Promenade
Promenade
homin, pg-13
romance/historical drama
9,716 words
help_japan for kallistei! Thank you for your patience, bb, sorry it took so long!
prom•e•nade : (n.) 1. A leisurely walk, especially one taken in a public place as a social activity.
Scenes from a life and an era of privilege: of nobility and new money, society, pride, and love.
The prompt given to me by dear kallistei was a quote by Neruda (below), but I took inspiration from several sources. The first of which is Homin’s spread in the April edition of Esquire which you haven’t seen yet- you should, immediately, because unf. The second is the music of the lovely Madeleine Peyroux, in particular her cover of the song Smile.
A lot of research went into this, though admittedly I did take a few historical liberties, here and there… the whole ‘two Korean pop stars living as rich gents in Edwardian!England’ thing aside, lol. Just ignore that little detail ;) The Count(ess) of Westchester belongs to kallistei. As for that actual research, I had too many sources to list, but if you’re interested in anything, feel free to ask for more info or for clarification! I love this era to pieces ♥
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
~ August 1908 ~
The night they first meet, they’re both guests at a formal dinner party, one of the last of the Season. Large and lavish, it’s the sort wherein gold-leaf calling cards are sent out eight weeks in advance, hand-delivered by footmen in shiny silver brocade. Guests arrive in style from every fashionable corner of London, women in sleek evening dress and men in white tie, one last hoorah before they retreat back to the country.
He arrives twenty minute early and is announced by the butler; there must be fifty guests in the drawing-room-turned-ball-room, idling a dull tide of chatter, and yet heads turn at the sound of his name. Not a second later the hostess swoops in, a kiss on each cheek. “Darling, I’m so happy you’re here,” says she, taking his hand in hers, delicate and finely gloved.
“Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China,” says he, and Boa giggles in a way that would be girlish if not for the sharp, calculating look that lives in her eyes. The Countess of Westchester is a formidable woman, and he doesn’t protest as she drags him across the room to make talk with close and various acquaintances.
And so, as to be expected, the night they first meet, they do not actually meet -amongst such a large crowd it would be impossible to greet everyone properly, especially if you’ve never been introduced, nor have any reason to be.
Jung Yunho, Baron of Knowles, heir apparent to the Duke of Cassington, has no reason to be introduced to one Mr. Shim Changmin.
But that doesn’t mean Yunho doesn’t see him anyway. He’s smoking in a cozy corner with a group of old Harrow friends, listening only absently to their talk (women, women: summer betrothals and scandals; new heiresses from overseas or new women, period; it’s a rather tired subject, in Yunho’s opinion) when his own name draws his attention.
“…over there, talking to the actress, oh what’s her name. Yunho?” asks Park Yoochun, Baron of Fairfax and long-time friend.
“Who?”
“The actress,” Yoochun says, head tilting in the direction of the woman in question. “She played in Much Ado at the Haymarket last summer, didn’t she?”
Yunho looks her over, lingering over the actress’ petite figure, familiar even if it’s taking him a while to put a name to her. “I know of her,” he settles on, evasive enough that he can still slide a glance at Yoochun and share his smirk.
“Of course you do,” says Jaejoong, rolling his eyes as he steps into their circle of conversation. The Viscount flashes a smile at Yunho and raises his cigarette, a mock salute that leaves Yunho just a little breathless.
Yunho has to clear his throat to speak. “What of the lady?”
Yoochun’s still smirking. “We’re discussing the gentleman she’s speaking with.”
Yunho looks again; he sees the man, tall and tanned, thick black hair combed back and curling around his face. He’s handsome, imposing. But Yunho does not recognize him. “I’ve never seen him before.”
But Jaejoong’s lips curl up at the corners. “That would be Shim Changmin.”
Yunho arches an eyebrow.
Jaejoong puffs slowly and says, dismissively. “Another new-money type. Just come into his fortune, supposedly. Not much is known about him, yet, but I’m sure we’ll know soon enough… they say he’s quite ambitious.”
“He’s garnered an invitation from the Countess, hasn’t he?” adds Yoochun.
“So he has,” Jaejoong concedes, tapping ash into the fireplace. “Rumor has it he’s trying to buy himself a barony.”
They all have a time nattering over that, but Yunho still has half a mind on the room; he’s the only one to turn for a second look, the only one to see Shim Changmin staring back at them as if he can actually hear them, staring at him as if all else in the room doesn’t exist.
They catch eyes. Yunho exhales smoke, and Shim quirks a brow. A second later, the man’s sleeve is tugged by some chit in a red dress, and he looks away. Yunho turns, too, but-
Interesting, he thinks.
Shim Changmin.
He might be one to remember.
~ December 1908 ~
The second time they meet, it’s even more in passing.
He’s in town only for the week and happens to run into one his few other female friends, the Lady Stephanie, at one of the more popular tea rooms. Thé dansant is in full swing; the live orchestra plays an upbeat waltz and couples twirl across the refined greenery of the palm court.
He’s sipping on Darjeeling and eyeing the selection when suddenly she’s standing over him with a smile, a sharp line of collarbone exposed by the scoop of her dress. “How about a dance, stranger?”
They haven’t seen each other in months, since Michaelmas, at the very least; it would be rude to refuse, even if he wanted to. As soon as the orchestra starts a new song, a fast ragtime for a turkey trot, the two of them slip out to the dance floor and proceed to command it entirely. Other dancers clear the floor for them as they step in time, spin and skip and laugh as they do it, the picture of perfect measure, and when they song comes to a close and Yunho bows, a kiss to the Lady’s hand, it’s to the sound of a light applause.
“A pleasure dancing with you,” she winks. “Like always.”
“Of course it is.”
She laughs aloud. They leave the floor, arm-in-arm, and as they go he knows he’s being watched. He’s well used to the feeling of eyes on him -but it’s more than that, now. Yunho turns his head and there he is again, Shim Changmin, sitting in a back-corner table, staring at Yunho with dark eyes and inscrutable intent.
It’s true Yunho’s certainly heard more of the man in the past year -they all have, because his rise through society has been neither slow nor subtle. Less than a year ago this Shim fellow was nothing, and now he’s all but fashionable. Yunho finds it mildly appalling.
He turns on his heel and tries to ignore the effect those eyes have on him, like fingers scraping against his skin.
~ May 1909 ~
The third time, it’s a much more intimate affair.
It’s another of Boa’s famous dinner parties, though this one is held at one of her many country houses, an hour’s journey outside London and well worth the trip. Boa meets him at the door herself, a whirl of movement in a stunning couture dress: white muslin peaking out beneath pink lace and frill, so thin he can just about see the whale-bone corset tapering her tiny waist. The high, embroidered collar fans up her throat, just touching the line of her hair, contrasting so finely with her dark colors. She calls him Darling as usual and takes his black formal jacket, his favorite white shawl, and hands them off to the butler before they enter into her small parlor.
“It’s the usual gang,” she comments playfully. “But I don’t believe you’ve met everyone…”
And this is how he truly meets Shim Changmin, and it is still far too soon to know how that meeting will change the course of his life forever. Instead, he spots Shim across the room and not-quite rolls his eyes.
“I thought you said this was close friends only,” he mutters as they make their approach, and Boa grins, slapping lightly at his arm.
“Oh hush. I like him well enough. He’s got charisma, and he’s certainly made something of himself. He’s no knut like you,” she teases, and Yunho sighs, long-suffering.
“You’ve never appreciated me, dear Countess,” he says.
“You’ve never done anything worth appreciating,” she replies. “Now do try and be nice. If you give him a chance you might find a friend in him.”
Yunho would respond (in the negative, most certainly) but then they’re in earshot and Boa is striding forward, calling out to Shim.
“Changmin! Come here, I have someone I want you to meet,” she says.
Mr. Shim is sitting on the chaise next to the woman all of society wants Yunho to marry -the Honorable Dana, eldest daughter of the Earl of Shapley- but at Boa’s words Shim stands, and as he unfolds himself Yunho is graced with the realization that Shim Changmin is not just tall, he is tall.
“My Lady,” he says to Boa, bowing his head in respect, and Yunho will at least give him points for knowing how to respect his betters.
“Changmin, this is Lord Yunho, Baron of Knowles.”
“And soon-to-be Duke,” Yunho adds, and Boa rolls her eyes and starts to say something cheeky, but then a deeper voice interjects itself-
“Not too soon, I hope, if only for the sake of your father,” Mr. Shim says, smoothly. His tone is light and his next words do little to soften his nerve: “If that’s alright for me to say. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He extends his hand, and for a moment, Yunho is tempted not to take it - because no, he has no right to say it, and damn, but he actually does have charm enough to pull it off. Shim’s eyes are mismatched in a way that’s oddly endearing, but his lips are tilted in challenge.
Yunho grits his teeth- and yet, the moment cannot be seen to go on too long. Awkwardness will not do, and a second later Yunho is accepting the hand: a quick, firm shake, not exerting a muscle more than necessary.
“The same,” he murmurs. Boa cuts him a look but then Yoochun calls out to her from across the room, and with a warning squeeze to his arm, she flits over to tend to him and do all things that hostesses need do.
Yunho and Mr. Shim are left standing at odds, staring at each other much like that night so long ago. It isn’t until Lady Dana coughs pointedly that Yunho breaks eye contact. He looks down at her and wants to sigh; she’s nice if a bit spoiled, flashy enough to make everyone think they’d be a good match, but ultimately Yunho thinks she’s a silly girl with a good name and not much else.
He’s not so uncouth as to even hint it, however, so he bends and pecks her cheek and makes the expected inquires as to her health and that of her father, her mother, her favorite sister and cousin and dog. He stays standing, and notes that Changmin does, too, propping himself casually on the arm of the chaise.
