#rin's rambles 💭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunboki · 1 year

Text

SEND MY LOVE — 양정인

PAIRING — Healer! Yang Jeongin x f. reader

🖇️ GENRE — royalty! au, angst, suggestive(no intercourse), bittersweet, coincidences, childhood best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint

WORD COUNT — 6.9k ☆ 34 minute read

⚠️ WARNINGS — making out, close to smut, implied fwb

AUG’S NOTES — another thank you for notifying me about an open spot in your collab rin(@hyunverse)!! i would never skip the chance to write for my boys, especially a royal collab eeee so exciting—i knew i could ramble on with this for forever, so i hope i supplied enough closure between yn and jeongin! also, i haven’t wrote for innie separately, so feedback is appreciated：）

PLAYLIST — ꒰ 🧺 ꒱

TAGLIST — @writerracha @princelingperfect @ggundeuri @orithyia-eriphyle @vumiixlyy @luvrhyune @hopeladybug @misitmoonlight @baldi-2 @baddecisionsworld @thetaytayray @midsoulz @hyunverse @realbangchan @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @rachabreathing @nixtape-foryou @ameliesaysshoo @jisungsdaydreamer @https-skzology @day6andetcetera @linonyang @hgema @seoli-16 @bokk-minnie @foliea @amagumorii @nhyunn @ravyaryn @ink-spilled-stars @himarose @sherryblossom @shakalakaboomboo @r-arrh @siriusly1 @catwonwoo @suebinn @foxinnie8

💭 SYNOPSIS — Despite the twists and turns in Iredal Castle, the only world you lived in was a world with Jeongin in it. Once the Healer’s apprentice, now the Healer himself, Jeongin has always been right beside you; tending to you endlessly and in turn, becoming close friends. Perhaps more in the castle’s corners. Except the Royals disregard you, and when you ask Jeongin to run away together, he denies. In turn, you leave on your own and begin working at a pottery shop in the villages, sending him abundant letters. Eventually though he stops replying and you assume he’s simply forgot about you, until he walks into the shop.

“Jeongin..” you whispered, voice coming out in a pitiful croak as you reach forward—making out the shakiness of your hand through tired eyelids. There’s a heavy haze that overtakes what’s left of the broken mind you’ve been gifted, surprised your vision remains intact whilst being unused for such a lengthy amount of time. The world is always new for those who don’t open their eyes. You know this well.

“I’m right here.” A small patch of light sneaks through cracks in the window, illuminating the boy’s features beautifully. He smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners while gazing at you from a squat by your bedside in order to speak at eye-level. When Yang Jeongin smiles, he loses his eyes and his cheeks puff out a bit. You never seem to get tired of it.

Since the day you entered this world, it felt like you had been sent to bed. Always so sick, always too weak to support yourself. Oftentimes you would refer to it as a curse until reminded of Jeongin, transforming the bitter judgment in such a way it felt like fate. A certain obscuring fate you would never manage to hold in both hands, but for you, for now, that was okay. If you hadn’t been ill all the time, perhaps you would have never gotten the chance to grow close to him like this.

Your introduction to Jeongin was well out of the books, having only really gotten to know him and his kindness on a peculiar evening when you were laden with cold. Eleven at the time, your blaring fever having spiked dramatically leading to frantic ushering into the Apothecary. The Healer’s apprentice had been hasty to concoct a sort of coriander mixture in an attempt at lowering your temperature, to no avail. Yet when he rose from his squat beside you, you clutched his shirt with sweaty fingers—pleading with the stranger of a boy not to leave you alone to stifle that same, hollow feeling. As if you were stuck in a glass box, a massive clock displayed in front of you representing time in its never ending cycle. Except the key to the box was long forgotten, and you’d simply waste away there.

Tick.

“Don't leave me, please.”

There he goes with that heart wrenching grin, your introduction to not only Yang Jeongin, but his mystifying characteristics as well — gazing at you like the earth might just break apart. It’s a mystery how one can look into his eyes without crying. Raw, unfiltered emotion that feels as if it penetrates every fiber of your soul, your being. He’s comforting, as if you’ve known him for years. Sympathy in the curve of his brows, Michelangelo's sculpture somehow alive. Breathing, thinking.

Becoming acquainted with him came relatively easy opposed to others, able to carry countless conversations of all and nothing. Spurring recollection to occasions you had sneakily slipped from your stead to visit him in extended hours of eve, where the sky had just barely dappled tawny, soon replaced with a midnight hue. He’d tell you of his days, you would tell him of yours, without realizing you grew up with him in the process. Because when you blinked, Jeongin had transformed into more than a coincidence.

