Chapter Text
Jake is five when he sees his first mermaid.
It is during one of his swim lessons, others splashing around in the ocean rather than paying attention to the royal swim instructors. Jake isn't paying attention either, but he can already swim to the roped off area in the shallow water, so he can afford to splash about on his own.
When he sees the bob of dark hair beyond the roped off area, he thinks he's seeing things. When his eyes meet the wide gaze of another human face, he knows that the person is real.
"In the water!" he shouts standing and pointing to where the head is still bobbing along beyond the rope line. "There's someone in the deep end!"
The wide eyes seem to go even wider, and the head quickly ducks under the water. Then, a split second later, a tail splashes. It's beautiful, scales in iridescent blues, greens, and purples. It is more beautiful than anything Jake has seen in the castle, and infinitely more rare. Because Jake knows he has seen the mystical creature that adorns all of his father's ships, the creature that stars in the stories his older brother tells him at night: a mermaid.
"There's no one there," the instructor says, reaching out like he wants to pat Jake's head but then snatching his hand back. No one is allowed to touch the prince. "It was probably an otter."
"It was not," Jake says. "It was a mermaid."
"Sim Jaeyun, stop making up stories and pay attention. What kind of example are you setting?"
Jake meets the sharp glare of the instructor and sinks back into the water, a trembling pout forming on his face. Among the many rules that Jake has to follow at his young age, "setting an example" is one that he hasn't mastered yet, and doesn't even understand really. He wants to argue, wants to say that he's not being fanciful, that he knows what he saw, but he doesn't.
He keeps swimming to the edge of the rope, but he doesn’t see the beautiful tail again.
***
The first time Jake speaks to a mermaid, he's eight.
It is early morning, pre-dawn, the coastal air biting with fog that hangs low over the ground. Every so often, Jake is allowed to go clamming with the kitchen maids. He's a rambunctious child, filled with energy and a desire to climb and dig and run around in circles, so his mother grants him an occasional cold morning to dig in freezing water for the food he will eventually eat for dinner.
"And it is good for him to be seen among the common people," his father would say, though Jake had no idea what that meant. He didn't think the kitchen maids were "common" at all. They could lift bags that were heavier than him and cook his favorite food. When his fingers got numb from the water, red and achy, they barely even reacted to the cold. He thinks that is “super common” – but he knows his tutor would tell him that isn’t a word.
He's attempting to warm up his red and raw fingers – running around along the beach with them shoved under his armpits, when he sees a hunched form in the shallows. He pauses, debating calling for help, when the form turns and he is met with familiar wide eyes.
The mermaid stares at him, an oyster shell in one hand and briney juices dripping down his soft chin. His tail, still the beautiful purple and aquamarine, swishes idly. He looks like he's Jake's same age except with a tail, and Jake can't help his bubble of excitement. Jake, despite popular belief, does not have any friends. (He has playmates of course, other noble boys forced to spend time with him, but it isn't the same as an actual friend.)
"Hi," he shouts, bounding over, but the mermaid tenses and scuttles into the water. "No, no no no! Wait!"
Surprisingly, the boy does. It's low tide, so he lays flat against the silt, only keeping his eyes above the waterline.
"I'm Jake," Jake says, carefully squatting at the water's edge. "I'm looking for clams."
The boy doesn't say anything, but he tilts his head. Jake wonders if he understands, if maybe he speaks another language, like the dolphins or whales. He takes a deep breath, about to try his best dolphin impression, when the boy swims closer. Jake watches with a patience he doesn't normally have as the boy gets close, close enough that Jake can see the way the pale of his skin melts into an even paler blue before it gives way to greenish scales.
The boy holds out his hand, presenting his oyster shell. Jake gingerly holds his hand out as well, and the boy drops the shell into his palm. It is heavy and rough, but the inside is a beautiful swirl of gray and white.
"Thank you," Jake says. He is accustomed to receiving gifts, but not like this, not because someone simply wanted to give him something. Everything Jake has ever received has been out of obligation or a bribe; this shell in his palm makes his insides go warm.
"Do you have a name?"
The boy tilts his head.
"Heeseung," he says. His voice sounds like nothing Jake has ever heard before. It sounds like sunrise and waves lapping against the shore; it sounds like wind through chimes and the gentle patter of rain on tree leaves. It sounds like the very melody of the world, and Jake craves more of it.
"Hello, Heeseung," he whispers. Heeseung smiles, revealing a mouth full of too many round teeth.
"Hello, Jake."
Jake returns to the kitchen maids with pounds of clams. He hauls them in his shirt, sleeves tied in an intricate knot so that nothing falls out.
"My word," the cook says, hefting the makeshift bag up to check its weight. "You must have a touch of the ocean, young Prince."
Jake blushes at the praise, but his stomach also feels a little hollow. It feels wrong, claiming credit for something that is not fully his doing.
He eats his clam soup with a sullen focus, eyes darting to the window with the hope that he will catch a glimpse of Heeseung again even though it is too dark for him to see beyond his own reflection.
***
Jake is eleven when his mother forbids him from going to the fish markets.
She doesn’t tell him directly; of course she doesn’t. He is getting to an age where he is not supposed to be coddled so much, and she takes that separation very seriously.
Except…there are moments when he thinks his mother is scared of him. Or scared for him. Like when he swims far out into the ocean during hot summer days, showing off, she will always wrap him in a towel and hold him close to her, clutching his shoulders so hard that half-moon indents stay for days. When she holds him, he can hear the erratic, panicked beating of her heart.
Or when he takes one of their sailboats out for a day with the royal guards, just to get some fresh air and perhaps catch some fish, she will always be perched on the balcony overlooking the dock, regardless of the time of day, like she had been there the whole time Jake was gone, just watching. It is like she worries that the sea will take him, and he wants to ask her about it, but by the time he moors his boat to the dock and drops off his catch to the kitchens, she inevitably locks herself in her room for the night.
She doesn’t tell him about the fish markets, but he overhears the conversation. Since no one is allowed to make conversation with him, he has gotten particularly good at eavesdropping.
“It is inappropriate,” his mother says. “For him to be seen as a commoner. Like we don’t feed him. Pawning his wares, looking a mess, smelling of sweat and — and —“
“Fish?” His father supplies, and Jake knows that his mother is glaring at him with an intensity that could wither flowers.
“It was fine when he was a boy, but he’s growing up now. There are rules that need to be followed.”
“Is it so bad for him to be seen as kind and hard working?”
“Not like this.”
There is a pause. Jake starts to move his ear away from the ornate door, but then he hears a murmur and places it back.
“It is a high honor,” his father is saying, “to be touched by the sea.”
“Maybe to you,” his mother snaps. “But I will not have my son be accused of being a water witch.”
“No one is saying—“
“I will not give him to the sea,” she hisses. “I don’t care if it’s a blessing, or destiny, or what have you. He is a boy. He is my boy, and I will not let the ocean have him.”