Small talk with Dana never goes far, and all too soon his attention is drifting back to the man before him. “So, Mr. Shim,” he starts, civilly enough. “Tell me more about yourself. You consider yourself a businessman, yes…?”
“Changmin, if you please,” says Mr. Shim mildly. “And yes, of course.”
Yunho raises an eyebrow. “Of course. And how did all that-” he waves a hand in the air vaguely- “come about?”
“I came by it honestly,” Shim shrugs. “My father was an academic, very well considered. And my mother was an heiress- the family owns several mines in Cornwall, and a few in the North. I came into the business when my grandfather passed away two years ago. I’d say I’ve done fairly well for myself since,” he says, and his smile tastes of self-satisfaction.
Yunho is amused as well. “I see,” he says. “Then I expect you’ll continue to make your fortune working in the ground, Mr. Shim?” His smile his sharp, a tease fringing outright scorn. To the side Dana stifles a giggle -or maybe it’s a hiccup, he doesn’t care enough to guess.
For his part Shim doesn’t rise to the bait, though the pleasantness of his voice develops an edge of its own. “Oh no,” he says. “I expect not.”
There are many things Shim could say after that -Yunho hears implications lying in wait at the end of the sentence. But Shim closes his lips against them and smiles innocently, so that Yunho finds himself hanging on that last word. It’s unsettling- affecting.
Yunho clears his throat, intends to reply, but then an arm drops onto his shoulder without warning, and he only just stops from jumping out of his skin.
It’s Jaejoong, grinning crookedly in the corner of his eye. “Hello, da-rrling,” he drawls, and it takes Yunho a second -a second too long- to realize he’s only imitating Boa. Yunho clears his throat, trying to steady his fast-tempo heart even as Jaejoong lets his arm drop like it’s nothing.
“Hello Jaejoong,” he murmurs.
Jaejoong grins at them all. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen my friend here. Last time I saw you was at New Years… you were all cozy with the daughter of that French diplomat, pretty young girl- not so smart but fast enough, if I remember right. Don’t tell me you’ve piped off her so soon?” he adds, all but leering.
It’s all innocent fun, but Jaejoong has a way of sticking his finger into the mess and stirring until it’s all gone downside-up. He’s capricious at the best of times, and Yunho knows this, everyone does. That Jaejoong’s unaware of his power makes it impossible to hate him for it (quite the opposite, actually) -and usually Yunho would have no qualms... hell, he would bask in Jaejoong's attention, laugh and play along! For, just as everyone knows of Jaejoong’s wickedness so too they know of Yunho’s womanizing ways. He doesn’t apologize for his reputation- in fact, he does his best to encourage it.
So he doesn’t understand why it makes him so uncomfortable, now. Dana titters again, not at all put out, and Jaejoong gets really into his own gas and Yunho tries to ignore the way that Changmin is still staring at him, like he’s trying to raze him with his eyes alone.
Yunho wonders if he’s the only one who notices.
The dinner escort is a decorous affair, as society dictates. The Countess has carefully assigned the couples so they are not related by blood or marriage, but are of suitably equal station. As hostess Boa goes in first and stands by her seat at the head of the table while the couples stroll into the dining room, highest to lowest rank. Yunho and Lady Dana are first, Changmin and Sunny, an activist friend of Boa’s, file in last.
The Countess sits -they all sit, and then they dine.
It’s nine courses spread over two hours, delightful from the first flavorful bite of amuse-bouche to the sensuously warm pudding, drowning in custard. Compliments are made to Boa, then the chef, a round man who’s brought up from the downstairs kitchen for just the occasion. Wine is passed around, gentlemen serving ladies and each other.
Talk is light, trivial with the occasional jab at international politics or economics, as it should be. It is never too personal (despite Jaejoong’s best attempts) or bold, and Yunho and Changmin’s conversations don’t cross paths again until after dinner, when everyone stands and the women retreat back to the drawing room for coffee, and the men wait until the last has left to return to their seats.
“Well,” Yoochun says, sprawling out his chair and rolling up his cuffs, loose now that there are no ladies present. “I am absolutely ready for a kip. I don’t think I’ll eat again for a week.”
A chuckle goes around the room. Yunho tugs at his own collar even as he accepts a glass of port from the butler. He notes the dark ruby color and knows it must be a good vintage indeed; a small sip, light and smooth, confirms it.
Most of the men congregate around the higher end of the table, until it is only Yoochun, Yunho, and Changmin left nearby. Yoochun looks like he actually might fall asleep right there at the table, and Yunho snorts in amusement.
“Gluttony is a sin,” says Changmin, glancing between the two of them with dark eyes. Yunho raises an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t taken Shim for a zealot. But, to each his own.
“There are a lot of sins in this world,” he replies dryly. “I’m sure God will excuse him for enjoying a good pudding.”
Changmin concedes with a small smile, taking a sip from his own glass, and Yunho still doesn’t know what to make of him. He’s surprised the man is even here, down at this lonely end of the table. Shim is a studied social climber and there are an abundance of influential figures at the opposite, at ease and just waiting to have their favors’ curried… there are more than enough members of the peerage willing to indulge the parvenus of the world, but Yunho isn’t one of them.
And yet Yunho doesn’t move, either. He doesn’t know why; Changmin is a nuisance, too astute not to get under Yunho’s skin, too smart to be so common. How Boa ever thought they might be friends…
And yet… yet he finds himself speaking anyway. “So,” he starts, trying to maintain that delicate mix of boredom and indulgence. “Where do you plan on taking your new business ventures?”
Something indefinable flits over Changmin’s face, before it smoothes over into bland geniality. “Anywhere that’ll have me, I suppose.”
Yunho snorts. “I didn’t think you were the type for desperation.”
“Not at all. But I like to explore all my options,” he responds. “Just last spring I was in America, talking with a fellow named Ford-”
“The auto maker?” Yunho cuts in, sitting up a little straighter. He’s always been a fan of autos, and has been driving since he was a boy. He currently owns three cars in his own name, and has been haggling with an Italian dealer for weeks to try and acquire his fourth.
“The auto maker,” Changmin confirms. He sets down his glass, fingering the thin, delicate stem. “Are you showing an interest in something, Lord Yunho?” he asks, eyes teasing and bright. “Funny, I didn’t think you were the type.”
Yunho's laughing before he knows what he's doing. “Very well, touché,” he says, eyes never leaving Shim's. “Tell me more about Ford, then.”
“I’m sure you know most of it already,” he says. “He’s got his company, his models, but he’s also got the damnedest new idea to manufacture the machines, and he needs investors to begin working on the scale he wants.”
“You plan to be that investor?”
Changmin only smiles. He raises his glass in silent toast, downing it to the dregs, and it’s only then that Yunho notices how his smile doesn’t really reach his eyes. “I have many plans,” he says eventually. “You never know what might happen,” he says, and it gives Yunho the shivers.
The party ends shortly before midnight, and guests begin saying their goodbyes. Yunho lingers, talking with Boa and settling his debt (because the Countess is an absolute shark with the cards, damn her), and doesn’t realize he’s the last one left until the butler comes in to say, pointedly, “Your car is out front, My Lord.”
So he stands and says, “I should go.”
“Fine,” she answers. “But don’t be gone so long again.”
“Of course,” he says, and bends down briefly to kiss her cheek. “I’ll call again soon.”
The car has already been started, rumbling loud just outside the halo of light from the country house façade. He doesn’t employ a mechanic, preferring to drive on his own- the feel of his hands encased in soft-worn leather, curled around the thick steering wheel. He’s got the Rolls 30hp tonight. It’s a good make, if a little outdated.
A night fog has settled over the land and it keeps him driving slow -which turns out to be a good thing when only a short while later he comes across another car, sitting glumly on the edge of the road. He has enough time to pull on the transmission lever and decelerate the rumbling auto.
“Hello? Anyone there?” he calls out.
He doesn’t see a soul around. The car could have stalled and been abandoned, the owner desiring to walk to the closest town for help. Yunho doesn’t know how far away that may be- Boa’s manor is fairly close to his own familial estate, Smenton Park, but not close enough for him to know this area well.
But he needn’t have worried; a few seconds later he sees something shift in the backseat, and then a figure sits up into the open air. It takes Yunho’s eyes a moment to focus in the dark, but he recognizes that figure- and indeed, it’s Shim Changmin peering over at him.
Yunho raises an eyebrow. “Taking a nap?” he inquires.
Changmin remains mostly in shadow, but his smile flashes in the dark. “My car seems to have suffered from… something. I thought I’d wait here until help arrived.”
“And if I -or anyone else- hadn’t driven by?”
The shape of Changmin shrugs. “Then I would have had a nice night under the stars.”
Yunho huffs, but engages the brake and hops out, not bothering to open the driver’s door. “Well lucky for you I was coming this way.”
“Lucky for me,” Shim murmurs. Yunho shoots him a look but the other man is busy removing himself from the backseat much more precisely.
He lifts the hood and bends over the long length of the engine. “Do you have a light?”
Changmin disappears from view, a minute or two passes, and then a small lantern is held over his head, casting light over the brass fittings. He hums in satisfaction. “This… it’s Napier, right? Their T23 model?”
“You really do know your autos,” says Changmin, and Yunho doesn’t look up, but he can imagine the easy slant of Changmin’s body, leaning against the car, leaning towards Yunho-
“Of course I do-” he grunts, reaching out to feel across the massive straight-six engine. “And for someone who’s- about to invest a- fortune into the automobile, I think you should know, too,” he chides, tightening a loose valve on the crankshaft.
He can hear Changmin’s smirk. “I’m a quick study.”
“I would hope so.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I’ll worry if it means I have to teach you how to crank this engine,” he jokes, the chuckle rolling out of him so easily that once the sound is out, caught in the thick weight of the dampening fog, it startles him. For a second he can’t believe how natural this feels, to be gabbing on the side of a country road with a man he doesn’t even want to like.