“I have to collect more herbs for your head, otherwise your fever will worsen.” Despite being only eleven like yourself at the time, a brush of his hand on your forehead eased all the worries swarming, the achiness, the pain. Sleep you were coaxed to, waking up and craving his presence, his reassurance once more. That simple gesture, he did it again and again every time you would visit, which was more often than not for that of a sickly child.

When you turned fifteen and your first lover had broken up with you, crying out your heart’s contents in the castle’s botanical gardens. Jeongin had done the same then, gently caressing your head like you were a troubled child while you sobbed into his shirt. Letting your waves crash against his shore. High tide in the late of night, Jeongin welcomed the sound of the ocean.

At nineteen, only a year ago when he’d been your first kiss — a soft touch of your forehead that spoke more than could be said aloud. Something delicate, something irreplaceable. It had been prohibited for one of such high profile to be enacting any sort of association with that of the lower class, especially a kiss. Quite risky, don’t you think? Although the riskiness of it sent a childish plethora of giddiness throughout your body that you hadn’t experienced in years time due to the suffocating confinement of restrictions, dutifully enforced by the Castle. He spoke much without words.

Nonetheless, you were twenty years old now, and no matter seemed to claw you in such a way you wept about it or needed to be consoled because of. You didn’t desire that lingering touch anymore, you had grown. Or your ability to fend off illness developed from a seed into a sprout, but your relationship with Jeongin persisted as resilient as the stone pathway leading out to Iredal’s foliage-inhabited Pleasaunce, cracked and overgrown beyond belief however evermore frivolous and alive. When with Jeongin this was possible. Living in a dream before you had to wake up, that is.

Heavy mist of spring blossomed around the Kingdom, a prime occasion to bask in the sun's rays after a millennium of bitter winds. Basking you did, while accompanied by Jeongin of course. It might have been strange for two people of entirely opposing positions to be conversing and picking at daisies awakening from the long thistles of grass — nothing short of casual for the both of you.

“You spoke of your tutoring session earlier?” The Healer, sitting criss crossed across from you hummed, twining vine into pretty bracelets absentmindedly.

“Ah yes, I was informed on the Victorian Language of Flowers, the topic was of great interest.” He leaned forward, appearing immersed though already knowledgeable of the study. On and on you explained, telling him of fantastical bouquets conveying distinct messages and allowing him to appreciate the excitement sparkling beneath your irises, sporadic hand gestures emphasizing each word slipping off your enchantingly cherry lips he longed to feel against his. Essentially, he did bask in the spring’s sun, your sun. Providing him with all the light and warmth necessary albeit far out in a field. Oh to abandon responsibilities and live like this, with you. One can hope, though hoping is sour upon accepting it won’t occur. Still, he’ll hope.

As for your presumed “friendship”, behind closed doors the average witness would immediately assume you were enacting an affair from the stolen kisses and the recurring suggestive touch. To those in front of the door, you were simply good friends. Good friends with a.. lasting connection.

Daisie picking however met a refreshing end, the dark-haired boy accompanying you back towards the Castle’s nearest entryway before bidding you farewell. There was a fondness gracing his features, carefully tucking one of the countless daisies he had picked into your palm, tickling your palm with soft petals and carving a memento of a day you already wished back.

The following morning however was a daring occasion for “good friends.”

“Oh god..”

His neat white shirt adorned with classical ruffles disheveled along with jet black hair, chasing after your kiss whilst you cupped the sides of his face. Your legs wrapped around his midsection, supported by strong hands sinking into the plush skin on the back of your thighs. Jeongin’s lips bruised pink and puffy from where you had pulled the skin between your teeth, eliciting a sort of adorable whine in return. His descent traveled down to your jaw, stopping to mark a love bite right below the ear where he nipped the soft skin relentlessly until you knew you’d have to be dressed heavily in order to conceal the evidence — loving the dreamy sigh that sounded in response to his attention.

“You.. you locked the door?” You breathed shallowly, allowing him to carry you from the wall to the bed, fervently laying you down on the mattress. He nodded in a hurried manner, maneuvering you to straddle his hips — fox-like, chestnut eyes admiring every inch of you he’d seen innumerable times. He slowly traced the fabric of your gown, down, down, lower. Till your breath hitched and the situation truly inclined into dangerous territory, teetering on the brink of collapse. Each reaction, curl of your fingers, flush of your cheeks. Engraved in his memory for as long as his mind would remember.