Jake’s heart pounds in his chest. He doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels like the ground is falling out from under him; the world tilts and shifts, and he is hit with a wave of nausea. He stumbles to his room and opens the window so that he can hear the comforting sound of waves hitting the rocks. He is unable to fall asleep, the thought of being separated from the sea too much, so he stares at the twinkling stars through his open window, clutches his blankets, and waits.
He is not allowed to go clamming in the morning, not only because of the Queen’s decree, but because he has come down with a fever. Jake remains in his room, melancholy, alternating between being too hot and too cold.
Occasionally he will lay his cheek on the window sill and watch Heeseung splashing around in the shallows. He wants to call to him but his throat aches and his voice is raspy. Heeseung seems to know, though, like he has a special sensitivity to when Jake is around, because he always looks up towards Jake’s window, smiles, and waves. Sometimes he splashes his tail, tapping out a rhythm that Jake only later learns is the same code used on their ships.
On a day when his fever is particularly bad, Jake creates a sign: I MISS YOU in giant bubble letters. He waits by his window, but that morning Heeseung doesn’t show up.
***
Jake is fourteen when he has his first kiss.
It is from a noble girl, one of the daughters of a Duke or a Lord or someone important that Jake’s father does business with. She is thirteen and taller than Jake is; she is willful and loud and funny. When she and Jake were younger, they used to wrestle together until they were caught and were scolded about the impropriety of such things. Now they stand with enough space between them to fit two other people. That is, until she kisses him.
The girl wants to sneak over to talk to one of her friends that she hasn’t seen in a while. Jake agrees to cover for her. Her smile is bright and she bounces on the tips of her toes in excitement, and then she leans in and smashes her lips against Jake’s.
It’s not anything special; if anything it’s painful. Jake’s lips buzz with a lingering pain and his teeth ache from where her mouth smacked against his, but he can’t stop thinking about it. Throughout the night he keeps touching his lips, pressing down on the spot to see if he can replicate the feeling. (He can’t.)
Jake hasn’t been touched for over a year at this point; he is no longer allowed to rough-house with other boys, he is old enough to dress and bathe himself, and his mother doesn’t even offer him comforting hugs anymore. He hadn’t realized how much he missed contact until the girl had shoved her lips on his, and now he craves it in a way that defies reason.
He’s lost in thought, still pressing his fingers to his lips, when Heeseung splashes him with his tail the next morning. (Jake has found that with his new independence, he can meet Heeseung in the shallows near the caves on the other side of the castle before breakfast. He has built a reputation as a late sleeper so that no one tries to bother him before ten. This gives him plenty of time to sneak down to the water and swim with Heeseung — almost two hours on some days.)
“What are you thinking about?” Heeseung asks, resting his cheek on the rock that Jake is sitting on. There is a slight whistle when he talks because his fangs are growing in and he hasn’t quite gotten used to talking around them. His hair is long and gets into his eyes like strands of tangled seaweed, but he doesn’t bother to move it out of the way. He just blinks up at Jake through his lashes and through his hair, like he’s spying on him.
“Do mermaids kiss?” Jake asks instead of answering. Heeseung scrunches his nose.
“What’s a kiss?”
“It’s like…” Jake trails off. What is a kiss?
“Is it a food? I wanna try it!”
“It’s not a food.” Jake presses his fingers to his lips again. “It’s like…when you like someone. Or love them. You…you touch mouths. To show how much you like them.”
Heeseung tilts his head. “Touch mouths?”
“Yeah.”
“We don’t do that,” Heeseung says.
“So how do you show that you like someone?” Heeseung scrunches his face, so Jake adjusts. “How do your parents show that they love each other?”
Jake knows that Heeseung’s parents are very much in love. He also knows that Heeseung loves his family, and spends a lot of time with his brother. They work together and play together; Jake wonders if Heeseung’s family knows that he spends his morning swimming around a human palace, but he’s afraid to ask.
Heeseung hums. He pushes off from the rock and swims in a lazy circle, occasionally flicking his tail and splashing Jake with drops of cold water. Jake tries to act like he’s annoyed, but he can’t help but smile every time he meets Heeseung’s wide gaze.
“Well…they just do,” Heeseung finally says. “If my dad finds a good crab, he shares it with my mom. They…they hold hands when they swim sometimes. And they dance.”
“Mermaids dance?”
“Of course we do.” Heeseung pauses. His cheeks start to flush a pretty pink, like the sun is rising over the bridge of his nose. “Do you want me to show you?”
“Yeah,” Jake says, eagerly jumping off of the rock and into the water. It’s icy cold, and it knocks the air from his lungs at first. He resurfaces, gasping, teeth immediately starting to chatter. He pushes his hair off of his face and rubs the salt from his eyes. “Wh-what do we do?”
Heeseung takes Jake’s hands in his, and Jake’s heart leaps into his throat. How long has it been since he’s held someone’s hand? He can’t even remember.
“It’s…um, it’s all made up,” Heeseung says softly. “That’s what makes it special.”
“Okay,” Jake says. He can’t stop looking into Heeseung’s eyes. They’re big and round and remind Jake of the oyster shell that Heeseung gave him all those years ago, swirling gray and white in Heeseung’s giant irises.
Heeseung squeezes Jake’s hand and then starts to spin them in one direction, then another. He lets go of one of Jake’s hands and instead runs his cool fingers over Jake’s arm, then across his clavicle, down to his other arm. Jake leans into the touch, breath stuttering in his chest, before he stretches himself out to counterbalance Heeseung’s weight.
They glide through the water, sometimes clumsy and splashing, other times smooth and easy. At first Jake thinks that it is random, but then he starts to feel a rhythm to their movement, a pulse that matches his heartbeat, a beat in time with the swirling waves and frothing bubbles that they create.
And then Heeseung starts to hum. It’s a melody Jake has never heard before, but it tugs at him with familiarity. It sounds like…like the song of the world. It is the stars he watches from his room at night and the wind in his hair and the feeling of the sun baking salt onto his skin when he emerges from the ocean. It is Heeseung’s hand in his and the smooth glide of Heeseung’s scales on his bare legs and the rapid beating of Heeseung’s heart against his chest when they are close together.
And they are. Close. They are close enough that Jake can see the small white pearls that decorate Heeseung’s lashes and around his eyes. He can see the outline of Heeseung’s new fangs protruding under his plush, blue-ish lips. He can see that Heeseung’s hair is a mix of colors — black and brown and green and purple. He can see that the colors in Heeseung’s eyes move, like they’re a swirling riptide, whirlpools that can drag Jake in and never let him go.
He leans in without thinking, his lips finding Heeseung’s easily, fitting over them like that’s where they are meant to be. Heeseung’s mouth is cold and his fangs cause little pinpricks of pain, but Jake doesn’t want to pull away. He feels Heeseung breathe in, then feels him exhale through his nose, warm breath along Jake’s top lip. Neither of them move, not knowing how, just relishing in being close together. When Jake pulls away, he rubs the tip of his nose against Heeseung’s before diving back in and pressing a gentle kiss to Heeseung’s bottom lip.