But, somehow, without his permission, it seems he already does.
“Do you know how to crank an engine?” he asks again.
It’s silent for a long while, too long, and then Changmin speaks, his voice lower than it was before. “Perhaps,” he says. “But I think I’d rather watch you, anyway.”
Yunho is very careful when he turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Changmin. There is a moment when he honestly, absurdly, expects Shim to be looking at the engine. But Changmin isn’t looking at the car at all; he’s looking at Yunho, or at least a part of Yunho- the part that’s currently bent over, sticking out into the open air. Yunho is careful to control his reaction, to keep still as he feels Changmin’s eyes rove up the curved line of his back, bottom to top.
So it’s like that, then.
Yunho has yet to move when Changmin’s gaze finally crosses his, and they stay that way for a long time- motionless, composed, pokerfaced.
Yunho is surprised he didn’t realize it sooner. Shim really isn’t one for subtleties, is he?
“I think we may be best served continuing such lessons at a later time,” says Yunho. He straightens and Changmin does not back up, does not maintain the appropriate distance. Yunho imagines he can feel the flare of his breathe on his skin, that’s how close they are now.
And with the light still hanging from the open hood, creating for them this gilded oasis in the night, Yunho can finally look into Changmin’s eyes, gleaming and alluring, and it has been a very long time since Yunho gave into this temptation. He has spent his whole life starring in a charade -a razzle-dazzle tale of the rich-and-plenty bachelor, the eternal bachelor- knowing that one day society would buy it so well that he would escape scrutiny and get away with nearly anything. Or, at least, with this. That’s how it goes, how it’s always gone for men of his persuasion. Stay quiet, stay discreet, and society just might learn to look the other way.
Shim Changmin, he has to remind himself, is not society. He doesn’t know the rules, not nearly well enough to break them.
And then Changmin tilts his head back, exposing the long stretch of his neck, the sharp line of his cheekbones. Lantern light makes his skin glow, sets fire to the hair curling at his nape. He invites Yunho’s stare and Yunho won’t be so rude as to refuse.
“I’m not sure the car will make it all the way back to London,” he says, haltingly. “These roads can wreak havoc on the mechanisms. And on a night like this…”
“What do you suggest?” says Changmin.
“My own estate is not too far from here,” says Yunho. “I was planning on returning to London tonight, but we could instead stay at the night at Smenton… send a man for the car. I can return you to London tomorrow, myself.”
Changmin’s lips twitch. “Tomorrow?”
Yunho has to bite the inside of his cheek. “It’s rude to overstay one’s welcome.”
“It’s rude not to extend one’s hospitality,” Changmin replies lightly. His breath makes a cloud of air before his mouth. It seems he’s as quick a learner as he says.
“Ah,” Yunho says, softly. “So it is.”
~ November 1909 ~
The first fox-hunt of the year is a major event at Smenton Park. Every year his father invited all his friends to bring their hounds and join in on the spectacle, and though Yunho has never been overly fond of fox-hunting, his father’s death is still a raw thing- it seems only right to keep the tradition going.
Most of his own friends, however, are still up in Scotland, celebrating the end of autumn at Balmoral with the rest of the peerage. But, Yunho has never been one to waste opportunity, and he sends out invitations anyway.
It’s simply coincidence that Changmin is the only one of them to accept. A completely unsurprising coincidence.
It is even more unsurprising that he arrives early.
The servants are still opening rooms, clearing them of dead air and cleaning them of a year or mores’ worth of dust and disuse.
“I’ve never been on a proper hunt,” Changmin says, after he’s led into the library by Yunho’s flustered-looking footman. The room isn’t quite ready, the footman says, bowing apologetically, but the newly-appointed Duke dismisses him with a kind word.
“You’ll have to wait,” Yunho says to Changmin. “Junsu will take your luggage up.”
“I didn’t want to miss anything,” Changmin says, as if Yunho hasn’t spoken. He wanders around the room and inspects everything he passes. He runs a hand along a shelf of books, as if the spines read in Braille instead of letters. He spins the heavy, painted globe and touches the heavy velvet curtains. He comes to a stop in the window, standing in the sunlight, staring out over the short, orderly stretch of the estate’s rose garden.
For his part Yunho sits behind his desk, fingers steepled together, and watches his every move.
“You’re impatient,” he says, eventually.
“Maybe,” Changmin says, and spares him a satisfied look.
The first day of hunting is in full swing and the Park echoes with the sound of hounds and horns. Yunho is used to riding but Changmin is not; when he sneaks into the master bedroom that night, he spends more time complaining about the soreness of his thighs than actually doing anything with them.
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft so soon?” teases Yunho, a hand running daringly up his side.
Changmin quirks his lips, and the Of course not that Yunho hears- he finds it in Changmin’s eyes, too busy stealing the actual sounds from his lips.
And after, when the whole estate hangs in silence of the midnight hours, and a single candle stands their only, silent witness, they lounge and linger between the sheets, legs twined and the buttons of their nightshirts snagging creases in the sheets. Changmin watches with half-lidded eyes as Yunho’s fingers crest the bumpy, boney top of his knee and drag their way around into the soft skin underneath, ghosting until Changmin gasps and twitches away.
“There.” Yunho smirks, triumphant, and Changmin tries to move away but Yunho doesn’t let him, his grip turning to iron. “There,” he says. “Got you-”
But Changmin has never been one to give in lightly, not even for a bit of poking fun. The tickle-touch becomes a rough-house which turns into an all-out wrestle, and soon Yunho is struggling to contain laughter of his own as Changmin looms over him, pinning him down.
“No, stop- Changmin,” he tries, wrists twisting uselessly under Changmin’s grip.
“No, my Lord.” Changmin grins something fierce and leans down, kissing words and little huffs of air along the sensitive skin of Yunho’s neck; it leaves him out of breath, inelegant, writhing.
“Hush,” he says, chest convulsing. “Hush or you’ll wake up the whole-”
“Pssh,” Changmin breathes, “We’re surrounded by a bunch of deaf old men. No one will hear, no one will care-”
“Hush,” Yunho says.
“You’re the one making all the noise.”
“hush-”
Changmin does make a good point, though; they are surrounded by a group of deaf old men. That’s the only reason Yunho lets Changmin get away with all he does -Yunho tells himself that’s the reason, why he indulges Changmin, his forwardness, his almost-vulgar charisma.
The second day’s hunt is paused at mid-day for tea, which is already set and waiting for them in the gardens. Yunho excuses himself to check on something-or-other in the house, and he is halfway between the solar and the library when he feels the presence at his back. He has no time to react before he’s being pulled aside, pushed into a small nook with far too little privacy.
Changmin presses tight against him, running hands up under his scarlet coat to wing around his waist, reaching for the buttons that run up his back. Yunho has to reach around to still his hand. “No,” he says, shaking his head, his one demand.
Changmin’s hand retreats but it’s no real victory, because between one breath and the next he’s bending down and biting at Yunho’s lower lip, tugging aggressively. Yunho can’t resist; he surges forward and captures his mouth in return and they fight for dominance, neither backing down, Yunho’s hand so tight around Changmin’s wrist it’s shaking.
“We shouldn’t-” Yunho says, pulling back for a half-second at a time. “It’s not-”
“-Proper?” Changmin answers, and Yunho nips at him in reproach.
He doesn’t know why Changmin’s cheekiness seems to only ignite his passion further. Changmin is pushy and capitalist and greedy and more more more and Yunho has never been one to tolerate such insatiability. Yunho is fashion and finesse; he doesn’t demand because he’ll get what he wants anyway- even if he has to get it through pretense and deception. To be seen as anything other than content would be beneath him.
And yet.
Changmin forces a leg between his and he’s drawn taut with anticipation. His other hand comes up and wraps around the back of Changmin’s neck, holding him still with compelling force. “Completely,” he says, barely a whisper but it still seems overly loud in their small corner.
Despite it all, Yunho can’t get enough of this. He revels in their illicit affair, the voracious thrill of possibility and risk. Yunho has never gambled liked this before. Every time Changmin looks at him, speaks to him- their connection seems all too obvious, and Yunho marvels at how no one else can see it. How can no one detect the tension that threads between them, the sparks that fly when they share the same space? It’s palpable, the draw they have on each other, and it lies in every touch, every glance, flagrant and raw and undeniable.
It’s a stark contact to everything he’s ever been, for he’s always been so careful in all his other liaisons (with men, he must concede. He’s purposefully careless with the women-) and so this, now, every time they come together, sends his body thrumming with pleasures he could have never imagined. And it’s still so new.
He finds himself submitting even as he takes control, kissing Changmin until the other man is making soft, desperate noises in his throat and is reaching around again, and Yunho knows he’ll let him this time, he’ll let him take him right here-
A loud crash, just down the hall.
They both freeze.
Heavy breaths are too hot between them, and Yunho is uncomfortably aware of the sweat gathering in the small of his back. Changmin’s eyes are trained on Yunho and he looks almost guilty, and Yunho doesn’t want to see it- he turns his head, pressing back into the wood paneling, and tries to listen, tries to think of how they can explain this away.
They can’t, and they both know it.
No one comes near them, however, and it seems whatever mishap occurred might do more to help than harm- the servants are distracted, and they can only hope that none of their guests will come to check. Changmin leans out into the hall for a quick second, and then nods to Yunho, tugging his arm. Yunho resists for a second, lagging behind, but then he steels himself and steps in front of Changmin. He’s lived in the house his whole life and knows better than anyone how to navigate it.
They’re at a crossing point of the servant’s corridor, close to the kitchens, so Yunho leads Changmin aside through a series of storerooms and pantries until they veer off, though a closet, a minor sitting room, and an inconspicuous stairwell that leads up to the guest apartments on the second story. It’s empty now but they don’t dawdle, making quick time back to Yunho’s own private rooms in the east wing, shutting the door firmly behind them.