“I missed this, ‘missed you my dear. Please let me make love to you..” Soft murmurs mumbled against bare skin recalled times you treasured the most thanks to nectarine sweet talk accompanied by the gentleness of his voice that sailed you away into a new universe. A new universe where you and Jeongin were the only ones existing, not hidden in his room disguised from prying eyes.

“No one is keeping you from doing so.” You giggled, leaning down for an equally sugary kiss. No person might have kept him from doing so, but your impending requested presence at dinner could end up guilty. A long forgotten factor if not noticeable already. Yet selection revealed quite mercilessly that all things come to an end, some quicker than others.

“Hey Jeongin, I need to speak to you concerning-WOAH. Woah.”

In strolls Royal Guard Han Jisung, standing stiffly in the doorway relative to a deer suffering amnesia. Loudly declaring that Jeongin did not in fact lock the door, and a person was surely capable of preventing your love session after all. This was humiliating. The intruder slapped a hand across his mouth, waving quickly towards the both of you whilst muttering a jumbled, “Apologies for interrupting!” Before sprinting away. Momentary silence ensued and slowly, you turned to face the man you had nearly slept with, threatening the burst of laughter creeping up your throat.

“Did we happen to scare him?” You take your turn covering your own mouth, doubling back on the bed from not only the situation, but Jeongin’s facial expression as well. So expressive, added to the list of bountiful charms you discover when with him. At this point you should know everything about him, and you do, partially. Apart from what he doesn’t allow you to know, which, defensively, you uncover on your own.

“Ruined the atmosphere more like it.” He scowled, obviously annoyed by the interruption of his love-making fantasy and bemused by your evident inability to feel even slightly vexed. He found it impossible to remain upset when you were around. A continuously repeated cycle of stealing what wasn’t his, what he wanted to be his, and getting his most precious of possessions ripped out of his fingertips. Jeongin was a beggar in that view. For you, he was a beggar.

Reminding, you tapped his nose, wearing the sly grin he’d once sported like a badge of honor, “You poor thing… someone is grumpy.” Earning a pouted reply despite happily anticipating the peck you planted on his cheek as an estranged form of compensation.

“I’m not.. ugh, I find it best to leave before he tells the whole Kingdom about us.” About us, he said. About your adoration, heavily harbored passion. About us, what you could be, what you were, what perception told of. Quizzical. Unaffected, he gives your hips a quick squeeze, allowing you to leave the bedroom first prior to exiting himself.

Low and behold stood the interruption, appearing far too pleased with his latest discovery while he tapped his foot- a bad habit of his- incessantly. The mere thought as to what Jisung’s business here entailed failed to materialize in his mind, a heavily disregarded prospect after being so violently thrashed from paradise, left to drift off at sea.

“Mayhaps..”

“Say nothing more.”

“I wasn’t going to mention your affairs! This concerns Y/n.” Han appeared feeble observing the younger perk at the reference to you, attentive to whatever he was saying once you were involved. He beckoned Jeongin to follow him, adding on to the suspicious layering of what exactly they would be discussing upon arriving on the far side of an open corridor, located on the left wing of the Castle — vastly distanced considering where you would currently be rushing to dine with fellow Royals. The space void of any lurking ears awaiting to hear something they could use to either upgrade their status or stake down someone else’s. Hierarchy in its boldest font and ever apparent in the depths of Iredal Castle.

“Have you taken notice?” There’s a crease in Jisung’s forehead relating to the question. Tentative, like a cat studying its unsuspecting prey residing on a fence post. If Jeongin were a cat, his fur would have bristled apprehensively.

“Taken notice of what, exactly?” A sort of nervous pique to his voice gave away the Healer’s compiling tension, prominently oblivious. Jisung cleared his throat, lowering his tone that ushered his counterpart closer.

“Have you perceived Y/n and the Royal Family-“ Before the Royal Guard managed to pronounce his finishing words, the black-haired ran a hand through his hair, boisterously indifferent.

“-Whatever the Royal Family fancies is not my business and not something I want any association with. You know this.”

“Yes yes I am aware but it would be favorable if you listened for a moment, please?” Jeongin nodded curtly.

“There’s a disconnect, Changbin and I keep seeing it. As if they don’t even acknowledge her. Aside from there being some disconnect since Y/n’s the King’s Goddaughter and all, it has significantly worsened.”

The latter’s brow furrowed, perturbed. He could picture it so realistically — your downcast face, how you would fiddle with your fingers thoughtfully. Fiddling the way he’d seen a multitude of times when you were younger. Your signature mechanism of aiming to ease the discomfort you felt in that moment. He hurt, knowing you hurt.