“That’s a kiss,” Jake says softly, cheeks heating. Heeseung’s face also flushes pink.
“I like it,” Heeseung says. “Will you kiss me often?”
“Okay,” Jake says, leaning in to fit his lips against Heeseung’s once more.
***
Jake is fifteen when he starts having to accompany his father to diplomatic meetings, which makes sneaking out to see Heeseung in the mornings more difficult.
The first day he isn’t able to go to the shallows, he promises Heeseung that it will never happen again.
The second day it happens, he swears up and down that it’s temporary.
The fifth time it happens, Jake is so ashamed and embarrassed he almost goes back to bed rather than face Heeseung and admit that this is their new normal. But the idea of not seeing Heeseung is almost physically painful, so Jake drags himself out of bed, pulls on his swimming shorts and a loose shirt, and sneaks down to the caves behind the castle.
Heeseung is sitting on one of the rocks attempting to comb through his tangled hair with a bent fork. Heeseung’s hair has gotten especially long over the summer, hanging in waves down to his shoulders and always getting into his eyes. Sometimes when they kiss, Jake wraps the strands between his fingers and pulls just to hear the way Heeseung gasps.
Jake lingers on the shore for a moment, watching. Heeseung is starting to fill out; he can see the muscle definition in his arms and along his shoulder blades. There are sharp lines developing along his abdomen, making him look even longer. Pearls are dotted along the bridge of his nose and around his eyes, but they also trail down his neck and along his shoulders. The scales on his tail have changed as well, become larger, more pronounced, like individual shells and jewels make up his tail. He looks absolutely ethereal, like a bejeweled statue that belongs in one of the decorative rooms of the castle.
As if Heeseung can feel Jake’s gaze on him, he turns and catches his eye. Pink flushes along his nose and the tips of his ears, and when he smiles four sharp fangs gleam in the sunlight. Jake’s heart stutters in his chest.
“Can I help you with that?” Jake asks, holding his hand out for the fork as he carefully steps over the stones to get to the rock that Heeseung is sitting on. Heeseung sighs and holds out the fork.
“I don’t understand why it works so well for you,” Heeseung pouts. Jake settles behind him, one leg on either side of Heeseung’s tail. It’s a little awkward, because despite not having legs Heeseung is taller than him, but Jake doesn’t mind the extra reach if it means they can be close like this. He presses a gentle kiss to Heeseung’s shoulder and starts to carefully work through the knots in his hair.
“I use a brush,” Jake says softly.
“What’s that?”
“It…it’s made of…well other hair actually. So it’s like a broom for your hair.”
“I don’t know what a broom is.”
“It’s like…” Jake starts, then trails off with a chuckle. He parts another section of Heeseung’s hair. “Why do you want to know? You’ll never have to use one.”
“Because it’s a part of your world,” Heeseung says simply. “I want to know the things that you know. I want to be able to talk with you. Like an equal.”
“You are my equal,” Jake says. “Of course you are.”
Jake knows that Heeseung is considered royalty for his family, too. Even if he wasn’t enamored with him, Heeseung deserves the same respect that Jake owes other people of noble birth.
“Of course I am,” Heeseung parrots. He looks over his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “So tell me what a broom is.”
Jake takes a section of Heeseung’s hair and holds the ends together so it looks like the end of a broom. (Well, it looks like the end of a paintbrush, but close enough). He holds the hair in front of Heeseung’s nose and giggles when Heeseung goes cross-eyed trying to look at it.
“You take a bunch of straw and bind it together until it looks like this, and then you can use it to sweep floors. It helps get rid of dirt off of the ground.” He brushes the hair along the tip of Heeseung nose, then releases it and goes back to detangling.
“So a brush is like my comb, but made with hair.”
Jake chuckles at the concentration in Heeseung’s voice. He holds up the bent fork and shrugs.
“Well, first of all, this is a fork. It’s what we eat with.”
Heeseung whirls on him, cheeks turning a dark shade of red. He opens and closes his mouth, then shoves Jake’s shoulder before he dives into the water. Jake laughs and wipes the stray water droplets off of his face; he’s surprised the water doesn’t start steaming where Heeseung’s face touches it.
Heeseung resurfaces just enough to glare at Jake, pearl-crusted eyebrows slanted down.
“You jerk! You could have told me I was using a utensil!”
“To be fair, a comb is basically just a fork with more tines.”
Heeseung glares harder, so Jake lays on his stomach and reaches one hand out, flicking the water with his fingers.
“C’mon,” he says softly. “Let me finish? I like combing your hair.”
Jake can see Heeseung’s will wavering. The deep crease between his brows slowly vanishes as his eyebrows shift to a more neutral position. His lips twitch with a small smile that he bites down, but he sighs and pulls himself back up onto the rock. Jake scrambles back to a sitting position, his mouth going dry at the sight of Heeseung’s muscles rippling under his skin as he situates himself. (Jake has been having dreams of his lips tracing along the divots of Heeseung’s muscles, and then he wakes up covered in sweat and…something else. Something he doesn’t want to think about.)
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Jake combing Heeseung’s hair and Heeseung’s tail splashing a random beat against the water.
“I’m sorry that I can’t see you every day,” Jake says as he starts to comb through the last section. “I really want to, I just—“
“It’s okay,” Heeseung says, cutting him off. “You have responsibilities.”
“You have responsibilities, too.”
“Yes,” Heeseung says, “but they’re different. We’re different.”
“I know we’re different,” Jake says. He can feel exasperation rising in his throat, but he isn’t sure where it’s coming from or why he feels the way he does. “But you still make the time to see me and I feel like…I don’t know. I should be making more of an effort.”
“You do make an effort.” Heeseung looks over his shoulder, and Jake realizes, then, how close they are. He can count every single pearl that dots Heeseung’s lashes, can see the waves rippling in his eyes, can feel Heeseung’s breath on his lips when he talks.
“You cannot come any farther out to see me,” Heeseung murmurs. “I can breathe your air, but you can’t breathe mine. Coming to meet me here, it’s enough Jaeyun.”
Jake feels his entire body flush. He normally hates it when Heeseung uses his formal name; he doesn’t even know how he learned it because Jake never says it out loud. But for some reason, hearing it now makes his body tingle with an emotion that he cannot name.
“I want to do more, though.”
“What more can you do?”
“I don’t know.”
Jake’s voice cracks in his desperation. He hates it; he hates sounding whiny and petulant. He hates sounding like a child. He rests his forehead against Heeseung’s shoulder, unable to handle maintaining eye contact and takes a deep breath. He can feel Heeseung shifting around, and then he’s gone slipping back into the water. Jake blinks at him, surprised that his vision is misty, even more surprised when he feels tears drip down his cheeks.
“You are doing what you have to do,” Heeseung says softly. “Besides, if your family found out about me they’d probably kill me and stuff me to keep in one of their trophy rooms.”