Yunho looks at Changmin, wrecked as he is, lips bruised and high collar torn loose. He’s still breathing hard but his face is smoothed over into something impassive- something dark and unreadable.
Yunho is suddenly angry, unspeakably angry. He knows he is just as disheveled and he tears at his jacket, wanting the evidence gone. The silence is thick and he’s ripping the last sleeve down his arm, whipping it off when he finally speaks- “That was foolish. Absolutely reckless.”
“It was,” Changmin says, but his voice gives nothing away.
“If we were caught,” he says, anger making him speak in fits and starts, “There is too much at stake. That can never, never happen again.”
Changmin rolls his eyes and Yunho glares at him. “If you’re as smart as you say, you know what’s at risk.”
“I know,” Changmin says. “How can I not?”
“If you want to be anything in society-”
“Fuck society,” he drawls.
Yunho scoffs. “You’re a fool.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’ve done well enough for myself without any help from your lot-”
“My lot runs this damn country!”
“Not for long,” Changmin replies firmly, darkly. “And we both know it. Times are changing, Yunho. You have to make something in this world that’s yours or you’ll end up with nothing.”
Yunho laughs meanly at him. Changmin has nerve enough -that he’s always known- but to stand in his house, living the life at his expense, telling Yunho that one day he’ll be worthless? Yunho is worth more than Changmin ever will be, in more ways than one.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” he sneers. “Money makes you arrogant, Shim. But I’ve seen plenty like you come and go and forgotten their names just as quick.”
And for once, his mocking seems to have ruffled Shim’s feathers. He bristles like Yunho’s words have finally gotten under his skin. Good, Yunho thinks.
“So you’ll forget me, is that what you mean?” Changmin asks, his tone low, dangerous.
The fight escalates fast and scorching and is already broaching dangerous territory, but Yunho doesn’t break even for all the signs of uneven ground. “I thought that was obvious,” he says, voice dripping with arrogance.
Changmin doesn’t reply at first, but he’s visibly affected, shaking with unspoken fury. The harsh words sit between them, smoldering, and Yunho takes a step forward, challengingly. “You’re here because I want you here. When I want you to go, you’ll already be gone.”
Changmin growls, taking a step forward of his own, “I’d like to see you try.”
“Do not test me,” Yunho warns, but Changmin ignores him, forcing his way into Yunho’s personal space. If he thinks to intimidate Yunho he’s sorely mistaken; he can’t bully Yunho with his height alone, for all his tallness Yunho is not without his own strength, and when Changmin can’t get Yunho to back away he pushes, hard- and Yunho stumbles but he lashes out too, snatching Changmin’s wrist and whipping him around so that he falls back into the dresser. The drawers rattle and something glass falls to the ground, shattering to innumerable pieces, and they both pause, breathing hard.
And, then, when they come together again, it’s with no more words, just snarls and grunts and passionate, angry force that leaves them both bruised and gasping for breath. They wrestle their way across the room, grabbing at each other just as much as they strike. Yunho’s legs are the first to hit the edge of the bed, and then they’re falling, they’re tearing and ripping at each others’ clothes, they’re rutting against each other, and Yunho is left blacked-out in his finishing- and when he finally comes to himself again, Changmin has already moved away from him, eyes trained on the ceiling with an arm flung across his forehead.
Yunho realizes they have just had their first fight.
He lies there, catching his breath, and thinks that he’s never had a first fight with anyone before, because the first was always the last, the end. But -he realizes, truly realizes- he doesn’t want this to be the end.
Heavy curtains block out most of the afternoon light. His guests must wonder where he’s gotten to; he hasn’t cut off like this since he was a boy, though it can’t have been more than twenty-and-five since they left the gardens. It seems like much longer.
A sharp slice of sun falls across the bed, over the jut of his hipbones and the red quilted duvet and the curve of Changmin’s ribcage.
He reaches out and his fingers interrupt the line, distort it where his hand touches skin. Changmin inhales, and Yunho matches it.
“I think… maybe, I was a little out of line.”
Changmin snorts again.
“Maybe, just a little,” Yunho says quickly, daring a smile. “And you were no innocent party either. We were both in a state, too wound up. It was bound to come down to a crossing…”
“Stop talking, Yunho.”
“But I-”
Changmin lifts his arm and gives Yunho such a fond, wry look that cuts him off completely. “You’re absolute rubbish at apologizing, you know that?”
Yunho tilts a smile at him. “I haven’t had much practice, sorry to say.”
Changmin huffs, not quite amused, but he extends his arm so that it lies over the pillow above Yunho’s head. They’re quiet a spell, and then-
“We have to go down soon,” says Yunho, almost regretful.
Changmin sighs and nods, but his arm curls a little tighter, so his wrist touches Yunho’s ear and the tips of his fingers brush Yunho’s shoulder. “I know,” he says. “But let’s wait, just a little while.”
Yunho sighs- but he waits.
~ March 1910 ~
Yunho arrives at the new Palladium theatre with a slip of girl on his arm, different from the dark-eyed vixen that he’d been caught up with last week. He doesn’t like to be seen with the same woman twice. It helps with his image and, if he’s honest, when they hang around too long they leave a bad taste in his mouth, like bread gone stale.
This one’s a young debutante named Tiffany but she goes by Fany, and she’s an innocent thing, wearing a dress Yunho bought her, looking at everything with stars in her eyes. He indulges her whimsy, her oohs and oh my-!s, but it gets tiresome quickly.
At intermission he leaves their state box, feeling trapped and unable to calm his restlessness. Mid-spring is always the worst, when he’s exhausted from an endless stream of parties and balls and social machinations, and knows he’s still got a long set of months to go. He’s well-known for disappearing from the city even at the height of the Season, an eccentricity recognized if not approved of by most of the peerage.
But there’s no running, right now. Instead he escapes into the playhouse main, dodging around the swarm of patrons, not having any real destination in mind -and thus gets quite the surprise when Changmin snags his sleeve.
He stops, turns, and Changmin greets him with a knowing look. “Ah, so the Duke is here,” he says, “Hello, your Grace.”
The men he’s with all tip their hats in Yunho’s direction, offering pleasantries, and Yunho offers a slight smile. “Gentlemen. Changmin,” he adds, more casually. “How have you been?”
Changmin grins and excuses himself from the men quickly and then they walk together, two friends catching up, nothing unusual, except-
“You planned that well,” mutters Yunho, as soon as they’re out of earshot.
Changmin gives him an innocent look. “What?”
“There aren’t many who are on familiar terms with a Duke. I’m sure you’ve impressed those men we left behind… business associates of yours, I assume?”
“Something like that,” he smirks.
“Tsk, tsk. I should be offended, you abusing our friendship so.” Changmin laughs, and Yunho adds, in undertone, “How are you, really?” He crooks his arm so his elbow brushes Changmin’s side. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages... you’ve certainly made yourself scarce.”
“Business is business as usual,” says Changmin, but Yunho notes a certain wryness in his tone. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude on you during Season… I know how busy you get, dressing up for all these fancy events, carousing and drinking with friends, sampling women to your heart’s content…”
Yunho bites his tongue, and tries to stay good-natured. “You’d be surprised how quickly old it gets. Half the time I’m stir-crazy and the other I feel thoroughly worn. Sometimes I think it’s enough to drive me mental.”
“It must be so exhausting,” Changmin agrees, mockingly.
“It really is,” Yunho sighs. Then, on a whim, he says, “I’m actually thinking of taking a break… a holiday sounds quite nice.”
“A holiday?”
He was thinking nothing of the sort, but now that he’s spoken the words, he wants nothing else. “Yes. Holland in particular is beautiful this time of year. The tulips will bloom soon.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.”
“Never?” Yunho echoes. “Well, maybe we should change that.”
Changmin smiles and Yunho is already making plans in his head -he already knows the rooms he wants to rent, imagines them there, a certain sort of private freedom…
A hand wraps itself around his arm, snapping him out of his reverie. “There you are!” Fany whisper fiercely, a second before the lights start flashing. Inside the theatre the orchestra starts cuing up. “And oh, just in time! The music is starting!”
“Yes, I can hear that,” Yunho sighs.
Changmin quirks his eyebrow at them, mischievous, but Yunho sees how his smile tightens ever-so slightly.
“Fany,” he says. “This is Shim Changmin, a good friend of mine.”
“Hello,” she says, smiling up at him. She blushes slightly and Yunho wants to scoff. “Pleasure to meet you,” she goes on, thrusting out her hand.
Changmin takes the hand but even as he does they catch eyes, over her head -Yunho’s wry, Changmin’s long-suffering- and then Changmin looks down and says, “How do you do,” like he’d love nothing more than to hear her entire life story. He’s a wily bastard like that, sometimes.
Fortunately, the lights flash again and her mouth drops open slightly. “You’ll come back to the box with me, right?” she pleads. “I didn’t like being there alone.”
The crowd around them has begun to move, but Yunho has no inclination to move just yet… he shifts just that much closer to Changmin, as if he’s generously making room for passerbys. “Oh?” he asks, scarcely glancing at the girl.
Fany nods fervently. “Those other ladies turned on me the moment you left! That Shapley woman looked ready to tear out my hair!” she whispers again, conspiratorially.
Both Yunho and Changmin laugh; the more time passes, the more possessive Lady Dana has become, though fruitlessly so. Seems she’s finally cottoned on to the idea that Yunho will never settle down, let alone with her.
“My apologies, m’lady,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left you to the wolves. Shim, if you’ll excuse us-” Changmin dips his head and starts to turn, but Yunho stalls him for a second longer- “But call around to mine soon; I’ve got a place on Curzon Street for the month. We’ll discuss the matter of that Holland business.”
“Holland?” Fany asks.