“..Has she said anything to you about this?” A quiet break in the stillness that had occupied its way between them earned a solemn shake of the head. Of course you hadn’t said anything. You’d keep it bottled up in your heart until the dam broke, and he’d be the one racing to scoop up the water. Always.

Alas, the fiddle of your fingers bared its ugly face, distracting yourself with the rough texture of the tablecloth’s fabric beneath you. Evening’s feast carried on like usual, just as Jeongin had predicted. Except you didn’t rush there, aware you would have in the case of your earlier affair going further prior to being interrupted. Time that could have been spent elsewhere ghosted by, including snide comments easily discarded by each person attending that added to the flavor of pig's blood jelly majestically advertised in the center of the long table. Family friend Madame Belmore tapped her fingernails repeatedly along a decorative wine glass, sparing an excessive margin to clear her throat. One’s next words could not have been dreaded more.

“Speak of yore, I happened to deduct intriguing insight on Your Highness’s God-Daughter Ms. Yn Ln. For I hadn’t been told of your association with erm.. Yun, Yin..-“Yang Jeongin.” You abruptly voice, audibly calm opposed to the exasperation settling itself in your stomach at a bewildering rate. The woman had always inhibited her suspicions just as everyone did. Unlike everyone though, her suspicions were her prowess, her sickening joy.

“Yes! Yang Jeongin, the Healer. About him, I couldn’t help but ponder your… how do I put this, relationship.” Each piece of Madame Belmore’s puzzle fell into perfect place — mirroring the exact moves you had been taught playing Chess. The sight utterly chilling, watching her ferocious glinting sneer scream “Checkmate” right in your face, breath hot with the overwhelming scent of overly sweetened wine.

She thrust her hands forward, clasping them oh so tightly as if she were praying. Praying for something you couldn’t guess, but most likely your demise on first thought.

“You see, to an uneducated eye it may seem unusual I suppose. Reassuringly we are nothing apart from saved and savior. Were you not disclosed of my childhood illness, Madame Belmore?” Narrowly escaping to an empty square on the Chess board, you tip your head to the side, openly inviting the woman to interject. No, she wouldn’t. Madame Belmore wouldn’t dare to allow her sacred suspicions to deliberately falter.

“Oh allow me!” The Queen dramatically gasping her anguish spurred the dissipation of Madame Belmore’s pretentious glare, beginning to enlighten the “uneducated” on your tragedies. Rising aversion to the instigator wasn't much disliked though, comparing the belittling to ignoring. Ignoring in terms of absolute abandonment of your being, not a glance in your direction for a reason you didn’t know. What you did know was the behavior began becoming increasingly prevalent, and that this exact banquet would become an entire accusation pinwheel after the introduction of your saved and savior relationship was provided so diligently to Madame Belmore by the Queen. “Best to flee.” Jeongin had told you that once, after he had snatched a casserole you’d asked about off the Baker's tray. Young then, without thought of genuinely meaning you would run away. Without a need to run away, apart from fleeing from small mishaps.

“And you are not attending dinner, why?”

You’d leave it to the imagination to assume you deserted the feast or caused a scene, storming into no other than Jeongin’s Apothecary before the feast had officially concluded. Escape. The Apothecary was a momentary escape, upon investigation by officials though the forbidden cove would be revealed, unraveling something disgustingly disastrous.

At this time in the evening the Healer was well versed knowing you would be eating with the rest of the elites, afterwards skipping back to his Apothecary to inform him of the gossip you had overheard while there. Scheduled, like usual. This time howbeit things were contrasting to this long running schedule. Divergent in terms of the atmosphere, your body language, the timing. It was unsettling.

“I’m pained because of them. It is much the same as being invisible. Not only that, but Madame Belmore is plotting a distasteful act for me.”

Jeongin’s lips pull into a tight line listening to you. Madame Belmore had always been alternatively plotting, but you would always state your desire to complain about her then forget. To be so troubled by it, furthermore to enter his Apothecary so frazzled confirmed the urgency. Seeing you like this, curled up in a ball on the patient-bed you had basically grown up in, stirs an ugly nostalgia to froth. Grateful his back is facing you, concealing his transparency. He can’t say anything. Not about his gnawing guilt and chiefly not about his previous conversation with Han containing the exact details you’re speaking now.

“Innie, would you run away with me?”

