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Han Jisung was a skilled killer, quick and simple. Some people would call him merciful as he refused to draw out his victims' deaths but Minho knew better, there wasn't anything as thrilling to Jisung as the brilliancy of an efficient death, the pride he was filled with by knowing he was able to take an intricately made life away so easily.
Han Jisung came to him, disguised as a staff member. It was laughable; seeing him act all innocent with his wide eyes and full smile, Minho wondered how many hours the man had put into acting out the perfect servant role. but with Minho's knowledge, he knew it probably didn't take him too long.
Jisung was unarguably amazing at his job, he prepared baths for the prince regularly and easily read the room, he knew when not to bother Minho and took his leave without any offence whenever asked of him. Jisung was the perfect obedient little servant, cloying when he wanted and sickeningly sweet with the litters of praises and words of encouragement he threw Minho's way, although the prince had been strictly adamant on refusing any of the man's help, which resulted in longer mornings and later hours at work. Sleep barely came to him, Minho was restless; learning about Jisung—cold hearted and blood thirsty Han Jisung—was different behind the screen, the servant he had met barely three weeks ago spoke of anything but that, yet Minho still demanded the man slept away from his room and refused the constant offers of a night filled with massages and the soothing scent of burning incense.
It was intimidating. The flawless act frightened Minho to no end since he knew he would have believed Jisung wholeheartedly hadn't he previously researched everything there was about him. Han was fascinating, leaving little to no trail behind him, skipping towns with fingertips bloodied and conscience not any heavier, he received his victims' names via email, an anonymous email address Minho wasn't familiar with whatsoever. He refused to order his guards to take matters into their own hands with the fear of too many questions. Minho was well aware of his status as a prince therefore he could easily brush off any unwanted scrutiny but still, accusing the freshly donated servant from the south with only sketchy information and a hesitant maybe was out of the question.
The servant's confident demeanour surely didn't help with Minho's predicament.
Minho would let Jisung play with him. The prince craved to see his servant in his element, wanted to see how easily manipulation came to him, how simple the lies coated his mouth and rolled out of his tongue, deceiving eyes and bashful grins no sane man could ever name as untrue, Jisung was a lot of things but most of all he was proud and who was Minho to deny him a bit of fun before he eventually tired and got rid of him for good? But Minho got too absorbed, Jisung was good enough to lure him in, whether the older man saw through the lies or not, he guessed that was the beauty in a killer's work, Jisung had wordlessly put in mind all the hurdles which might wrong his assassination plan and swayed them to fit snugly in his palm. Minho was sucked in rather than pulled, Jisung was all encompassing and shrewd, Minho hated himself but he adored it, he revelled in the way his heart stuttered and shuddered at the sound of Jisung's hearty laugh. His heart was attached to the one Jisung had displayed on his own sleeve.
The prince never thought of himself as sadistic but with Jisung sleeping soundly in the corner of his velvety couch, Minho wanted nothing more than to sweep him off and place him somewhere more comfortable, where he wouldn't shiver with every passing breeze and his limbs didn't have to tighten around his taut muscles any longer. Minho was horrifyingly entranced by the younger and he was weak since he suddenly—miraculously started caring so much for the man who was sent to murder him and discard his existence for good. Jisung had the exterior of a warrior, someone who truly fought both tooth and nail to stay steady on his feet in such a world. This world, a world that forced him to detach from his childhood and drop it too soon and too abruptly, it had him work in filth and looked down on by his authorities—he was constricted under people who were impossible to deny.
Minho didn't excuse any of the cold blooded crimes Jisung had committed but merely tried to explain it all to himself. It was fascinating to know what exactly drove oneself into committing such obscenities yet still having the ability to look others in the eye and proceed to demand a place in a room and oxygen the same as any innocent citizen. What would Jisung's penance be? Minho had always wondered, curiosity eating at him relentlessly. What type of good deeds would he have to do in order to be forgiven? In order for everyone to simply move on and put all his wrongs in the past? It was blasphemous in all the right ways, all the Jisung ways and Minho supposed it was apt enough. Jisung was a fire so red and tainted, unready to thaw until the day it was truly fated to die out, Jisung wouldn't leave this earth without leaving his very own tether, an imprint as conscious as all else. His own trademark, one Minho selfishly wanted to have and study, memorise its edges and count its meagre imperfections.