“Tulips,” Changmin replies, and without another words turns on heel and chuckling to himself, disappears through the theatre doors.
“He’s a bit of an odd one, isn’t he?”
It’s an innocent question but Yunho finds himself frowning hard at her for a moment, before he catches himself and rearranges his expression. “I suppose so,” he shrugs. “But he’s a good fellow… a good friend.”
“That’s nice,” says Fany, absently, and then he leads her back up the balcony stairs, back to their curtain-framed box -but in Yunho’s mind, he’s already an ocean away.
~ April 1910 ~
In Holland they have their second fight. At first they wrap themselves in each other, barely leaving their apartment. When they finally do it’s for a drive to the countryside to see the flowers, but they end up caught in a wild rainstorm- car trapped on the side of the road, they climb into the backseat and press together, sharing warmth, the smell of rain and wet grass heavy in the air.
But that quiet solitude doesn’t last long; before the week is out Yunho is called upon, invitations to dine with friends-of-friends and cousins-removed that Yunho cannot decline. Night after night Changmin accompanies him and pretenses must be upheld- they play good friends, a gentleman and a dandy, and Yunho is his usually, flirting self. And night after night, Yunho has to endure the vise-like grip Changmin keeps on his knee, under the table, out of sight.
When they arrive back at their rooms Changmin doesn’t says a word, but once in bed, the broad, unwelcoming expanse of his back speaks volumes.
When a next invitation arrives in the morning by post, Changmin sniffs disdainfully and announces he won’t go.
Yunho shrugs. “Fine. I’ll go alone.” When the other man glares, he can only answer, “You can’t expect me not to go.”
“I certainly can.”
The tone he uses, demanding and insolent, makes Yunho bristle every time. “Then expect to disappointed,” he snaps back.
He expects Changmin to get angry, but instead he looks away. “If you really- It shouldn’t have to be like this,” he says instead, after a pause.
There’s almost something like melancholy in his voice, and Yunho covers his confusion with a frown. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Changmin snorts, and still doesn’t look his way. “You don’t know what you want, Yunho.”
“I-”
“Either you want this life or you want me,” he says, sharply. “It’s not so complicated. Go or don’t go, I don’t care anymore.” Then he stands and walks back into the bedroom.
Of all things, Yunho was not expecting that. This life- it’s not a choice. Nor is it an obligation, not unless he makes it so, and Changmin…
Yunho shakes his head and thinks, after all he’s learned, there are some things Changmin will never understand.
~ August 1911 ~
Yunho stumbles through the dark. He concentrates on the damp warmth of the hand over his eyes, even as light slips through the fingers and the back of his eyelids flash red.
He trips again, cursing, and Changmin steps into him, his laughter tickling Yunho’s spine.
“Where are we going?” he demands again, the hundredth time. Whatever Changmin might say, he is not whining, because Duke’s do not whine. “Surely we must be close-”
“Ah,” scolds the other man, right against the back of Yunho’s neck. “No questions.”
He shivers. “Changmin-”
“Quiet.”
“I did not agree to this,” Yunho points out, petulant. He’d been in the middle of a solitary stay at his cottage in Exmoor, a welcome retreat from the world after the interminability of the Cowes Week races. Changmin had arrived unexpectedly and Yunho hadn’t been sure whether he was glad to see him or not -there is no enmity between them, not really, but their liaisons have tapered off recently. They’ve seen each other more often on chance, randomly crossing paths and parting just as quick. It's like they are drifting apart, like all the heat and drive has gone out of this risky affair with each other -but at the same time, it isn’t like that at all.
It isn’t so much unpassionate as it is… unhurried. Comfortable, in both ardor and distance. Yunho still doesn’t know how to feel about it.
Yet, he’d agreed to this mysterious day-trip. That was before he’d realized Changmin planned on dragging him out to God-knew-where. He’d had a kerchief round his eyes for the drive, and he's still blind as they stumble about in the wilderness -it's had to have been an hour now, surely.
“What have you got up your sleeve, Shim?”
He gets no answer. When they come to a root or rock Changmin nudges his leg to keep him from tripping, and eventually they find a rhythm that keeps them going smooth. The only sound is of nature - bird song and branches rustling and snapping twigs, and Changmin’s hand on his face is uncomfortable, almost unbearably hot, but he stops caring around the time the younger man slides his other hand over the back of Yunho’s, fingers ghosting along tendons until they slot in between his own, curling in until he’s got Yunho firmly, wholly, ensnared.
It’s peaceful. When Changmin finally stops and takes his hand away from his face, Yunho keeps his eyes closed anyway. He hears the sound of a stream, water burbling over stone. Changmin is still a spectre of warmth behind him.
“What now?” he asks, still never opening his eyes. He can feel heat of a different kind on his eyelids -sunlight, bright and stark, a rare day of clear skies this summer.
Changmin keeps his grip on his hand, while his other arm loops around Yunho’s chest, pulling him that much closer. He feels his chin drop to his shoulder.
“Did you know, three years ago today was the first day we met?”
Yunho frowns, uncertain -but then he remembers, yes, at the dinner party, they’d seen each other briefly. The first time.
“You’re right. I hadn’t remembered,” he admits.
“I knew you wouldn’t have,” says Changmin, but it’s not in reproach. “We’re miles from anything,” he adds, and Yunho believes him.
“Is that why you brought me out here?”
Changmin sighs in affirmation, and it’s such a silly little thing, this act of remembrance. Yunho escapes to his cottage for peace and solitude and Changmin interrupts it, only to give it back… just with himself included.
It’s such a ridiculous, strange way of doing things, but it puts a lump in Yunho’s throat that he can’t get rid of or just explain away. “Thank you,” he says, and thinks he might mean something else entirely. When he opens his eyes, Changmin’s still there.
~ January 1912 ~
“I’m thinking of going to America in the spring.”
Yunho flicks the paper down so that he can give Changmin a proper look.. “Whatever for?” he asks.
Changmin shrugs and takes a sip of coffee, eyes roaming over the breakfast they’d had brought up by a particularly loyal and tight-lipped footman (he’d always known he’d liked that Junsu for a reason). A good lie-in is Yunho’s favorite way to spend Sunday mornings, and he’s doing his best to teach Changmin how to do it properly -a difficult task, when Changmin’s so determined to keep bringing up business.
“I need to go for business, for one-” (Yunho sighs-) “And I hear they’re about to start selling tickets for that new ship… you’ve heard of it, the one they call unsinkable. The Titan? Titanic? Anyway, its maiden voyage is to New York City in April.”
He scoffs. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“What’s the point?”
Changmin fake-gasps. “What’s this? Lord Yunho, Duke of Cassington, not wanting the pointless prestige of going on the most luxurious ship ever to be built, just because he can?” he teases. Yunho rolls his eyes, but Shim takes it even further, crawling onto the bed to place the back of his hand on Yunho’s forehead. “Are you ill? Is your brain fever-addled?”
“Come off it,” he growls, swiping playfully at the offending hand. “But I’m not joking. Don’t go. Wait at least until the end of summer, then you won’t have to deal with the awful heat in New York. I know you don’t like it.”
Changmin slumps into a boneless heap beside him, twisting to look out the window -damp and grey as usual. “I do dislike the heat,” he affirms, and then sighs.
“You’ll thank me for it later,” Yunho murmurs, eyes drifting back to the page. “And it’ll save you a good £900 or so.”
“Since when did you become the voice of reason?” Changmin grouses.
“Since I started hanging around you, I suppose,” he replies. “You’re a horrible influence.”
~ November 1912 ~
The rousers burst hundreds of feet above them, exploding pinpricks of light, red and gold and white. From the roof Yunho and the other partygoers have a perfect view of the sky and the revelry spread beneath it, the endless parade of torchbearers that give the impression of a sea of fire. When those big fireworks go off all the town seems to hold its breath, waiting until the lights fade before squealing in delight.
Yunho himself is not immune; his head swims with one too many sips of fizz and his chest swells with boyish wonder. He hasn’t ever been to the Lewes Bonfire before; he and his friends received their invitation via Changmin, who’s friends with the owner, Heechul Bonamon. Being somewhere on Changmin’s behalf is a first- but not an unwelcome one. The club is mediocre but lively, and there are worse places to go slumming, as Yunho called it.
Now, Changmin brings him another glass of champagne and says, “Not too bad, don’t you think?”
Yunho can’t take his eyes off the sky. “It is quite remarkable,” he breathes, when Changmin presses that much closer.
“Quite,” Changmin agrees, and the way he looks at Yunho, so very fond, makes Yunho flush.
But no one gives them notice. Half-past midnight and the party is in full swing, set aside from the masses but still caught up in its raucous fervor. It’s the sort of crowd where Lords can loosen their arrow-collar ties and Ladies can kick of their rubber-heeled shoes; where Yoochun tries to overtake the band’s jazzy tunes, as he sings Guy Fawkes chants with less and less coherence as time goes on -remember remember the fi’th of November, the gunpow’er treason and plot!- and where Boa and Jaejoong share cigarettes and kisses without caring who sees.
Yunho tries not to look at them, tries to tell himself he is not feeling wistful -and then Changmin grabs his hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” Changmin says. Yunho starts to protest, but Changmin only moves closer. “No one’s watching.”
It’s true. It seems there’s been an even bigger commotion: from what he can tell, Lady Dana may or may not have just set her own dress on fire.
And with a laugh and a shrug Yunho lets himself be led into a backroom of the club, fitted into a "borrowed" scratchy striped jumper and red hat, and pulled off into the heart of the blazing revelry. They hide in plain sight, laugh and drink and rag away the night, until Yunho suddenly finds himself pinned in an alley, staring into the red-yellow reflections smoldering in Changmin’s eyes.
“Enjoying yourself, your Grace?” asks Changmin, ever teasing.