His hands abruptly stop their shuffling, deciding against turning around to face you. Never did he expect such a preposition. Continuously caving when it came to you, too blinded by fondness to register what he was getting himself into before the thicket became too dark and suffocating that he’d reach for you to pull him to safety. Never did he expect such a preposition he would have to reject, indirectly saying to him that if you weren’t to close the book yourself, the pages would be ripped to pieces by someone else. That nickname, “Innie.” Only you could call him that.

This time though, a fine line had been drawn. One half his side, one half yours. Yours with the need to be free, his with the need to be with you. His of which wouldn’t allow a caged bird to venture out. Greater precaution told him he should’ve known that you were both walking a tightrope that would eventually lead to stumbling. He did know, however he didn’t acknowledge. The prospect was nauseating.

“I’m afraid.. I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

Eardrums buzzed, he hears you move. Hears the patter of your shoes on the stone flooring as you approach him. Your arms wrap around him, burying your head into his back.

“You know I will go through with it.”

“I do, and that is what breaks me.” His words falter, yet you don’t look up, aware it would be too much to watch his face crumble. Perhaps make you change your mind. Your best friend, the Healer of Iredal Castle, changed your mind with ease. Perhaps that’s also why this hug feels so bittersweet. You don’t want to let go, worried he’d slip through your fingers like sand upon separating. Bittersweet. There’s a slight croak, the man dissolving into billowing sobs. You carefully turn him around to face you, gazing up at his immeasurably enchanting face that you begged yourself not to see, not to give in to. Yet you did, every time. Clammy thumbs brush stray tears from his cheeks, watery smile disguising a throbbing ache settling inside of your chest. You’ll stay solid in order to keep to your word of running away, but dear is it challenging when Jeongin cries. If you could give him the world you would, despite that world being one without you in it disparate of what fantasy foretold. For Jeongin you would give anything, give in to anything. Anything except this.

“Tomorrow,” You await a sign he’s listening, his shaky hands reaching to hold your own that are cupping his face. He nods, big, emotion-filled globes for eyes shrieking a thunderous volume. Those chestnut orbs have always been mesmerizing, especially now when on the verge of breaking down. What a shame things are so pretty seconds before defeat.

“Tomorrow I will be gone, okay? And I’ll send you letters, Jeongin, and I want you to write back.” You’re coaching him through this, a second attempt to overshadow the feelings you’re experiencing of which you can’t describe. Feelings that harken an unpalatable sound from you you hardly recognized. It’s your turn to begin shaking, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood in order to contain yourself along with the cry clawing at your stomach.

“You.. You promise to do that, to write back, okay?” Subtle repetition of words betray you, but you don’t pay mind, or care to pay mind. There’s fervent bidding, holding him close a little longer, wishing for a little longer that things could be different. Except each night the sun set below the horizon, and you would follow accordingly.

The following morning consisted of sitting with Changbin in your room, him gaping at the shamelessly decadent assortment piling into a burgundy chest. You wanted to thank him for helping you cope like this, staying quiet while you packed even though the roaring man would have talked your ear off if preferred. He had a misunderstood demeanor, but Seo Changbin was a good listener. Not as good as Jeongin, but a good listener.

“Are you planning to leave for fifteen years-“Shh!”

Cowering slightly, the Royal Guard mumbled out hushed “sorry”’s as you checked through your belongings, ensuring each and every necessity was visibly there.

“..Alright. I pardon that’s everything.”

Uneasy quiver to your voice betrays you for a second time, lugging the massive chest downstairs with the help of your brown-haired emotional support. Ironic how the foyer stayed empty the entire time, not a soul peering from wooden doorways. Possibilities are limitless as you stand at the entry gates, patting the man’s shoulder farewell and prompting him to tell your acquaintances goodbye in your stead. You could run back, discard all your packaged belongings on your bed like it would make a difference due to primarily sleeping in Jeongin’s Apothecary. You could scream your lungs out and throw the wine Madame Belmore had sipped so precariously last night all over her satin white dress. You didn’t, finding no reason to disorient an outcome gradually worsening without needing your aid.

“You be safe now. ‘Get yourself into trouble and Han and I will go hunting you down.” His words grumble and you crack a ghost of a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, Changbin doesn’t mind.

The village is relatively small compared to the grandeur of Iredal’s Castle, nothing that you hadn’t anticipated before — and not in an arrogant, castle-grown demeanor — instead quaint, peaceful. You arrived by horseback, memorizing individual landscapes you pass on the way to scribble into a letter for Jeongin. Tell him of your trials and tribulations migrating to this foreign land, a prolonged explanation of what actually occurred that would hopefully earn his pretty laugh. A pretty laugh you already missed hearing.