Jake’s stomach drops. He feels as if he has swallowed a large, cold stone.
“They wouldn’t do that.”
Heeseung tilts his head. “Wouldn’t they?”
“You’re revered. We make statues of you.”
“Yet you tell stories of how we eat you, how we drown you, how you tame us and use us for pleasure. We are your monsters of the deep and we are your fantasies.”
Jake thinks about the dreams he’s been having, and his stomach knots even more.
“Well don’t you? Eat us? Drown us?”
Heeseung’s eyes go pitch black, even the whites of his eyes go black. Jake is reminded of a time when he was younger, maybe six or seven, and he swam too far out and encountered a baby shark that had likely also lost its way. He remembers staring into those cold, dark eyes, knowing that despite them being the same size, the fish could rip him apart.
He knows that Heeseung is a predator. His tongue has brushed against the second row of teeth, tiny, sharp points that had shredded his tongue and left him incapable of eating solid foods for a week. Heeseung’s nails are long like talons, and even his scales are weapons. (Jake had made the mistake of petting Heeseung’s tail against the grain, brushing his hand up instead of down. Each scale had sliced into his hand, ribboning it like he’d put it through a grater. Heeseung had panicked while Jake had just stared, in awe that Heeseung could hurt him so badly by doing absolutely nothing at all.)
“If we eat you it’s because you’re dead already,” Heeseung says, his voice like the wind during a tropical storm. “And if we drown you it’s because it’s deserved.”
“I believe you,” Jake says, and not just because he has a mind for self preservation, but because he’s sure that humans are worse than mermaids. He has studied history, knows of wars and brutality. He reaches for Heeseung’s cheek and thumbs along his prominent cheekbone.
“I don’t want to fight,” he whispers. “Please don’t be mad.”
Heeseung blinks and his eyes return to normal. They seem even wider, wide and…terrified. Jake watches in horror and fascination as they fill up with tears and then spill over. For some reason he thought mermaids couldn’t cry.
“I’m sorry,” Heeseung sobs. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not mad, I’m not.”
Jake cups Heeseung’s cheeks and leans in so that their lips meet. He kisses Heeseung with soft, tender kisses, not pulling away even when the edges of the rock dig uncomfortably into his sternum. They kiss, and they cry, and they kiss some more, and when Jake finally has to go back inside his eyes are puffy and his lips are swollen. His handmaiden questions if he has a food allergy and makes an appointment for him to see the castle doctor, who gives him a knowing smile and squeezes his shoulder.
“Be careful,” the doctor says softly as he prescribes him a lip balm with medicinal properties. “Keep it up, and you will get caught.”
Jake goes down to the water the next day even though he is supposed to be having breakfast with some Duke’s daughter. He is in a suit that is stiff and uncomfortable, and his hair has been slicked back with a gel that makes it feel like he’s wearing a helmet. He wants nothing more than to strip off his clothes and dive into the water, but he knows that he can’t. It’s bad enough that he will be late as it is.
Heeseung double takes when he sees him, eyes widening and mouth dropping open.
“Wow,” Heeseung says. “You shouldn’t have dressed up for me. I’ll get you all wet.”
Jake rolls his eyes fondly and squats on the rock, careful to keep himself dry.
“I brought you something,” he says, then holds out the lump of fabric he’d been clutching in his hand. Heeseung eyes him, then carefully takes the small package. Jake watches as the fabric darkens with moisture as Heeseung unwraps it, then watches Heeseung’s face.
Heeseung blinks as he carefully holds up the jewel encrusted comb. It is made of jade and its handle sparkles with peridots, rubies, diamonds, and pearls. Jake had snuck out and purchased it in the night market, spending far too much money and getting heckled for “spoiling the lucky lady.”
“It’s a comb,” Jake explains when Heeseung doesn’t say anything. “See? I told you it was just a fork with more tines.”
Heeseung stares at him, mouth opened slightly like he wants to say something. Jake’s palms feel so sweaty with nerves that he’s afraid he’s going to melt into a puddle.
But then Heeseung smiles, wide and lovely, and he clutches the comb to his chest.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispers. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The relief Jake feels is so great that he is unable to hold himself up; he drops to his knees, wincing as the standing water seeps into the material of his pants.
And since he’s already wet, he allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss. And since the collar of his shirt gets wet from Heeseung’s hand, he allows himself to dive into the water and kiss Heeseung deeper, hold him closer, dance with him in the shallows until they can no longer kiss because they are smiling too hard and laughing too much.
***
Jake is sixteen when he gets sent away.
He is simultaneously surprised it has taken his parents so long to become fed up with him, and shocked that they would ship him off so suddenly.
“You are going to stay with your cousin,” his mother announces at dinner.
It is a random Wednesday evening. There hadn’t been any meetings in the morning, which meant that there were no Dukes (or Duke’s daughters) for Jake to inadvertently piss off in some way. It had been a good day actually; the sky had been clear and Jake had been on his best behavior. The announcement makes no sense.
“Oh,” Jake says, stirring the fish stew in his bowl. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
His spoon clatters into his bowl.
“Why?”
His mother’s brows furrow. “Are you questioning my authority?”
Jake knows that he should say no, knows that he shouldn’t aggravate the situation, but it just makes no sense.
“Yeah,” he says, petulantly crossing his arms over his chest.
His father seems to sense the potential for a sudden escalation, which would quite possibly result in soup and bread being thrown across the table, and cuts in before either of them can say anything else.
“It is important for you to visit other kingdoms,” he says, not unreasonably. “You need to learn how things work among those we are allies with. You need to expand your horizons.”
“You never sent my brother away.”
“He accompanies your father when he goes abroad.”
“So why can’t I do that?”
His parents share a look, and Jake feels anger swell within him. He’s not an angry person, and the boiling feeling, like he’s catching heatstroke, is as uncomfortable as it is righteous. How dare they make decisions about his life for him?
“Jaeyun,” his father says slowly. Gently. “You have different responsibilities. You’re different, that’s all.”
Jake hates that word: different. Different never means anything good. He was different because he could glide across the water better than others, because he could sail faster, catch more fish, and always find the best spots for clamming. Different, so he was forbidden from the sea. Different, so he could no longer go out in public on his own. Different so he has to be sent away.
“You are no longer a child,” his mother says, her voice also surprisingly gentle. “Think of this as your duty. The next step of your studies.”
“If that is how I’m meant to think of it, then what is it really?”
Neither of his parents answer him.
He knows there is something else, something that they know about him…a threat maybe – that they are afraid to tell him about. They have access to the best tutors in the world. Jake is an avid reader and has already mastered lessons far beyond his years. Despite his tardiness, and occasional damp clothing, Jake does pay attention in the diplomatic meetings that he is forced to attend. There is nothing that Jake will learn at his cousin’s palace that he cannot learn here, which means there is another reason.