“Quite.” Yunho laughs even as he tries to catch his breath. “You’re being perfectly wicked tonight.”
Changmin’s eyes, his smile- everything about him glows. “Wicked?”
Yunho can’t hold himself back; he leans in and touches his lips to Changmin’s neck, to the steady pulse in his throat. “Yes. Undeniably, irresponsibly, utterly-”
Changmin moans. The fires burn bright and Yunho wouldn’t let this go for all the world.
“Perfect.”
There is no resisting this. Shim Changmin.
It’s a night of firsts, it seems, as Yunho admits to himself (only to himself, only, but they’ll have plenty of time, forever-)
He might just be in love.
~ End ~
started writing: 5/7/11
finished writing: 10/24/11
master list
…except not really.
When I originally planned for this fic, I wanted to cover an entire decade, 1908-1918, from the golden age of the Edwardian period to its end post-WWI. Obviously, it ran wild from there, and found itself quite long and happily ending not even halfway through that plan!
So technically, this is the end of this fic. There is also, however, the matter of all those years up to 1918 and the wonders they wreak on Homin’s relationship… I enjoy their story and can’t help but what to write it, so I’ll be posting the rest as a sequel at some (hopefully near) point in the future. It’ll be there for those who’re interested -War! Arranged marriages! Derbies!- but if not, pretend Yunho and Changmin are eternal dandy bachelors who keep living the high life, become society’s best-kept secret, and grow old together and do shameless things like yelling out at the theatre like those old curmudgeons in the Muppets :D
The sequel can now be found here: And to our Great Returns.
Thanks again to kallistei for donating and putting up with my tardiness, and for all of you who took the time out to read! Hope you enjoyed this little slice of history and homin ♥
homin, pg-13
romance/historical drama
9,716 words
help_japan for kallistei! Thank you for your patience, bb, sorry it took so long!
prom•e•nade : (n.) 1. A leisurely walk, especially one taken in a public place as a social activity.
Scenes from a life and an era of privilege: of nobility and new money, society, pride, and love.
The prompt given to me by dear kallistei was a quote by Neruda (below), but I took inspiration from several sources. The first of which is Homin’s spread in the April edition of Esquire which you haven’t seen yet- you should, immediately, because unf. The second is the music of the lovely Madeleine Peyroux, in particular her cover of the song Smile.
A lot of research went into this, though admittedly I did take a few historical liberties, here and there… the whole ‘two Korean pop stars living as rich gents in Edwardian!England’ thing aside, lol. Just ignore that little detail ;) The Count(ess) of Westchester belongs to kallistei. As for that actual research, I had too many sources to list, but if you’re interested in anything, feel free to ask for more info or for clarification! I love this era to pieces ♥
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
~ August 1908 ~
The night they first meet, they’re both guests at a formal dinner party, one of the last of the Season. Large and lavish, it’s the sort wherein gold-leaf calling cards are sent out eight weeks in advance, hand-delivered by footmen in shiny silver brocade. Guests arrive in style from every fashionable corner of London, women in sleek evening dress and men in white tie, one last hoorah before they retreat back to the country.
He arrives twenty minute early and is announced by the butler; there must be fifty guests in the drawing-room-turned-ball-room, idling a dull tide of chatter, and yet heads turn at the sound of his name. Not a second later the hostess swoops in, a kiss on each cheek. “Darling, I’m so happy you’re here,” says she, taking his hand in hers, delicate and finely gloved.
“Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China,” says he, and Boa giggles in a way that would be girlish if not for the sharp, calculating look that lives in her eyes. The Countess of Westchester is a formidable woman, and he doesn’t protest as she drags him across the room to make talk with close and various acquaintances.
And so, as to be expected, the night they first meet, they do not actually meet -amongst such a large crowd it would be impossible to greet everyone properly, especially if you’ve never been introduced, nor have any reason to be.
Jung Yunho, Baron of Knowles, heir apparent to the Duke of Cassington, has no reason to be introduced to one Mr. Shim Changmin.
But that doesn’t mean Yunho doesn’t see him anyway. He’s smoking in a cozy corner with a group of old Harrow friends, listening only absently to their talk (women, women: summer betrothals and scandals; new heiresses from overseas or new women, period; it’s a rather tired subject, in Yunho’s opinion) when his own name draws his attention.
“…over there, talking to the actress, oh what’s her name. Yunho?” asks Park Yoochun, Baron of Fairfax and long-time friend.
“Who?”
“The actress,” Yoochun says, head tilting in the direction of the woman in question. “She played in Much Ado at the Haymarket last summer, didn’t she?”
Yunho looks her over, lingering over the actress’ petite figure, familiar even if it’s taking him a while to put a name to her. “I know of her,” he settles on, evasive enough that he can still slide a glance at Yoochun and share his smirk.
“Of course you do,” says Jaejoong, rolling his eyes as he steps into their circle of conversation. The Viscount flashes a smile at Yunho and raises his cigarette, a mock salute that leaves Yunho just a little breathless.
Yunho has to clear his throat to speak. “What of the lady?”
Yoochun’s still smirking. “We’re discussing the gentleman she’s speaking with.”
Yunho looks again; he sees the man, tall and tanned, thick black hair combed back and curling around his face. He’s handsome, imposing. But Yunho does not recognize him. “I’ve never seen him before.”
But Jaejoong’s lips curl up at the corners. “That would be Shim Changmin.”
Yunho arches an eyebrow.
Jaejoong puffs slowly and says, dismissively. “Another new-money type. Just come into his fortune, supposedly. Not much is known about him, yet, but I’m sure we’ll know soon enough… they say he’s quite ambitious.”
“He’s garnered an invitation from the Countess, hasn’t he?” adds Yoochun.
“So he has,” Jaejoong concedes, tapping ash into the fireplace. “Rumor has it he’s trying to buy himself a barony.”
They all have a time nattering over that, but Yunho still has half a mind on the room; he’s the only one to turn for a second look, the only one to see Shim Changmin staring back at them as if he can actually hear them, staring at him as if all else in the room doesn’t exist.
They catch eyes. Yunho exhales smoke, and Shim quirks a brow. A second later, the man’s sleeve is tugged by some chit in a red dress, and he looks away. Yunho turns, too, but-
Interesting, he thinks.
Shim Changmin.
He might be one to remember.
~ December 1908 ~
The second time they meet, it’s even more in passing.
He’s in town only for the week and happens to run into one his few other female friends, the Lady Stephanie, at one of the more popular tea rooms. Thé dansant is in full swing; the live orchestra plays an upbeat waltz and couples twirl across the refined greenery of the palm court.
He’s sipping on Darjeeling and eyeing the selection when suddenly she’s standing over him with a smile, a sharp line of collarbone exposed by the scoop of her dress. “How about a dance, stranger?”
They haven’t seen each other in months, since Michaelmas, at the very least; it would be rude to refuse, even if he wanted to. As soon as the orchestra starts a new song, a fast ragtime for a turkey trot, the two of them slip out to the dance floor and proceed to command it entirely. Other dancers clear the floor for them as they step in time, spin and skip and laugh as they do it, the picture of perfect measure, and when they song comes to a close and Yunho bows, a kiss to the Lady’s hand, it’s to the sound of a light applause.
“A pleasure dancing with you,” she winks. “Like always.”
“Of course it is.”
She laughs aloud. They leave the floor, arm-in-arm, and as they go he knows he’s being watched. He’s well used to the feeling of eyes on him -but it’s more than that, now. Yunho turns his head and there he is again, Shim Changmin, sitting in a back-corner table, staring at Yunho with dark eyes and inscrutable intent.
It’s true Yunho’s certainly heard more of the man in the past year -they all have, because his rise through society has been neither slow nor subtle. Less than a year ago this Shim fellow was nothing, and now he’s all but fashionable. Yunho finds it mildly appalling.
He turns on his heel and tries to ignore the effect those eyes have on him, like fingers scraping against his skin.
~ May 1909 ~
The third time, it’s a much more intimate affair.
It’s another of Boa’s famous dinner parties, though this one is held at one of her many country houses, an hour’s journey outside London and well worth the trip. Boa meets him at the door herself, a whirl of movement in a stunning couture dress: white muslin peaking out beneath pink lace and frill, so thin he can just about see the whale-bone corset tapering her tiny waist. The high, embroidered collar fans up her throat, just touching the line of her hair, contrasting so finely with her dark colors. She calls him Darling as usual and takes his black formal jacket, his favorite white shawl, and hands them off to the butler before they enter into her small parlor.
“It’s the usual gang,” she comments playfully. “But I don’t believe you’ve met everyone…”
And this is how he truly meets Shim Changmin, and it is still far too soon to know how that meeting will change the course of his life forever. Instead, he spots Shim across the room and not-quite rolls his eyes.
“I thought you said this was close friends only,” he mutters as they make their approach, and Boa grins, slapping lightly at his arm.
“Oh hush. I like him well enough. He’s got charisma, and he’s certainly made something of himself. He’s no knut like you,” she teases, and Yunho sighs, long-suffering.
“You’ve never appreciated me, dear Countess,” he says.
“You’ve never done anything worth appreciating,” she replies. “Now do try and be nice. If you give him a chance you might find a friend in him.”
Yunho would respond (in the negative, most certainly) but then they’re in earshot and Boa is striding forward, calling out to Shim.
“Changmin! Come here, I have someone I want you to meet,” she says.
Mr. Shim is sitting on the chaise next to the woman all of society wants Yunho to marry -the Honorable Dana, eldest daughter of the Earl of Shapley- but at Boa’s words Shim stands, and as he unfolds himself Yunho is graced with the realization that Shim Changmin is not just tall, he is tall.
“My Lady,” he says to Boa, bowing his head in respect, and Yunho will at least give him points for knowing how to respect his betters.
“Changmin, this is Lord Yunho, Baron of Knowles.”