Soon enough you settled into a comfortable household. Settled swiftly conducive to deterring your mind of returning to both the boy you loved and the home you had always known. Moving on was unyielding, this time though no one was glowering in your direction or expecting nothing, your only responsibility being to reach your own expectations. Those expectations built up in the process of working at a pottery shop on the northside of town. Additionally, November, paired with the bustle of customers and climbing income, became favored upon receiving a letter in the mail. Jeongin’s letter, and your first reply.

My Dearest,

How are you faring in the villages? Are you nourishing yourself? I’m hoping this is delivered to you at a suitable time and that you don’t miss me too greatly. Iredal Castle runs as usual without much squander, though I would prefer if you were here as well. The servants have successfully concealed your presence as a “sudden departure” so no need to fret. I cherish you deeply, please know I think of you endlessly and wish you well my dearest.

Sincerely yours, Yang Jeongin 양정인

Crouched over a desk in the pottery shop's backroom, your fingertips bunched the inked parchment, taking extra time to memorize the signature curvature of his “s” and how he would linger the feather tip a tad bit longer to achieve a darker hue on his periods. This was the first letter of what seemed like hundreds. Back and forth back and forth you wrote, on occasion locking yourself in the nearest isolated place to collect your rampaging thoughts. Discovering Jeongin’s confidence when writing relative to his meekness in real life bemused you in the sense of his compelling grasp of literature, example being his innate ability to have you holding onto every word. Oh how you yearned to visit him without constantly daydreaming the interaction. You wonder if he’s changed. If he’s forgotten about you, fallen in love- no. Pondering poorly is rotten for the mind. A worm coring an apple. Mental impressment.

Lovely, awakening to his appearance through letters in defiance to physical interaction, because he was there. You couldn’t see him, but you knew he was there. Thinking of you while writing, listening. In spite of that, the certain comfort obtained during your letter exchange paused abruptly when the letters instantaneously stopped. Throughout the span of nearly eight months, his letters simply stopped. Initially you had assumed deliveries were slow, until you started asking the Postal if they had any letters assigned under your name on the daily. None. It left you somewhat starstruck, how rapidly your reality could be twisted. The worm wedging inside your simultaneously rotting apple of a brain you had smothered away days earlier. You wanted to convince yourself he was busy, to ease the worry, arguing that Summer was approaching and hay fever could be assaulting members of the Castle. Summer passed though, and so did the Mail boy carrying no “Yn Ln” assigned letters in his leather satchel.

Next was the anger, the ache. Childlike confusion as to why, when. Jeongin was not one to stop writing back without prior notice of his situation. But like you had fretted, in those eight months he might’ve changed. Yang Jeongin, your Yang Jeongin, might have changed into a spiteful man. Worst case being he forgot. Gradually, he would forget. About your love, about growing up together, about you. Nonsensical anxiety began wading itself through your veins, infecting your head. Furthermore, your anger persisted. Considering your anxiety was infectious, the anger was parasitic. Flaming and unhinged to where you were left no choice after long summer days waiting for a response but to find your own solution to the ghosting.

. ..

“Han Jisung I have every right to talk to that son of a bitc-''And I have every right to give you a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why you cannot see Jeongin right now.” He butts in, addressing your flailing arms with a sheepish expression. Sheepish. Han Jisung is sheepish when he’s making excuses. You’ve determined that rather quickly. Taking a perplexed step back, you cross your arms over your chest, regarding the walking excuse impatiently.

You’ve been sleepless for two weeks now, arranging a time and date as to when you would finally show your face at the Castle’s gates again to confront Jeongin only to be told he was unavailable. Being impatient was a given.

“Enlighten me.”

A big sigh.

“Please don’t misinterpret this, I’m sure he would love to see you, talk to you and all the things a person does with their lover that I know of because of romance novels I’ve read in my past time and oh no I’m talking too much but um, he is quite occupied at the moment.” Along with tapping his foot, Han’s habit you’d learned from Jeongin is he rambles ceaselessly. Only problem being you can’t tell if it’s simply a trait of his or nervousness due to confrontation. You don’t buy it either way.

“And? What has been keeping him occupied if I may ask.” The unconvinced stare etching your face earns lifted brows, and it’s the Royal Guard’s turn to flail his arms, the clank of his metallic armor loudly echoing — causing once calm birds to strike to the skies fretfully.

“With all due respect, do you really believe he would tell me what he’s preoccupied with?”

Hm. That is fair. Jeongin has always been a quiet one apart from conversing with you, his necessary antics placed at the top of the list. Somewhere, you hoped you’d be on the top of that list too, a fleeting thought you knew would be recurring.