He wishes his parents hated him; at least then he would have some understanding of why he has to go. But he knows that they love him, and worse, when they dismiss him from the table, he can tell that they are worried. They are scared, either of him or for him, and Jake doesn’t know which is worse.
He sneaks out that night with a blanket and makes his way to the tide pool behind the castle. It’s high-tide, which means he has to sit closer to the castle in order for his usual rock to slowly be revealed. It’s pointless to be out so late…or so early, depending on how one looks at it, but he wants to catch Heeseung as soon as he arrives. He doesn’t want to waste a single moment.
He clutches his blanket around his shoulders and watches as the tide slowly goes out, waves pulling farther and farther back, revealing the large flat stone that he and Heeseung usually sit on. He crosses to it as soon as he is able and sits down, even though it is wet and occasionally waves hit the rock with enough force that he catches their spray. He is feeling impatient, and it is worth being wet and cold if it means that he will see Heeseung sooner.
He is falling asleep sitting up, eyes heavy and itchy with exhaustion, when he sees the flap of a purple-green tail. Heeseung pops up, squeaks, and dives back into the waves. When he comes up again, he’s at the rock, eyes wide and curious, fingers tugging at Jake’s blanket.
“What are you doing out here so early?” he asks. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake says. His lips feel numb and his tongue feels clunky in his mouth. He attempts to stretch his fingers; they ache and crack with the cold.
“Did something happen?”
“I’m going away,” Jake says. Heeseung blinks at him like he doesn’t quite comprehend what he’s saying, and Jake’s heart rises into his throat. He feels like he’s going to be sick.
“Away…where?”
“Another palace.” Jake pauses, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “It’s inland. Not by the sea at all.”
“Oh.” Heeseung’s tail swishes back and forth in the water in a slow rhythm. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. A year maybe?”
“Oh,” Heeseung says again. “When do you leave?”
“Today.”
That pulls a reaction from Heeseung. He straightens up, eyes narrowing and going black in his anger. His fangs protrude over his top lip, digging into the plush bottom one.
“You’re leaving today and you didn’t say anything?”
“I didn’t know.”
Heeseung blinks at him, and when he does his eyes go back to normal. Jake takes in a shaky breath; all of the world looks misty, like there is a film over his eyes. He’s afraid to blink, afraid that if he does he’ll set himself crying.
“There’s something going on,” Jake whispers. “I don’t know what it is, and I’m scared. And pissed off. And I don’t want to go.”
“I don’t want you to go either,” Heeseung says, reaching up so that he can cup Jake’s heated cheek with his cool hand. “But a year isn’t that long, really.”
Jake keeps it to himself how much can change in a year. He swallows down the urge to say that a year without Heeseung feels like an eternity. He bites his lip, keeping all of the words inside, and nods.
“I’ll be here when you come back,” Heeseung says. “You just have to come back.”
“Of course I’ll come back,” but Jake’s voice sounds croaky and uncertain. Heeseung tilts his head, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but Jake is beyond words. He dives forward, pressing his mouth against Heeseung’s, uncaring of the bite of Heeseung’s fangs against his lips and tongue. It is desperate and frenzied and messy, drool and blood down his chin and neck. He clutches at Heeseung’s hair, at his shoulders, and the rock that he sits on, at anything that will make this moment feel more real, more solid, because he feels like he is about to float away into the atmosphere.
“Prince Jaeyun!”
Jake pulls away from Heeseung with a gasp and checks over his shoulder. His handmaiden and two porters are at the shore, all of them looking nonplussed at having to venture outside on a blustery morning.
“What on earth are you doing?” his handmaiden calls.
“I–” Jake looks around him, but Heeseung is nowhere to be seen. He touches his lips; they are chapped and raw. He sighs and pushes to his feet; his joints creak from having sat outside for so long, and he realizes as he waddles back that his feet are completely numb.
“Did you sleep outside?” his handmaiden scolds, wrapping his blanket even tighter around his shoulders as she ushers him inside. “You’re lucky you didn’t catch your death.”
“Yeah,” Jake mutters. He checks over his shoulder one more time, but the shallows are completely still. It’s like Heeseung never existed. “Lucky.”
***
Sunghoon’s palace is pretty. There are some rooms that remind Jake of home, and while he knows it’s because Sunghoon’s family is a minor family trying to live up to the main palace, Jake still appreciates it. It almost feels like his father and Sunghoon’s father went shopping at the same time, buying two of the same navy-blue armchairs to put in each of their libraries, or ordering the same seashell trim to line the baseboards of the bathroom. It is enough to lessen the blow of his homesickness.
Sunghoon shows him to his room, a large suite that is situated right next to Sunghoon’s.
“This door connects our rooms,” Sunghoon says, opening the door to reveal a similar, if not messier, room on the other side. “So if you need something, or just…want to come visit. You can sneak in that way.”
“Do we have curfews? Am I not allowed to use your main door?”
Sunghoon shrugs. He’s had a growth spurt since the last time Jake saw him, so he’s now taller than Jake is. He slouches though, hands in his pockets, like he isn’t sure how he feels about his new height.
“There’s no curfew,” he says. “I just think it’s funner to use the secret door.”
Jake grins. “Fair enough.”
He wanders to the window and looks outside, his chest aching when he is greeted with the sight of fields and trees instead of the ocean. He feels too warm, suddenly. The air in the room is stuffy and he presses his forehead against the glass as he tries to get the window open. Even the resulting breeze doesn’t help though; it smells like grass and earth, nothing like the sharp salty sea air.
“When the wind blows through the grain, it’s almost like a field ocean,” Sunghoon murmurs. Jake watches the rippling of the grass; it does remind him of waves, but it’s not the same. His spit gets thick in his mouth.
“I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, then unceremoniously leans out of the window and vomits.
Jake is sick for two weeks. The Queen sits with him sometimes, mopping his brow with cool water as he tosses and turns in a bed that is not his – far too big and far too hot. He whines and cries that he wants to go home, but she shushes him, remarkably never losing her patience even as the days pass by.
“Travel sickness is common,” she tells him. “You are in a new place with new air and new food. You will take time to adjust.”
“I don’t want to adjust,” Jake cries, clutching a pillow to his chest. His sleep shirt clings to his back with sweat and all of his body aches. It feels like there is a roiling in his gut, a churning of all of his organs, like his insides are trapped in a whirlpool while his outsides remain still. It’s agony.
“I want to go home,” he groans, then promptly upchucks all of his stomach contents again.
They don’t send him home. He remains in the bed until there is no more liquid in his body to sweat or vomit out, and then he lays there some more, feeling as if he’s on the brink of death. At the height of one of his fevers he ends up writing a letter to Heeseung; it is filled with spelling errors and sloping words and messy scribbles.
Dearest Heeseung,
I fear I am dying. I don’t want you to think that I forgot about you, so I want you to know that I am dead. I’m sorry about that. I really didn’t want to die. Or leave.
Everything hurts and I miss you.
Your love,
Jaeyun
But Jake doesn’t die.