“And soon-to-be Duke,” Yunho adds, and Boa rolls her eyes and starts to say something cheeky, but then a deeper voice interjects itself-
“Not too soon, I hope, if only for the sake of your father,” Mr. Shim says, smoothly. His tone is light and his next words do little to soften his nerve: “If that’s alright for me to say. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He extends his hand, and for a moment, Yunho is tempted not to take it - because no, he has no right to say it, and damn, but he actually does have charm enough to pull it off. Shim’s eyes are mismatched in a way that’s oddly endearing, but his lips are tilted in challenge.
Yunho grits his teeth- and yet, the moment cannot be seen to go on too long. Awkwardness will not do, and a second later Yunho is accepting the hand: a quick, firm shake, not exerting a muscle more than necessary.
“The same,” he murmurs. Boa cuts him a look but then Yoochun calls out to her from across the room, and with a warning squeeze to his arm, she flits over to tend to him and do all things that hostesses need do.
Yunho and Mr. Shim are left standing at odds, staring at each other much like that night so long ago. It isn’t until Lady Dana coughs pointedly that Yunho breaks eye contact. He looks down at her and wants to sigh; she’s nice if a bit spoiled, flashy enough to make everyone think they’d be a good match, but ultimately Yunho thinks she’s a silly girl with a good name and not much else.
He’s not so uncouth as to even hint it, however, so he bends and pecks her cheek and makes the expected inquires as to her health and that of her father, her mother, her favorite sister and cousin and dog. He stays standing, and notes that Changmin does, too, propping himself casually on the arm of the chaise.
Small talk with Dana never goes far, and all too soon his attention is drifting back to the man before him. “So, Mr. Shim,” he starts, civilly enough. “Tell me more about yourself. You consider yourself a businessman, yes…?”
“Changmin, if you please,” says Mr. Shim mildly. “And yes, of course.”
Yunho raises an eyebrow. “Of course. And how did all that-” he waves a hand in the air vaguely- “come about?”
“I came by it honestly,” Shim shrugs. “My father was an academic, very well considered. And my mother was an heiress- the family owns several mines in Cornwall, and a few in the North. I came into the business when my grandfather passed away two years ago. I’d say I’ve done fairly well for myself since,” he says, and his smile tastes of self-satisfaction.
Yunho is amused as well. “I see,” he says. “Then I expect you’ll continue to make your fortune working in the ground, Mr. Shim?” His smile his sharp, a tease fringing outright scorn. To the side Dana stifles a giggle -or maybe it’s a hiccup, he doesn’t care enough to guess.
For his part Shim doesn’t rise to the bait, though the pleasantness of his voice develops an edge of its own. “Oh no,” he says. “I expect not.”
There are many things Shim could say after that -Yunho hears implications lying in wait at the end of the sentence. But Shim closes his lips against them and smiles innocently, so that Yunho finds himself hanging on that last word. It’s unsettling- affecting.
Yunho clears his throat, intends to reply, but then an arm drops onto his shoulder without warning, and he only just stops from jumping out of his skin.
It’s Jaejoong, grinning crookedly in the corner of his eye. “Hello, da-rrling,” he drawls, and it takes Yunho a second -a second too long- to realize he’s only imitating Boa. Yunho clears his throat, trying to steady his fast-tempo heart even as Jaejoong lets his arm drop like it’s nothing.
“Hello Jaejoong,” he murmurs.
Jaejoong grins at them all. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen my friend here. Last time I saw you was at New Years… you were all cozy with the daughter of that French diplomat, pretty young girl- not so smart but fast enough, if I remember right. Don’t tell me you’ve piped off her so soon?” he adds, all but leering.
It’s all innocent fun, but Jaejoong has a way of sticking his finger into the mess and stirring until it’s all gone downside-up. He’s capricious at the best of times, and Yunho knows this, everyone does. That Jaejoong’s unaware of his power makes it impossible to hate him for it (quite the opposite, actually) -and usually Yunho would have no qualms... hell, he would bask in Jaejoong's attention, laugh and play along! For, just as everyone knows of Jaejoong’s wickedness so too they know of Yunho’s womanizing ways. He doesn’t apologize for his reputation- in fact, he does his best to encourage it.
So he doesn’t understand why it makes him so uncomfortable, now. Dana titters again, not at all put out, and Jaejoong gets really into his own gas and Yunho tries to ignore the way that Changmin is still staring at him, like he’s trying to raze him with his eyes alone.
Yunho wonders if he’s the only one who notices.
The dinner escort is a decorous affair, as society dictates. The Countess has carefully assigned the couples so they are not related by blood or marriage, but are of suitably equal station. As hostess Boa goes in first and stands by her seat at the head of the table while the couples stroll into the dining room, highest to lowest rank. Yunho and Lady Dana are first, Changmin and Sunny, an activist friend of Boa’s, file in last.
The Countess sits -they all sit, and then they dine.
It’s nine courses spread over two hours, delightful from the first flavorful bite of amuse-bouche to the sensuously warm pudding, drowning in custard. Compliments are made to Boa, then the chef, a round man who’s brought up from the downstairs kitchen for just the occasion. Wine is passed around, gentlemen serving ladies and each other.
Talk is light, trivial with the occasional jab at international politics or economics, as it should be. It is never too personal (despite Jaejoong’s best attempts) or bold, and Yunho and Changmin’s conversations don’t cross paths again until after dinner, when everyone stands and the women retreat back to the drawing room for coffee, and the men wait until the last has left to return to their seats.
“Well,” Yoochun says, sprawling out his chair and rolling up his cuffs, loose now that there are no ladies present. “I am absolutely ready for a kip. I don’t think I’ll eat again for a week.”
A chuckle goes around the room. Yunho tugs at his own collar even as he accepts a glass of port from the butler. He notes the dark ruby color and knows it must be a good vintage indeed; a small sip, light and smooth, confirms it.
Most of the men congregate around the higher end of the table, until it is only Yoochun, Yunho, and Changmin left nearby. Yoochun looks like he actually might fall asleep right there at the table, and Yunho snorts in amusement.
“Gluttony is a sin,” says Changmin, glancing between the two of them with dark eyes. Yunho raises an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t taken Shim for a zealot. But, to each his own.
“There are a lot of sins in this world,” he replies dryly. “I’m sure God will excuse him for enjoying a good pudding.”
Changmin concedes with a small smile, taking a sip from his own glass, and Yunho still doesn’t know what to make of him. He’s surprised the man is even here, down at this lonely end of the table. Shim is a studied social climber and there are an abundance of influential figures at the opposite, at ease and just waiting to have their favors’ curried… there are more than enough members of the peerage willing to indulge the parvenus of the world, but Yunho isn’t one of them.
And yet Yunho doesn’t move, either. He doesn’t know why; Changmin is a nuisance, too astute not to get under Yunho’s skin, too smart to be so common. How Boa ever thought they might be friends…
And yet… yet he finds himself speaking anyway. “So,” he starts, trying to maintain that delicate mix of boredom and indulgence. “Where do you plan on taking your new business ventures?”
Something indefinable flits over Changmin’s face, before it smoothes over into bland geniality. “Anywhere that’ll have me, I suppose.”
Yunho snorts. “I didn’t think you were the type for desperation.”
“Not at all. But I like to explore all my options,” he responds. “Just last spring I was in America, talking with a fellow named Ford-”
“The auto maker?” Yunho cuts in, sitting up a little straighter. He’s always been a fan of autos, and has been driving since he was a boy. He currently owns three cars in his own name, and has been haggling with an Italian dealer for weeks to try and acquire his fourth.
“The auto maker,” Changmin confirms. He sets down his glass, fingering the thin, delicate stem. “Are you showing an interest in something, Lord Yunho?” he asks, eyes teasing and bright. “Funny, I didn’t think you were the type.”
Yunho's laughing before he knows what he's doing. “Very well, touché,” he says, eyes never leaving Shim's. “Tell me more about Ford, then.”
“I’m sure you know most of it already,” he says. “He’s got his company, his models, but he’s also got the damnedest new idea to manufacture the machines, and he needs investors to begin working on the scale he wants.”
“You plan to be that investor?”
Changmin only smiles. He raises his glass in silent toast, downing it to the dregs, and it’s only then that Yunho notices how his smile doesn’t really reach his eyes. “I have many plans,” he says eventually. “You never know what might happen,” he says, and it gives Yunho the shivers.
The party ends shortly before midnight, and guests begin saying their goodbyes. Yunho lingers, talking with Boa and settling his debt (because the Countess is an absolute shark with the cards, damn her), and doesn’t realize he’s the last one left until the butler comes in to say, pointedly, “Your car is out front, My Lord.”
So he stands and says, “I should go.”
“Fine,” she answers. “But don’t be gone so long again.”
“Of course,” he says, and bends down briefly to kiss her cheek. “I’ll call again soon.”
The car has already been started, rumbling loud just outside the halo of light from the country house façade. He doesn’t employ a mechanic, preferring to drive on his own- the feel of his hands encased in soft-worn leather, curled around the thick steering wheel. He’s got the Rolls 30hp tonight. It’s a good make, if a little outdated.
A night fog has settled over the land and it keeps him driving slow -which turns out to be a good thing when only a short while later he comes across another car, sitting glumly on the edge of the road. He has enough time to pull on the transmission lever and decelerate the rumbling auto.
“Hello? Anyone there?” he calls out.
He doesn’t see a soul around. The car could have stalled and been abandoned, the owner desiring to walk to the closest town for help. Yunho doesn’t know how far away that may be- Boa’s manor is fairly close to his own familial estate, Smenton Park, but not close enough for him to know this area well.
But he needn’t have worried; a few seconds later he sees something shift in the backseat, and then a figure sits up into the open air. It takes Yunho’s eyes a moment to focus in the dark, but he recognizes that figure- and indeed, it’s Shim Changmin peering over at him.