Trivial deciding between going back to the village to wallow in your own self pity or make an equally pitiful sprint to Jeongin’s Apothecary to wring the man, luckily, the former reigned supreme in decision-making on this particular occasion. You breathed a long puff of air through your nose, shifting your weight into your heel from one foot to the other thoughtfully.

“Then, can you inform me when he’s not preoccupied?” No, you’re not giving up, simply rescheduling. Venturing back to the villages to await a letter from anyone, telling you the man has gained enough confidence to make room for you, that he had “rescheduled.” Han flashes a small smile, ruffling your hair kindly unlike the same sheepish contortion gracing his features. He doesn’t have to say anything to understand, to know of your struggle. You also know he sees your roaring anguish. Han Jisung has always been like that. Empathetic to a fault.

Changbin as the good listener, Han as the empathetic, and Jeongin as the man who was preoccupied.

Another optic of contemplation negotiates that you should have brushed the doubts away, decided against putting so much into gaining a single letter back. Nevertheless, it was impossible to both diminish the doubts and will a letter, and most certainly to ever let go of Jeongin. Perhaps he could manage to let go when it came to you, but it would never be the other way around.

Eventually you learned he surely couldn’t be that occupied, you mean, if he had the audacity to show his face in the pottery shop his list of priorities couldn’t be that time consuming now could they? Days from breaching a year without even seeing him and the one responsible for your misery causally entered the exact shop you had fled Castle life for. Referring to “eventually” as in right on time to absolutely wreck whatever fragments of acceptance you had gathered during his absence. Jeongin was good at making you lose, almost as good as he was at changing your mind.

Had Han said something to him about your visit? It seemed not, since the man didn’t pay any mind to you, like you didn’t exist just as the Royals had done. Your blood ran cold, standing frozen behind the front desk, eyes glued to the figure who casually strolled through the front door as if he hadn’t shattered your soul into a bountiful disarray a year in advance.

“Why are you here?”

“To get a jar.” He bites back coldly, bitter. Quick upon answering without consideration, not even turning to look at you.

A stranger, Yang Jeongin, is the exact figure who had walked through the door. Not someone you knew, but a stranger, a mere customer with a crude attitude.

“You’re aware you could have sent Han to get a new jar for you, like you had him tell me you were occupied with your duties, right? I see through-“No you don’t!”

Everything seemed to go rigid. Jeongin never raised his voice. But he did, and his mouth lay agape as he stared at you. Eyes blazing with something unreadable. Your hands tremble by your sides, fighting to maintain a composed expression as you stare back. This time, you compose with a heavy tongue, mouth just as dry as before.

“Are you going to say because of your position you could not even bother to acknowledge my feelings, couldn’t respond to my letters? Because you are the Healer and I am the invisible god-daughter you cannot just tell me what is taking up your time? Stop hurting me, please Jeongin.”

His jaw clenched. Pausing, then resorting to stepping over to where you stood and harshly sitting the clay jar atop the counter without a word. Jeongin spoke much without words, today, you didn’t want to listen. Hushed, he parted strawberry lips you’d kissed more times than healthy and there you are, hanging on with the feeble belief this is Jeongin you’re speaking to and not a stranger.

“… I knew if I sent out another letter I would come here, see you, fall all over again and have to stay. But I presume in the end my feet always lead me back to you.”

You feel your heart shattering into a million pieces, worried he’d crumble like a year ago and you’d pathetically follow suit. Instead, you smiled. A real smile that hurt your cheeks because you missed him, missed this even if it was an argument. Missed the hurt and the denial and the rawness of it all. Most importantly, missed your best friend and the love of your life.

Forgiving. You allowed yourself to forgive too easily with Jeongin.

In order to make eye contact you peek beneath dark strands of hair, adorning a big smile while gazing at him you can’t believe manages to appear when you should be fuming.

“You have grown so handsome, Innie.”

Because he has. His jawline has grown sharper(maybe it’s your lack of inspection) and his once tightly cut hair has become overgrown and unkempt, somehow foolishly infatuating. He looks older, he looks lonesome.

Stalling, he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes unevenly flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“.. May I kiss you?”

Considering it, you should’ve pushed him away, drilled him about how cruel he was to you and then shun him from the shop — shouldn’t have smiled or complimented him. Shouted at him for the Summer he left you waiting, wanting. For the never ending worrying he’d burdened you with. Sensible, but not the outcome you favored. After all, it was a refreshing time of year and opportunities like this were a bit too tempting to resist. He gave the impression he felt the same sort of gaping hesitance anyway.