He was vibrant just as much as he was gloomy, Minho knew this because Jisung himself had confessed so once when he had finished all his duties and was lounging about in Minho's chambers as if he owned them. Who was Minho to kick him out? He had gone soft. Jisung loved the velvet textile of the couch, the smooth surface comforting and smelling of citrus and tangy lemongrass. Jisung was dressed neatly in a ruffled and humble white button up tucked haphazardly into dark slacks. He had a thick belt thrown on, yielding two stripes to label him as a prince's servant alongside the two bronze rings adorning his slim wrists to solidify his position even more so. Minho couldn't help but relish in this; a sense of possession coming over him, whether it was a con or not didn't matter, Jisung would be known as Minho's helper to everyone for as long as he could let it stretch. Minho had already changed out of his training attire and decided to join Jisung on the other edge of the couch.
The servant turned to face him, his expression sorrowful and eyes huge with something indistinguishable to the brightest of philosophers. His lips opened a little but nothing came out, then his shoulders slumped—as if in defeat and with a ruminative gaze he finally said, "Have you ever thought about your childhood, your highness?" The formality sounded odd on his tongue, not mocking in the slightest but foreign. Jisung seemed to remember his role as a servant and tried to scramble and take his words back but Minho beat him to it, it had been one of the rare times Jisung's act seemed to falter and some of his conversational self began to peek through the cracks. Minho would've been an idiot to have let such a moment dissipate between his fingers.
"I don't" Minho answered truthfully, because his childhood had been as uneventful as a three hour meeting at the war room located in the left wing of the castle.
Jisung nodded sagely. He picked his words carefully before he spoke, "I wish I could remember mine." His answer struck an imperceptible confusion in Minho's gut.
"Are you saying you have no memory of it or did it never even start for you?" The prince asked curiously.
Jisung smiled solemnly, his face wan and for the first time, tired. "That's the same thing, I sometimes blame them for taking everything I had but they replaced it with thousands more didn't they? I had hoped materialistic rewards would fill a childhood's spot, but they never did."
"They?" Minho wanted more out of him.
He rubbed at his eyes with the pads of his thumbs, "It doesn't matter, your highness. They don't care, my desire for a childhood is as translucent and infinitesimal as a pebble in the road to them, perhaps a bump in the blunt gravel." He sounded utterly defeated.
"Is there anything you remember?" Minho tried.
"Perhaps I've forgotten what it was like to be a child altogether?" He sighed ruefully, "yet when I sit back and wonder if the circumstances were different. Would I have ended up in the same place I'm in or not? I used to believe in everything destiny stood for, the whole 'your very own path, the one with a million shortcuts with that one bellowing end— flowing with all the mistakes you've made and the achievements you've created...'" His right hand reached up to his chest, rubbing the area around his heart to ease his nerves.
"But," Minho listened to him intentively, sensing Jisung's sentence fall, clearly indicating an ellipsis, "What changed?"
Jisung looked at him, really looked at him—his cheeks full as ever and gaze wondrous and curious, "l think about you," He smiled. "I think about what it is I could do to protect you from everything, you are precious like that, to your castle body, to your people and very recently…to me." That last bit was spoken in a softer octave, secretive and shy. Minho would've thought he wasn't meant to hear it, had Jisung not maintained eye contact.
Minho blanched, was it an act? It seemed adequate enough, it was the perfect play on words, syllables rolled and picked out precisely to tug at the right strings in Minho's heart, but that couldn't be, Jisung's gaze and the air around him swore of honesty and sincerity, it took the younger man courage to say those things. Minho had known even back then, that whether Han Jisung truly meant any of it or not wouldn't have mattered, he was gripped and was far too deep in this blackhole named desire to claw his way back out.
