glass of water.
It is then that Mino fully takes in his surroundings—he’s in his room, numerous posters of rappers scattered on the walls, his art desk on a corner by the window and a laptop sitting atop the bedside table.
“Hyung?” Mino asks, gripping the older man’s wrist firmly, his eyes wide. “Where am I? When am I? Who am I?”
Jinwoo smooths his hair to soothe his panicking little brother. “You’re in your room, it’s 20XX, and you are Song Mino. You have been asleep for a long while after traveling too much in different dimensions, and you went back here for some reason.”
Mino lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and curls up against Jinwoo. “Hyung,” he whispers, his voice shaky. “Hyung, am I awake now?”
Jinwoo sits beside him on the bed and rubs Mino’s arms soothingly. “You are awake, Mino-ya. Don’t be afraid—hyung’s here. It was only a dream, okay?”
“Hyung,” Mino hides his face on his older brother’s chest, trembling. “Hyung, I don’t want to go back there. It was scary, hyung—it hurt a lot.”
“I was a king,” he whispers. “I was a king, I had a queen . . . and he was my eunuch.”
Jinwoo stills for a second, and holds his little brother closer. He understands what Mino meant; he has always been with him all those times Mino time-travelled, so he knew what to do just in case Mino wakes up confused and lost between sleep and reality.
And just in case Mino wakes up from all his nightmares of losing Yoon over and over again.
“It was only a dream, Mino-ya,” Jinwoo says softly, his calm voice a balm to Mino’s wounded soul. “And you will find Seungyoon again in this universe.”
“Mino, you will—I know you will. You are bound by fate—there’s no way on earth you will always meet him again and again in different parallel universes if you two weren’t.”
Days later, when Mino has finally recovered from his nightmare, he goes out of his apartment to buy some acrylic paints and new brushes. The store is just a few blocks away, so he just walks towards the store.
Halfway, he sees a photo exhibit just a few meters away from the art store. Out of curiosity, he checks out the exhibit—thankfully, it was for free, and there were only a few people present.
The photos are good, Mino remarks, as he takes a look, noting that some of the photos are vintage-looking. However, he stops when he a certain photograph captures his attention.
It is a picture of the purple wildflowers blooming in the spring—the similar flowers he’d once pointed at Seungyoon when they ran away to Jeju in the 1920’s.
No, he realizes as he peers closely. Those were the same flowers.
He backtracks to the photos in the exhibit, and every single picture opens a dam of memories in his mind.
The cherry blossoms in Kyoto.
The London circus in the early 1900s.
The fireworks during the Chinese New Year in Beijing.
The grand ballroom where a lavish dance was held in the Philippines.
The warm countryside in America.
The first snow in Seoul during the Korean War.
The wilderness of Australia.
Wait, Mino stops, staring at the last picture. It was a sketch of a Korean king dressed in blue robes—who distinctly looked like him. Wait, wait wait—whose exhibit is this?!
“I thought you would not come,” a warm, dulcet tone jolts him awake from his thoughts, and he turns to look.
Mino feels as if his breath is knocked out from him.
“Do you like my exhibit, Mino?” the boy asks him, smiling. “I wish you like the photos—you taught me how to take photos, and I hope I did your lessons justice.”
“They’re. . .” Mino starts, breathless. “They’re amazing . . . really. You did well.”
“Is that so?” the boy’s smile widens, and Mino’s heart is in a serious haywire. “Thank you. Well, I was taught well, anyway.”
“Stop exaggerating,” Mino mutters.
They stare at each other for a long time, Mino’s eyes memorizing every single feature in his face. The other seems to do the same, with that same smile Mino will always recognize.
That same smile, that same gaze.
Unable to hold himself back, he embraces the boy tightly in his arms, his head buried in his shoulder. He is still the same—summer strawberry-scented skin, pinkish complexion, warm, warm and soft.
The boy hugs him back, and Mino melts.
They both pull back from each other’s hold, and the boy smiles sunnily at him.
“Hello, familiar stranger,” he says softly, holding Mino’s hand in both of his. “We meet again.”
Mino smiles back. “Hello, Seungyoon. We meet—again.”
