THEM. － l.sm + k.sy

; o8

Amidst thunderstorms and rainfall, Soonyoung and Seokmin decided to meet at the castle's library, between high rows of books and the mazes of their stories. The scent of paper and leather was inebriating, whisked with that of the fireplace's endless flames that ate at the wood fed to them and offered heat in return.

Seokmin would glide his fingertips across the infinite number of thick spines, somewhat in thought or simply wondering whether he'd ever be able to read every piece of text his family possessed, and he'd wait for Soonyoung to creak open the door and stealthily make his way into the room, knowing to find the Prince somewhere amidst the high structures.

"You're here," Such few words and yet so utterly elated that Seokmin blushed at hearing his own voice.

"As always, for you," The tailor replied with an endeared smile, striding towards the royal to stop but a mere few centimetres opposite him.

The brunet still had a hand upon a book, title covered by his palm, and Soonyoung tugged his sight away from Seokmin's glittering eyes of molten gold and amber to land upon his fragile looking hand, offended by blisters caused by hours of wielding a sword. With bathed breath, Seokmin watched as the older softly set his fingers between the former's own, grazed them over the top of the Prince's hand to then lock them securely, prior to letting a tint of despondency taint his features.

"The rain is waging war against the walls, and yet it is always warm where you are."

Seokmin's flesh prickled with a searing heat, his pulse resounding in his reddened ears, and despite his bashful response, he couldn't bring himself to look away from the boy before him.

"Perhaps it is because you are brother to the day star, Prince."

Soonyoung had always been relentless with his praise that would woe the shorter for days and nights, inexplicably forcing his heart to thunder like a ferocious beast within him and his mind to ponder upon things it shouldn't.

"Years have passed, friend, and your ability to consistently find something new to say to me is impressive."

And it was true, the young Prince had hit the ripe age of sixteen by then, the tailor a year above, and every summer and each winter they would meet in the safety of the library and beneath their olive tree. Soonyoung made the Prince a new wreath of flowers once a week when the weather was pleasant and they were out to enjoy it, and Seokmin would treasure them upon his bedside table. He'd xchange his crown of metal for that of petals, fingers tremblant and face pink as he'd gaze upon himself in the mirror and think of he who made it, he whose touch was like a spring rain and laugh a bell's jingle, who made the boy's veins burn with heat and soul soar at every act of affection.

"I could only do so because you yourself are an endless source of beauty and love, from which one can pluck as much inspiration as desired."

Soonyoung's words were dripping with honey and fondness, and Seokmin found himself to be stunned, wordless, incapable of formulating a response fit enough to speak. Very soon, however, he would realise one would not be necessary, for the hand holding his own brought his bent knuckles to Soonyoung's lips, and through the haze of it all, Seokmin could only think they felt of velvet.

"S－Soonyoung?"

"It's horridly foolish and disagreeable of me to say this, but I do believe that, should I keep it in any longer, the thorns pushing against my ribs will break free and leave me in equal agony."

The tailor's features had pulled into an expression more strained and anxious, baffling even further the already muddled mind of the Prince.

"Please, Soonyoung, speak whatever it is that's tormenting you," Seokmin murmured in concern, adjusting the hold they had on one another's fingers so that his could rub soothingly at the older's, "I'll － I'll do what I can to relieve you of it."

Giving a ginger smile, Soonyoung splayed the boy's palm upon his chest, resting it over his racing heart.

"Then all I would need is the saccharine taste of your lips dancing across my own, and the reciprocated confession of love I'm about to make to you."

Seokmin swiftly inhaled, shoulders rising to be nearer to his neck as his frantic thoughts clambered about within his skull until they settled on a sole thing to be definite: Soonyoung had feelings for him.

"I wonder if any of these books can put into words what I feel for you," Soonyoung almost idly pondered, giving a brief glance around at the shelves that hid them in their welcoming shadows, "for my heart has refused to operate alongside my mind for a long time, and though I have nothing, I would give anything for you to be well and content."

He returned his attention to Seokmin, the very boy he'd been urging up against the mural of texts as he spoke, and fondly sighed at the look of astonishment and vibrant blush that coloured his royal's cheeks.

"You are as sweet as nectar and as strong as a beast, yet tantalisingly delicate to my touch," He went on in observation, his left palm having floated up to hold the side of Seokmin's face, the pad of his thumb drawing circles atop his skin.

"Be － Be honest," Seokmin stammered in delay, not retreating from the gentle contact, "By all this, you mean to say you love me?"

Soonyoung sombrely smiled, "Enough that you haunt my dreams and embrace every stray thought," He hesitated, mulled it over before saying, "I wonder if you feel the same."

Regardless of how embarrassing he'd berate himself for being in retrospect, Seokmin had waited a fraction of a second prior to his head repeatedly bobbing in affirmation until his dry lips could part and stutter, "At even force and beating heart."

And Soonyoung dipped forward, keeping their hands together and connected as he brought his mouth against Seokmin's own, lashes fluttering shut and blood made of clouds, savouring the sensation of warmth and excitement; and the scent of paper and ink once so powerful, was replaced by nothing other than that of oranges and lavender.