“Just once.”

It’s his turn to laugh sadly, and he does kiss you. Slow and careful like you were a porcelain teacup, like the first time. Like he’s sorry, meaning it without an excuse. And miraculously, Innie had returned to visit you too. The one you knew, not the stranger nor a customer. Not the man who stopped sending you letters, not the one who raised his voice.

“Will you come back to visit? Or is this a fleeting chance?” Thick lashes dust fervently upon pulling apart, attempting to clear his rosy-hazed vision while listening to your whisper. Sneakily, his hand slips forward, spinning the jar sitting between you while another occupies itself on your cheek, caressing the skin he’s dreamt of.

“For another jar and ingredients, certainly.”

You’re quick to shove him, dubiously irritated by his ability to carelessly tease. Charming, but you won’t let him know that.

“Take this seriously!”

Giggles fill the expanse of the pottery shop as you playfully banter back and forth, drinking in the raindrops after your lengthy drought. Omniscient is the mutual unspoken sorry he mutely confessed to you, over and over with his affection, his words, his touch.

“However I have yet to let my unanswered letters go disregarded.” You perplex, Jeongin’s smile a risky jargon — concealing some sort of mischievous intention.

“Don’t fret yourself love, I’ll make up for all the responses you weren’t delivered.” He leans across the wooden panel, ushering a kiss you stubbornly resisted. Finally he maneuvers to your lips, snatching chaste pecks here and there as you struggle, laughing all the while. As if he’s carefully scouring back all the times he could have savored your lips in your time apart.

“Every day,”

Kiss.

“I will deliver a response,”

Kiss.

“With a flower attached from the shop next door,”

Kiss.

“Until all the letters I didn’t answer are answered.”

He’s satisfied with himself after you affirm the decision with a subtle chuckle, patting him on the shoulder and slipping his earlier payment into a compartment below the counter.

“I said you could kiss me just once, but I’ll look forward to my letters of compensation.”

Goodness, have you given enough credit to his smile? No description could possibly describe its beauty. One of his many factors you missed dearly. Imagining the future, you wondered if you would be granted the ability to witness them — all the pieces you thought you had lost after eight months. Time would tell. He left, except his departure wasn’t heartfelt. Instead it felt as if he would drop by tomorrow like back in the Castle, like things were how they used to be.

Awakening the following day, you figured Jeongin had been joking, not anticipating him to immediately write back and definitely not anticipating him to attach a flower alongside. Apart from the many miles separating the villages from the Castle, where he found the time to answer so many letters and supply flowers stood challenging to comprehend. Although you were proven wrong when the Postal service slipped a pristinely pale envelope into the shop's mailbox in the midst of your shift, mesmerizing White Orchids embellishing the visual. And for a moment, your mind streamed clearer. There he goes, leaving you breathless again.

The field chatter, the daisy bracelets. He proves you wrong a second time. He had listened. Listened to you talk all that time ago about those flowers and their meaning, otherwise he wouldn’t have added it with the letter you sent exclaiming your frustration about his sudden unresponsive state. Listened unlike the Royals had. Listened like a best friend, like a lover should.

White Orchids symbolize “I’m sorry.”

The next day, then the next. More letters passing by your window, beneath your door, in the mailbox or by hand on your way to the stalls. Petals littering the floor the only trace of your not-so-secret admirer. Twenty days later, they keep arriving in a constant and you’re left to ponder if perhaps he had planned this. Planned to apologize, planned to respond.

Friday. Pink Camellias symbolize “I missed you.”

Occasionally he would stay a while and watch you read his letters, scooping you up in his arms or wistfully chuckling from afar. Drinking in the time he was longing for and awaiting the time he’d experience now that he had you. And despite being Sunday and early at that, the letters continued to pour. Except today, unbeknownst to you, happened to be your last letter among hundreds, and a knock at the shop's door hadn’t gone unnoticed in the midst of your daily shift. Stirring you awake from whatever illusions had pulled you from the world's atmosphere. Walking outside to see what was the matter, you gasped, shocked by the large bouquet of vermillion flowers the man held that nearly concealed his face due to their abundant size. Jeongin, clad in a clean tanned trench coat, grinned a saccharine beam as he spoke, squinted eyes and puffy cheeks just as you remembered.

“This is your last letter, I hope I can make up for everything I’ve missed, my love.”

The flowers he held?

Red Chrysanthemums.

Red Chrysanthemums symbolize,

“I love you.”