Jisung's hands shook quietly, desperate to be held. Minho shuffled on the plush couch until they were leg to leg, he swiftly pulled Jisung's hands away from his lap and laced them with his own, squeezing the right amount for it to come as comforting and not a threat, Minho wanted to be closer still, he tucked his forearm under the servant's knees, placing them carefully on top of his own thighs, a soft gasp sounded from Jisung at the domestic act but there were absolutely no complaints. They had sat as such for a while, with Jisung's back resting against the couch's arm, legs splayed over the prince's and hands warmly tangled between the pair. Minho played with the pads of his fingers, lightly tracing each ridge and nook, he memorised the arch of his nails and the softness of each nail bed, There was a stark dichotomy between Jisung's rough job and his body—soft and careful, afraid of leaving a sound too loud; may it bring unnecessary attention. Minho thought perhaps it was what the man had been taught; to move from place to place unnoticed, neglected and forgotten, no friends, no allies and no time for niceties and acquaintances. The faster he left a place, the better. All of it just to stay alive, just to survive a little longer to see the sun rise once again. Was that enough though? Wasn't it lonely? Living without an identity? Minho knew his name probably wasn't Jisung but it didn't matter, Minho had no interest in knowing the other versions of Jisung that had existed and died. He had the pleasure of meeting this one and he wanted to understand it better. He wanted him to flourish in this character before he inevitably had to go back to whatever role was waiting for him at home.
Minho wanted to tell him it was okay, that he already knew his intentions and it still didn't matter because Minho couldn't find it in himself to care. He wasn't sure when it started. When did Minho start caring more for the man's life than his own? Minho thought thoroughly about the odds of Jisung finding a person just like himself, a person that was willing to give him the slightest taste of life, one that would sacrifice their own unveiled experiences for his sake. Yet Minho was selfish, he wanted to be all of Jisung's firsts, he also longed to be his lasts but that couldn't be.
He would mourn them some other time.
"Your highness?" Jisung asked, bringing Minho back from the trail his thoughts went to. He kept his eyes on their hands. "I wish I could keep you safe." He said, earnest.
Minho smiled softly at that, at the irony. Had Jisung known the things Minho had heard about him? Minho understood him perfectly, and still couldn't resent him for it. He knew Jisung couldn't possibly drop everything his short-lived life was built on just for the prince's limited one, it wasn't how things worked. He had to die but Jisung wished he wouldn't. It was absolutely pathetic how okay Minho had been with that.
Minho had thought of himself as callous, blunt and straightforward, not built for giving any sort of comfort— unlike his cousin, Lee Felix. The boy brilliant and shiny and brimming with comforting words with an open soul. He loved loudly and openly and it was free for everyone who asked. Minho loved to think he had picked up a few of his characteristics since they had spent a hefty amount of time together during their tutoring sessions that took place in the castle's library due to a favour which had led to Minho helping Felix with his Korean. There were times during their lessons when Minho truly felt like himself. They were in their element, away from expectations and empty niceties and heavy loaded roles. They laughed freely together and shared gossip in hushed whispers. Felix left the kingdom the second his parents deemed his Korean fluent enough and accent flawless. Minho missed him but his departure was for the better. The boy was destined for great things, or at least much greater than being stuck in his older cousin's shadow. Felix made the dark haired prince want to try harder, wanted him to try and understand people's feelings and why they behaved in the ways they did. Thus here he had been, trying and putting himself out of his comfort zone for a cousin he was probably never seeing again and for a servant whose pouty lips refused to leave his head.
"Grieving a lost childhood is too arduous don't you think? I know, I know that sometimes you can't help yourself. Childhood is everywhere, whether it was in the morning sun or animals or even in music—words and synths beating erratically and perfectly to the rhythm of your mourning heart, evocative of a home you had dreamed for yourself late at night. A life you wish you had snatched. It is horrible to think a person can lose themselves to their heads so easily," Minho lifted one of his hands in order to move a few stray strands of hair out of Jisung's eyes, "Tell me Jisung, are you willing to lose your surreal present in favour of a less hurtful one you created during a helpless phase?" His question was blunt but Minho managed to keep his tone soft.
Jisung's irises glistened softly, imperceptibly, jaw slack and breathing considerably heavier and coming quicker. Jisung was unafraid of a lot of things, but Minho's gentleness was frightening, and the prince was able to tell by the way his lips trembled and his eyes shook in place. Jisung's lips parted, a promise of an answer Minho wasn't sure he wanted to hear. He didn't need one, he only needed Jisung to answer himself first.
He smiled at him reassuringly, close lipped and affirming. And he said it, whether Jisung understood or not didn't matter, "It's okay."