On day fifteen his fever breaks. And on day twenty-six he is deemed well enough to leave the bed for short walks around the castle.
He feels like a newborn calf when he steps out of bed for the first time; his porter has to catch him when his knees give out.
“If you’re not ready–” the man starts to say, but Jake waves him off. He is tired of being in bed, and if he doesn’t go outside he will fling himself out of the window.
He is bathed in scalding water and scrubbed until his pale skin shines pink. By the time he is primped and perfumed and dressed in pressed slacks and a stiff waistcoat, he almost feels like himself again. (No amount of scrubbing will put weight back into his gaunt cheeks or erase the dark circles from under his eyes, but the Queen assures him that he will look well again in time.)
He walks with Sunghoon in the palace garden, leaning against his friend when the fragrance of the flowers becomes too much in the still air and he starts to feel lightheaded. He is not used to being in a place where the wind isn’t constant; by the sea the air is always fresh, always moving. Here it feels like the heat is a bubble that will never pop.
“So,” Sunghoon says with a forced casualty that immediately makes Jake’s shoulders rise up in defense. “Did you get sent here because of Heeseung?”
Jake feels an icy rush go down his spine. For a moment he’s worried that his fever has relapsed, but then the sensation passes and he just feels hollow.
“What?”
Sunghoon shrugs. He’s staring straight ahead, refusing to catch Jake’s eye.
“I saw your letter. The one you wrote when you were sick.”
“Oh.”
Sunghoon must hear something in his voice, or maybe he can feel Jake stiffen underneath him. He finally looks at Jake, his thick eyebrows raising to make some expression of…pity? Sympathy?
“It’s hidden away at the bottom of my jewelry box if you want it,” Sunghoon says. “I didn’t want anyone to find it, but also you’re not dead so I don’t think you have to worry about sending it.”
“Shred it,” Jake says, his voice shaky. “There’s no reason to hold onto it.”
Sunghoon nods, lips pursed. They start to walk again, Jake leaning a bit more heavily on Sunghoon’s shoulder. The air feels heavier, and Jake knows in his bones that a storm is coming. His bones hurt with a throbbing pulse, but he is sure that the ache he feels in his chest is from something else, something he doesn’t want to think about.
“Is that why you’re here?” Sunghoon asks again. “Because you fell in love?”
Jake snorts and pushes away from Sunghoon, but he’s not strong enough to hold himself up so he stumbles into the grass. The landing rattles his teeth, and it makes his laugh come out harsh and defensive.
“I’m not in love.”
“You signed it ‘your love’.”
“That’s just how you sign letters!”
“That’s not how I sign my letters.”
Jake groans and lays on his back, flopping his arm over his eyes. “Whatever.”
He hears shuffling and Sunghoon’s footsteps in the grass. A shadow passes over his face, and when he peeks from under his arm Sunghoon is squatting down beside him, careful to not get his clothes dirty. Sunghoon is younger than him, but follows the rules of being a prince much better than Jake does.
“That’s not why I was sent here,” Jake says at last. “I don’t know why I was, but it’s not Heeseung. Nobody knows about him.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
Jake turns his head and stares at the waves of tall grass beyond the perfectly manicured parts of the garden.
“Do you have any magical folk?” Jake asks suddenly. “Fae or pixies or…I don’t know. Land sirens?”
Sunghoon snorts. “Land sirens?”
“You know what I mean. There must be some magic out here.”
Sunghoon’s brows furrow. “Yeah, there’s some folklore, I guess.”
“We have mermaids,” Jake says.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon says slowly. “But Jake, none of that stuff is real.”
“Yeah,” Jake mumbles. He feels heavy. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
“What does this have to do with Heeseung?”
“Nothing.” Jake sighs and squeezes his eyes shut against the glaring sunlight. “Nothing at all.”
***
Jake is seventeen when he loses his virginity.
He thinks that’s a weird way of putting it. It’s not lost. He knows exactly where it’s gone, but there is a feeling, he supposes. A lingering…something. It’s not quite guilt, but it’s not excitement either. Perhaps it’s just a knowing, a shift, an acknowledgement that something has changed – maybe not drastically, but just enough.
“I’m getting married,” Sunghoon says, rather abruptly, while they’re eating breakfast. Jake chokes on his yogurt, and Sunghoon laughs as the white liquid simultaneously flies across the table and dribbles down Jake’s shirt (and gets in his nose, which makes Sunghoon laugh even harder).
“You’re what?” Jake sputters, trying to surreptitiously blow his nose while one of the maids aren’t looking at him – he gets scolded enough for being too unbecoming for a prince. Whatever that means.
“I’m getting married,” Sunghoon repeats. “My parents and his parents have spoken and decided that we are a suitable match. We will start courting next week, and then we will be married within three months.”
“Within three months?” Jake’s voice reaches a decibel range that his vocal cords can no longer support, so it cracks horribly. “That…that’s so soon! And you’re younger than me! What?”
Sunghoon shrugs like he can’t be bothered by things so silly as time or age. Though Jake knows better; Jake knows that Sunghoon wouldn’t have brought it up like this if he thought it was no big deal. When Sunghoon doesn’t care about things, he doesn’t mention them at all. Sunghoon blindsiding him like this means that he’s feeling deep emotions about the whole situation; it’s just up to Jake to figure out what exactly those emotions are.
“I’m the oldest,” Sunghoon says softly. “It’s different for me. I have to start my legacy or something.”
“Your legacy?” Jake repeats. “But they’re marrying you to a guy.”
“Expansion,” Sunghoon says with a shrug. “I think my parents care less about me producing a legitimate heir through natural means than me securing more land for us now.”
“That’s fucked up,” Jake says before he can get a grip and filter his words. Four heads snap towards him with equal expressions of disgust. Jake’s cheeks flush and he cowers in his seat.
Sunghoon doesn’t seem to mind the glowering from the maids in the room. He shrugs.
“That’s business.”
“That’s still fucked up.”
“Prince Jaeyun,” one of the maids scolds, and Jake rolls his eyes.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he says, pushing out his own seat before one of the porters could run over and do it for him. He finds it stifling to have someone over his shoulder constantly, pulling out his chair or filling his plate or carrying his bags. It makes him feel weaker than he already is.
And he is. Weak. Unlike what the Queen had promised, Jake has not fully recovered. He is still too thin, unable to hold down much of his food, and the dark circles under his eyes seem like permanent features. His jawline is sharpening as he gets older, but that only makes him look more gaunt because his cheeks are sunken in. His skin has a sickly pale color, and when he stands up too quickly the world tilts on its axis. Like it is doing right now. He clutches the table and breathes through his nose, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
“Are you alright?” Sunghoon asks carefully, hovering close enough to catch Jake if he goes down, but giving some distance so that he doesn’t feel overcrowded.
“I’m fine,” Jake grits out.
It takes thirteen breaths before the room stills and Jake is able to stand up fully. He pulls on his waistcoat and smiles. Sunghoon smiles back. It is a game they play, pretending they are okay when everything feels terribly wrong.
