Johwa [hoonsuk/sukhoon]

7. HOPE

In the quiet corridors of the palace, tension lingered like a thick, unseen fog.

Hyunsuk, now in the fifth month of his pregnancy, struggled to maintain his regal composure. The usual glow that would have illuminated his face was overshadowed by a constant pallor, the weight of his responsibilities bearing down on him.

His thoughts were ever consumed by Jihoon—his absence an unhealed wound that ached with every breath.

The kingdom, unaware of the full truth behind their king's disappearance, believed him to be fighting valiantly on the battlefield. The advisors, knights, and even the maids spoke in hushed tones, careful to hide the truth of Jihoon's unknown fate.

Jaehyuk had become his anchor. Though young and unaccustomed to the full brunt of royal duties, Jaehyuk assisted in handling the affairs of the kingdom with a quiet, determined grace. His heart ached for Hyunsuk, but he too kept his worries to himself, never allowing his cousin to see his distress.

They worked together, side by side, in the throne room, poring over documents, signing decrees, and making decisions that would keep the kingdom stable in such turbulent times.

As Hyunsuk carefully reviewed a scroll concerning the kingdom's grain supplies, Jaehyuk approached quietly, offering a cup of warm herbal tea. "Hyung," Jaehyuk said softly, "you must not forget to care for yourself. The kingdom needs you, yes, but so does the child you bear."

Hyunsuk accepted the cup with a faint smile, though it did not reach his eyes. "I appreciate your concern, Jaehyuk," he replied, "But how can I think of rest when every moment feels like an eternity without him? How can I smile when he is not here to see it?"

Jaehyuk's heart ached at the sight of Hyunsuk's weariness. "I understand, Your Grace," Jaehyuk said, glancing briefly at the growing bump that represented both hope and heartache. "But we must have faith. King Jihoon is strong, and so are you. His absence is felt, but we must carry on as he would wish us to."

Hyunsuk nodded, though his heart was far from convinced.

Every night, he would lay awake, his hand resting on his belly, silently praying for Jihoon's safe return. He missed the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice, and the promise they had made to be together when their child was born. The palace, though grand and opulent, felt like a prison without Jihoon by his side.

Meanwhile, at the modest cottage in the countryside, Jihoon's life had settled into a new rhythm.

The once-great king, now simply a man without a past, had become part of the community in small yet meaningful ways. He had taken to helping Junkyu and Mashiho with their daily work—accompanying them to the market, setting up their stall, and selling fruits, vegetables, and Mashiho's fine garments.

Though his memories were still fragmented, Jihoon found solace in the simplicity of this life, yet something remained unfulfilled.

The market had become familiar, its bustle and noise a constant hum that Jihoon had grown accustomed to. Yet, whenever he saw Junkyu and Mashiho sharing a quiet moment—a whispered word, a stolen kiss—an ache stirred within him. It was not just a longing but a profound sense of absence, as if something precious had been lost.

The noon sun was bright as Jihoon leaned against a wooden post to get away from the heat, his mind wandering through the haze of his memories, he saw Junkyu gently take Mashiho's hand, their smiles so soft.

Junkyu's fingers brushed Mashiho's hand as he handed over a ripe, red apple, and Mashiho glanced up, his smile softening at the loving gesture. It was a smile filled with a quiet, enduring love that needed no words.