***
"Jisung" Minho called for his servant from where he was leaning his elbows over the balcony's railing. The air was icy and unforgiving, uncharacteristic considering it was well into May. He clutched the pitch-black small box tight in his fist. He felt almost silly for purchasing such a thing, but he had been out in town on a trip in order to subtly overlook his people's conditions and couldn't help but be entranced by the wide array of crystals displayed in a humble shop, vaguely hidden by a widespread of fluorescent green bushes and stray squirrels.
It took Jisung little to no time to scurry over and place himself exactly a foot away from the prince. "Would you like me to draw you a bath, your highness?" He guessed, his feet jittering with extra energy.
Minho kept his gaze fixed on the night sky as he spoke, "Have you eaten?" His question caught Jisung off guard and Minho wanted to laugh at the comical look the man's features morphed into—it was as clear to the prince in his periphery as it was when he finally faced him. He kept his face steely, intimidating.
"Yes I have," He replied before hurrying to add a small "Your highness."
The corners of Minho's lips quirked. It was fun seeing his servant slip up then squirm and instantly frown after doing so. He could almost hear the curses the younger threw around in his head. It was hilarious.
"I got you something" Minho noticed when Jisung's eyes flitted over to the dainty box and overflowed with curiosity. He walked closer until his servant was within arm's reach and offered the box, raising his eyebrows and shaking the box suggestively, "Open it" He said.
Jisung looked at him quizzically before tentatively taking the gift and giving it a long, long look. With careful fingers the box made a tiny crack sound as he opened it, revealing a shiny black gilded ring, littered with hundreds of tiny black stones until they extended and huddled closer to introduce a large crystal—a big and flaky black tourmaline. It spoke of protection and a promise to block vile curses and ill wishes. He took it out for a better inspection, mouth lifting in awe and gaze unwavering. His eyes found Minho's like they always did as he slid the ring slowly down his middle finger. He gifted the prince with a wide and heart shaped smile spreading across his face. He held his hand out to show Minho, proud and giddy with the special treatment.
Minho mirrored his smile (albeit a little less intensely) and gently took the hand in his own, his lips faintly hovered over Jisung's fingers before pressing a sure and comfortable kiss to the ring, confirming a promise he had yet to make, "You said you wanted to protect me, you wish to. But we both know you can't. I want to believe that it can at least be the other way around, I want to be able to protect you, even if it is indirectly. I want to try and be there with you even if it was physically impossible."
A glossy glaze spread over Jisung's big eyes, moulting dark irises filled with utter longing and desperation. Minho pulled him even closer and clutched their intertwined hands between their chests and squeezed, this single tug seemed to trigger something in Jisung and the tears fell, fast and overwhelmingly taunting, lacquering his face with a beautifully intense gloss. He hid his face in the crook of Minho's neck, sobbing quietly. He couldn't look the prince in the eyes any longer. His shoulders shook with the weight of his tears. His fingers trembled as he gripped Minho's bicep to stay rooted in place, "Thank you, your highness. Thank you thank you," a litany of thanks fell out of his mouth again and again until they engraved themselves on the prince's—now damp silver collar like an oath.
Minho's arms snaked around his waist and pulled him away only so they were facing each other. They were so close their chests touched and Jisung's broken breathing hit his cheekbones.
"Jisung. I won't deny my affinity to you." Minho whispered but it was well heard in the stagnant silence of the high balcony.
"Okay," Jisung said slowly as his hands cupped Minho's face, each palm fully spread, fingertips grazing the prince's dark hairline, "Then I won't as well" Minho's eyes had already closed before he felt soft lips press against his— firm and secure. Jisung took a step closer to show he wasn't pulling back any time soon and everything suddenly started making sense to the dark haired prince: The sun waking before the moon and their strange arrangement of never interlapsing. It was nature, unchangeable and true to everyone. Jisung's lips felt the same, they were his beginning and ending. It shouldn't have made sense as to why a killer's lips fitted so nicely against a highly ranked prince's but it was of no significance to them since they were destined for this—for closeness and adhesion and most importantly for each other. Never to be questioned or suspected.
When they pulled away, it was reluctantly and their lungs demanded breath as they heaved for air, breaths colliding and becoming one and the same.