They walk out to the gardens together, arm in arm, Jake accepting the assistance by pretending they are simply friends out for a walk and not because he needs it. He hates feeling so helpless.
“How do you really feel?” Jake asks once they are out of earshot of the others, nothing but the trees and birds to hear their conversation. Sunghoon shrugs.
“I’ve met Sunoo before,” he says. “A few times. He’s nice. So I guess I’m grateful for that; at least I know the person I’m marrying is someone I can have a conversation with.”
“But…?” Jake prods, and Sunghoon sighs.
“It’s really fast,” he admits quietly. “And I’m scared. There’s…we’re supposed to consummate, you know. And I’ve never even kissed anyone before.”
“Oh,” Jake says, his cheeks suddenly going hot. For some reason, this wasn’t anywhere that he thought the conversation would go, and he finds himself wholly unprepared to discuss consummation with Sunghoon.
Sunghoon looks at him with a scrutiny that makes Jake’s blush burn even hotter. He hates the slow smirk that graces Sunghoon’s perfect features, exposing one sharp tooth. Jake’s stomach flips.
“You’ve kissed before,” Sunghoon says. He doesn’t ask; he states it like fact, and Jake unfocuses his eyes on the ground. Sunghoon’s fangs remind him of Heeseung; kissing reminds him of Heeseung, and thinking of Heeseung hurts too much. He spends most of his time trying to forget about Heeseung.
“I…” Jake starts, but what is there to say, really? He shrugs, and Sunghoon nudges his shoulder with a loud laugh.
“You dog!” he shouts, filled with an excitement that Jake doesn’t think he’s seen on Sunghoon ever. “Was it with the boy you wrote the letter to when you were sick? Have you kept in touch? Please, I want to know everything.”
Jake’s stomach churns unpleasantly in his gut. He’s worried he’s going to barf up his breakfast all over the Queen’s beautifully tended flowerbeds. He groans and shakes his head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, and there must be something in his tone because Sunghoon’s smile immediately drops. He squeezes Jake’s shoulder, then steers them to a bench that is shaded by a weeping willow.
“I’m sorry,” Sunghoon says once they are seated. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay,” Jake mumbles. “It just hurts.”
“Of course,” Sunghoon says. “I understand.”
But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know that it hurts, really hurts, a physical ache that Jake can feel in his chest but also in all of his bones. Thinking of Heeseung makes him feel like all of his atoms are going to combust, that he’s filling with water and is drowning from the inside out. Thinking of Heeseung brings a pain that is insurmountable; sometimes he dreams of him and wakes up in bed, sweaty and shaking and crying, in too much agony to move. Sunghoon doesn’t know that, even though it is sometimes more painful, Jake has been practicing not thinking of anything at all, trying to make himself numb to all sensation. It works sometimes; he is able to move through the world in muted shades of gray. He hasn’t decided which feeling he hates more.
“Could you help me?” Sunghoon asks, the question sudden after long minutes of tense silence. Jake rolls his head on his neck so that he can look at Sunghoon, look at the way his eyes are determinedly focused on the pond in front of them, brows furrowed, teeth gnashing against his bottom lip.
“Help you with what?”
“Kissing.”
Jake’s body gets hot and tingly. He snorts, but Sunghoon doesn’t laugh.
“We’re cousins,” Jake says, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes.
“No we’re not,” he says flatly. “We’re allies. They just give us family names so we’re less likely to go to war with each other.”
Jake shrugs. It’s true; he knows it’s true, and he doesn’t think of Sunghoon as a family member either. He hardly knew Sunghoon and his family before he came to live here, and it has honestly felt more like a boarding school experience (at least, how he imagines a boarding school experience would be) than anything else. It feels like his parents shipped him off because they couldn’t deal with him anymore, uncaring of who with, and Sunghoon’s parents accepted his parents' money in exchange for feeding an extra person. (And since Jake can’t really eat, it’s almost like he isn’t there at all – a win for everyone except himself.)
“Me and Sunoo were ‘cousins’ before they decided we should be married. Now we are ‘friendly acquaintances.’”
Jake snorts, and Sunghoon follows suit. Soon they’re both chuckling, leaning into each other, shoulders bumping as one gets the giggles and the other follows.
“It’s all so silly,” Sunghoon murmurs, slouching down so that he can rest his cheek on Jake’s shoulder. Jake hums in agreement and leans his head on top of Sunghoon’s. “I know it doesn’t matter that I don’t have experience, but…I feel like people expect it?”
“People?”
“They watch, you know,” Sunghoon mumbles. “When you fuck for the first time.”
Jake’s eyebrows furrow. He’s never heard Sunghoon curse before. It makes his stomach lurch because he knows how uncomfortable the whole situation is for Sunghoon, and he hates that he can’t do anything to make it better.
“I thought that practice was outdated,” Jake says. Sunghoon huffs out a dry laugh.
“In some places, maybe. In your kingdom, perhaps.”
Jake shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. My parents never spoke about marriage. Honestly, I think they’ve forgotten about me completely. I think they hope I will die over here and they’ll never have to think about me again.”
Jake has never spoken his true feelings about why he was sent away outloud, and hearing the words almost surprises him as much as they clearly surprise Sunghoon. Sunghoon sits up and grips Jake’s hand so hard that his fingers ache.
“I’m sure that isn’t their intention,” Sunghoon says, but there is an uncertainty in his voice. Jake understands; their parents are playing a long game of chess, and they are pawns on the board just like everyone else. Who knows what their true intentions are.
Jake pulls his hand from Sunghoon’s grasp and turns to face him; he doesn’t want to be the center of attention, especially when there is nothing they can do about his situation. Sunghoon’s inexperience and fear about disappointing Sunoo – and whoever may be watching them when they get married – that is something they can address.
“You can practice on me,” Jake says firmly. “Kissing, touching, anything. I don’t care.”
Sunghoon’s brows furrow. “Don’t say it like that. It matters if you don’t want to.”
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to,” Jake says. He grabs both of Sunghoon’s hands in his; Sunghoon’s hands are dry compared to his own clammy fingers. He’s so tired of feeling sickly.
“I care about you,” Jake continues. “I don’t have anyone to impress, so what else is there for me to care about?”
Sunghoon sighs and pulls his hands from Jake’s grasp. He cups Jake’s cheeks instead, staring into his eyes even though it makes Jake squirm. The only person who ever looked at him like this was Heeseung, and Sunghoon is nothing like him. His eyes are a dark brown, and they narrow when he looks at Jake like he’s doing calculations in his head.
“I care about you,” Sunghoon says, and then his eyes flutter closed and his lips are on Jake’s, firm and chaste. Jake can feel the press of Sunghoon’s canines on his bottom lip, and his chest aches, thinking of the way his tongue would brush teasingly over Heeseung’s fangs when they kissed.