Minho pulled Jisung into another bruising kiss and parted his lips against Jisung's swollen ones to murmur, "I want to look at you until my eyes give up on me, until my soul squeezes in sorrow. I'll look at you and remember cherished memories that will never come to life." Jisung nodded vigorously, carefully drinking in every word leaving the prince's mouth. Minho appreciated the affirmation but the nodding didn't relent. He huffed a laugh at the younger's dazed appearance.
Minho's grip around his servant's middle tightened, "Let's sleep, okay?" he offered a sweet smile.
Jisung was quiet for a couple minutes, teartracks now dried and forgotten. He looked up and stared deeply into Minho's feline eyes—one beat, two beats and he was humming his approval, smiling widely again.
Whether they held onto each other for tighter than necessary that night, neither spoke of it.
***
They loved passionately hungirly but most definitely guiltily. They used one another to all the limits possible, stripped the other of everything personal and private and dug their searching claws in there. They desired the knowledge of every ridge and shape of muscle buried under fragile brittle skin, tested the limit of skin with relentless tugging. They swallowed every breath and sigh, memorised their soft touch and the metaphorical feel of puffed air coming deep within them because it was the only true thing that came out of their mouths. All they did was lie and hurt, betray and maim intentionally. Minho thrived on twisting the knot in Jisung's stomach and controlling it, they crowded each other's space; begging, pleading to be one. When Jisung cried, he cried vehemently, never out of devastation, he bursted in his very own bubble of frustration, an amalgamation of stubbornness and mourning; mourning a future the pair could have had, a present they might have been living if it weren't for the frail foundation they had started on or for the venomous threats Jisung would receive—the forced blackmail. Maybe if it weren't for the sickening desire that sunk in when the other broke down. "Break apart in my arms and I will put you back together without ever forgetting to add my print", Minho thought time and time again, maybe it was him who actually ruined them because when Jisung would leave, he would take a piece of Minho's heart and even in death Minho would feel its loss. Jisung was always smart and calculated.
As Minho cradled Jisung's jaw, the muzzle of his gun—the one Minho had seen millions of times tucked under Jisung's pillows, snug and scarcely hidden, pleading to be noticed, acknowledged and discarded— dug harder in the crevice between Minho's ribs, his palm lifted up to meet his servant's, tightening his feeble grip, urging him, begging for the release he had been waiting for from the second they collided paths. Minho always wanted it to be himself who succumbed at Jisung's feet, at his control. When Jisung loved hard, Minho loved harder, when Jisung finally cracked, the prince completely shattered. If Minho had been the one to end Jisung, the searing guilt and sorrow surely would've killed him right back. Jisung's face was swollen red and his lips bitten raw from his straight teeth, lips Minho touched and felt their perfect shape, lips he felt attached to, lips the shape of everything wrong and disgraceful for when they pressed against Minho's there wasn't any going back.
The sob Jisung let out spoke of sin and regret. Minho resented him for managing to sound so broken while Minho was right there in front of him, chest to chest. How was Jisung still able to act this corrupted when Minho had already whispered his forgiveness and kissed him steadier, Jisung wasn't betraying him, the older one was allowing it, He wanted him to do it. Minho wanted to close his eyes and relax, allow his body to go lax under the heavyweight of the gun and the devastating warmth of Jisung's body but he couldn't, he had to see his paramour, see and drink him in, breathe in each of his breaths one last time. Minho wanted to stare deep into his eyes and understand what drove them here— the reason, which was still vague to the prince since Jisung had been too afraid to disclose any information about the people controlling him, it was most probably just as perilous as Minho's. Minho saw everything in his servant from his beauty and destruction to his drive and loss.
The dark haired prince stared into Jisung's glittering eyes, he traced his thumb over the blooming apples of his cheeks, flushed peach and damp with sweat. Minho really saw his face now; visceral anguish finally visible and allowed to show itself on his delicate features, pinched brows revulsed painfully. The tips of Minho's index finger smoothed it out as he consecutively used to do. Jisung parted his lips, retort ready on his tongue but Minho's already shaking his head at him to stop, it was inevitable. Jisung had to do it now when their love was burning greatly and threatening to explode in the air.
Minho urged him once, twice and he was going to do it a third before a bullet sounded somewhere he couldn't distinguish because everything melted and ashened into nothingness.