Jake cups the back of Sunghoon’s head and tilts his own, licking along Sunghoon’s lips to deepen the kiss. He doesn’t think of technique; he doesn’t think of much of anything other than trying to categorize all of the ways that Sunghoon is not Heeseung. Sunghoon smells like jasmine and freshly laundered linen; he tastes like mint tea and pork porridge. His teeth are smooth and his tongue is gentle and hesitant. Sunghoon’s hair is short and soft, brushed and conditioned so that Jake’s fingers can slide right through it.
He doesn’t taste like salt, doesn’t make Jake’s heart do summersaults like it is trapped in a riptide. His eyes remain still, not swirling with color the way Heeseung’s do. His hands are broad and firm, his clothes starched stiff. He is not Heeseung at all, and the more Jake thinks of him that way, the easier it is to kiss him.
They practice kissing nearly every day, one of them using the door that connects their rooms to sneak in and crawl into the other’s bed. They sit across from each other, legs crossed, and kiss until their lips start to ache.
And then something shifts. One night, Sunghoon kisses down Jake’s neck. Jake sucks a mark into Sunghoon’s shoulder. They fiddle with the buttons of their nightshirts, hesitant, until they finally get the courage to remove them a few nights later. It is a steady progression, like a scientist slowly adding other variables to his controlled experiment, though the longer it goes on, the more out of control Jake feels.
“Can I try it with you?” Sunghoon asks one night, a month before his wedding, and Jake doesn’t need to ask what he means. He agrees because he has nothing to lose, has no ties to his body or his virginity, no expectations of how this all is supposed to go.
But when Sunghoon slides inside of him for the first time and he is overwhelmed by an aching fullness he has no words for, all Jake can think about is Heeseung. He wishes he could share his moment with Heeseung, wishes Heeseung was on top of him instead – even though it’s a stupid thought because sex with Heeseung couldn’t be anything like this. They were too different. Besides, thinking of Heeseung makes his head spin and ache, makes his insides churn against the steady rocking of Sunghoon’s hips, so he closes his eyes and tries to think of nothing at all.
Afterwards, Jake wants to ask Sunghoon if he feels the change as well, feels the shift from being a child and going into adulthood, but Sunghoon never brings it up so Jake doesn’t either. Sunghoon doesn’t ask for help practicing anymore, though there is still a closeness between them, something Jake doesn’t think they will ever be able to get rid of. Sometimes Sunghoon will lean on his shoulder or hold his hand even when it is inappropriate for him to do so, and Jake will find himself sitting beside Sunghoon just because.
Sunoo doesn't seem to mind their closeness either; in fact he seems to prefer when Jake can wander with them as their chaperone rather than the various handmaidens and porters that get assigned. He clearly doesn’t think of Jake as a threat, even when he has to lean on one (or both) of them for support on days when he feels particularly drained.
Perhaps it is because Jake is clearly still ill. Perhaps it is because Sunghoon and Sunoo’s marriage is simply an arrangement between their kingdoms (though Jake thinks that Sunghoon and Sunoo like each other more than they want to let on). But really he thinks it is because he has gotten better at stifling his emotions; when Jake looks at Sunghoon, it isn’t with ardor – it is with the same dazed expression that he regards the rest of the world with.
Something shook loose that night he spent with Sunghoon, something separated from him and made it easier to bury his feelings deep, deep down, to a place where it didn’t hurt so much anymore. He is able to move through the world with only minor aches and pains now, and he is able to keep memories of Heeseung mostly buried.
Pretty soon, he thinks, he won’t be able to feel anything at all.
***
Jake is twenty-one when he receives the summons to come home.
His parents don’t even write to him directly; they inform the Queen, who informs him that in two days time he will be shipped off back to his own palace.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she says, reaching out like she wants to stroke his gaunt cheeks, but then she pulls her hand back.
“Yes,” he says, and flashes her a practiced smile. Inside, however, he doesn’t feel anything. Perhaps his heart rate picks up slightly, his stomach does a minor flip, but he’s pushed everything down for so long now that he’s gotten used to ignoring these autonomic responses.
Jake’s depression had hit an all time…high? Low? Six months after Sunghoon’s wedding. That’s what the court physicians called it: you are homesick and it is causing you a deep melancholy. You need to find joy in your current situation. You are worrying everyone around you.
So Jake had done his best. He practiced his smiles and made polite conversation. He stopped running around in the grass and talking back, following Sunghoon’s example on how to be a proper prince. People didn’t mind, or didn’t notice, that he mostly kept to himself, preferring to stay in his room curled up in a chair that overlooked the field ocean and read or sleep.
No matter how much time passed, or how much Jake tried to eat, he did not look any healthier. He grew, but did not gain weight – his muscles were thin and sinewy, abs formed simply from his low mass and not because he tried to achieve them. He wonders what his family will think of him when he returns home; have they thought about him at all since he’s been away?
“We’ll miss you,” Sunoo laments, flopping over Jake’s legs on his bed. Sunghoon snorts beside Jake, propped up with many fluffy pillows so that his shoulder can, as always, be a resting spot for Jake’s cheek. (They’ve never stopped doing this, sneaking into each other's rooms and curling up on a bed together, sharing fears and triumphs and thoughts about anything and everything until the early morning.)
“You’ll have to visit,” Jake murmurs, wiggling his legs just so he can annoy Sunoo. Sunoo glares at him with a put-upon pout that doesn’t match his withering gaze. “Come see the ocean.”
“I don’t know how to swim,” Sunoo says. “What if I drown?”
“It’s not like his castle is floating in the middle of the ocean,” Sunghoon says with a laugh. “There is land.”
“I know that, but he’ll probably want to take me on a boat or make me go swimming or–”
“You won’t drown,” Jake says suddenly. “The sea won’t allow it.”
A silence settles over them. Jake knows that he should correct himself, say that he won’t allow it, but he can’t bring himself to do it. His tongue feels heavy, jaw tired. He settles further into Sunghoon’s side, humming contentedly when Sunghoon wraps an arm around his shoulders.
“Thank you both,” Jake says after the silence morphs into something more comfortable. “I don’t think I would have survived being here without you.”
“You would have survived,” Sunghoon says. “Of course you would have.”
“Just accept the thanks,” Sunoo says, crawling up the bed so that he can snuggle into Jake’s other side. “You’re welcome. Now stop being so melancholy. You’re going home!”
Jake smiles, only having to force the reaction a little bit. He wonders what it is like back home; he can barely remember the smell of the ocean, or the perfume that his mother wears, or the taste of clam stew. He has changed so much, it’s only natural that things back home have changed as well.
He falls asleep in the arms of his two best friends and he dreams of the ocean. He dreams of waves crashing against a stone that is smooth, perfect for laying on, reaching into the depths to grab a hand that is smooth despite being in the water. He dreams of scales and long hair, of swirling irises. And when he wakes, it’s because he’s humming a tune of a song that has no name, a song that sounds like a storm approaching, like wind in the chimes, like a warning.