Yunho raises an eyebrow. “Taking a nap?” he inquires.
Changmin remains mostly in shadow, but his smile flashes in the dark. “My car seems to have suffered from… something. I thought I’d wait here until help arrived.”
“And if I -or anyone else- hadn’t driven by?”
The shape of Changmin shrugs. “Then I would have had a nice night under the stars.”
Yunho huffs, but engages the brake and hops out, not bothering to open the driver’s door. “Well lucky for you I was coming this way.”
“Lucky for me,” Shim murmurs. Yunho shoots him a look but the other man is busy removing himself from the backseat much more precisely.
He lifts the hood and bends over the long length of the engine. “Do you have a light?”
Changmin disappears from view, a minute or two passes, and then a small lantern is held over his head, casting light over the brass fittings. He hums in satisfaction. “This… it’s Napier, right? Their T23 model?”
“You really do know your autos,” says Changmin, and Yunho doesn’t look up, but he can imagine the easy slant of Changmin’s body, leaning against the car, leaning towards Yunho-
“Of course I do-” he grunts, reaching out to feel across the massive straight-six engine. “And for someone who’s- about to invest a- fortune into the automobile, I think you should know, too,” he chides, tightening a loose valve on the crankshaft.
He can hear Changmin’s smirk. “I’m a quick study.”
“I would hope so.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I’ll worry if it means I have to teach you how to crank this engine,” he jokes, the chuckle rolling out of him so easily that once the sound is out, caught in the thick weight of the dampening fog, it startles him. For a second he can’t believe how natural this feels, to be gabbing on the side of a country road with a man he doesn’t even want to like.
But, somehow, without his permission, it seems he already does.
“Do you know how to crank an engine?” he asks again.
It’s silent for a long while, too long, and then Changmin speaks, his voice lower than it was before. “Perhaps,” he says. “But I think I’d rather watch you, anyway.”
Yunho is very careful when he turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Changmin. There is a moment when he honestly, absurdly, expects Shim to be looking at the engine. But Changmin isn’t looking at the car at all; he’s looking at Yunho, or at least a part of Yunho- the part that’s currently bent over, sticking out into the open air. Yunho is careful to control his reaction, to keep still as he feels Changmin’s eyes rove up the curved line of his back, bottom to top.
So it’s like that, then.
Yunho has yet to move when Changmin’s gaze finally crosses his, and they stay that way for a long time- motionless, composed, pokerfaced.
Yunho is surprised he didn’t realize it sooner. Shim really isn’t one for subtleties, is he?
“I think we may be best served continuing such lessons at a later time,” says Yunho. He straightens and Changmin does not back up, does not maintain the appropriate distance. Yunho imagines he can feel the flare of his breathe on his skin, that’s how close they are now.
And with the light still hanging from the open hood, creating for them this gilded oasis in the night, Yunho can finally look into Changmin’s eyes, gleaming and alluring, and it has been a very long time since Yunho gave into this temptation. He has spent his whole life starring in a charade -a razzle-dazzle tale of the rich-and-plenty bachelor, the eternal bachelor- knowing that one day society would buy it so well that he would escape scrutiny and get away with nearly anything. Or, at least, with this. That’s how it goes, how it’s always gone for men of his persuasion. Stay quiet, stay discreet, and society just might learn to look the other way.
Shim Changmin, he has to remind himself, is not society. He doesn’t know the rules, not nearly well enough to break them.
And then Changmin tilts his head back, exposing the long stretch of his neck, the sharp line of his cheekbones. Lantern light makes his skin glow, sets fire to the hair curling at his nape. He invites Yunho’s stare and Yunho won’t be so rude as to refuse.
“I’m not sure the car will make it all the way back to London,” he says, haltingly. “These roads can wreak havoc on the mechanisms. And on a night like this…”
“What do you suggest?” says Changmin.
“My own estate is not too far from here,” says Yunho. “I was planning on returning to London tonight, but we could instead stay at the night at Smenton… send a man for the car. I can return you to London tomorrow, myself.”
Changmin’s lips twitch. “Tomorrow?”
Yunho has to bite the inside of his cheek. “It’s rude to overstay one’s welcome.”
“It’s rude not to extend one’s hospitality,” Changmin replies lightly. His breath makes a cloud of air before his mouth. It seems he’s as quick a learner as he says.
“Ah,” Yunho says, softly. “So it is.”
~ November 1909 ~
The first fox-hunt of the year is a major event at Smenton Park. Every year his father invited all his friends to bring their hounds and join in on the spectacle, and though Yunho has never been overly fond of fox-hunting, his father’s death is still a raw thing- it seems only right to keep the tradition going.
Most of his own friends, however, are still up in Scotland, celebrating the end of autumn at Balmoral with the rest of the peerage. But, Yunho has never been one to waste opportunity, and he sends out invitations anyway.
It’s simply coincidence that Changmin is the only one of them to accept. A completely unsurprising coincidence.
It is even more unsurprising that he arrives early.
The servants are still opening rooms, clearing them of dead air and cleaning them of a year or mores’ worth of dust and disuse.
“I’ve never been on a proper hunt,” Changmin says, after he’s led into the library by Yunho’s flustered-looking footman. The room isn’t quite ready, the footman says, bowing apologetically, but the newly-appointed Duke dismisses him with a kind word.
“You’ll have to wait,” Yunho says to Changmin. “Junsu will take your luggage up.”
“I didn’t want to miss anything,” Changmin says, as if Yunho hasn’t spoken. He wanders around the room and inspects everything he passes. He runs a hand along a shelf of books, as if the spines read in Braille instead of letters. He spins the heavy, painted globe and touches the heavy velvet curtains. He comes to a stop in the window, standing in the sunlight, staring out over the short, orderly stretch of the estate’s rose garden.
For his part Yunho sits behind his desk, fingers steepled together, and watches his every move.
“You’re impatient,” he says, eventually.
“Maybe,” Changmin says, and spares him a satisfied look.
The first day of hunting is in full swing and the Park echoes with the sound of hounds and horns. Yunho is used to riding but Changmin is not; when he sneaks into the master bedroom that night, he spends more time complaining about the soreness of his thighs than actually doing anything with them.
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft so soon?” teases Yunho, a hand running daringly up his side.
Changmin quirks his lips, and the Of course not that Yunho hears- he finds it in Changmin’s eyes, too busy stealing the actual sounds from his lips.
And after, when the whole estate hangs in silence of the midnight hours, and a single candle stands their only, silent witness, they lounge and linger between the sheets, legs twined and the buttons of their nightshirts snagging creases in the sheets. Changmin watches with half-lidded eyes as Yunho’s fingers crest the bumpy, boney top of his knee and drag their way around into the soft skin underneath, ghosting until Changmin gasps and twitches away.
“There.” Yunho smirks, triumphant, and Changmin tries to move away but Yunho doesn’t let him, his grip turning to iron. “There,” he says. “Got you-”
But Changmin has never been one to give in lightly, not even for a bit of poking fun. The tickle-touch becomes a rough-house which turns into an all-out wrestle, and soon Yunho is struggling to contain laughter of his own as Changmin looms over him, pinning him down.
“No, stop- Changmin,” he tries, wrists twisting uselessly under Changmin’s grip.
“No, my Lord.” Changmin grins something fierce and leans down, kissing words and little huffs of air along the sensitive skin of Yunho’s neck; it leaves him out of breath, inelegant, writhing.
“Hush,” he says, chest convulsing. “Hush or you’ll wake up the whole-”
“Pssh,” Changmin breathes, “We’re surrounded by a bunch of deaf old men. No one will hear, no one will care-”
“Hush,” Yunho says.
“You’re the one making all the noise.”
“hush-”
Changmin does make a good point, though; they are surrounded by a group of deaf old men. That’s the only reason Yunho lets Changmin get away with all he does -Yunho tells himself that’s the reason, why he indulges Changmin, his forwardness, his almost-vulgar charisma.
The second day’s hunt is paused at mid-day for tea, which is already set and waiting for them in the gardens. Yunho excuses himself to check on something-or-other in the house, and he is halfway between the solar and the library when he feels the presence at his back. He has no time to react before he’s being pulled aside, pushed into a small nook with far too little privacy.
Changmin presses tight against him, running hands up under his scarlet coat to wing around his waist, reaching for the buttons that run up his back. Yunho has to reach around to still his hand. “No,” he says, shaking his head, his one demand.
Changmin’s hand retreats but it’s no real victory, because between one breath and the next he’s bending down and biting at Yunho’s lower lip, tugging aggressively. Yunho can’t resist; he surges forward and captures his mouth in return and they fight for dominance, neither backing down, Yunho’s hand so tight around Changmin’s wrist it’s shaking.
“We shouldn’t-” Yunho says, pulling back for a half-second at a time. “It’s not-”
“-Proper?” Changmin answers, and Yunho nips at him in reproach.
He doesn’t know why Changmin’s cheekiness seems to only ignite his passion further. Changmin is pushy and capitalist and greedy and more more more and Yunho has never been one to tolerate such insatiability. Yunho is fashion and finesse; he doesn’t demand because he’ll get what he wants anyway- even if he has to get it through pretense and deception. To be seen as anything other than content would be beneath him.
And yet.
Changmin forces a leg between his and he’s drawn taut with anticipation. His other hand comes up and wraps around the back of Changmin’s neck, holding him still with compelling force. “Completely,” he says, barely a whisper but it still seems overly loud in their small corner.
Despite it all, Yunho can’t get enough of this. He revels in their illicit affair, the voracious thrill of possibility and risk. Yunho has never gambled liked this before. Every time Changmin looks at him, speaks to him- their connection seems all too obvious, and Yunho marvels at how no one else can see it. How can no one detect the tension that threads between them, the sparks that fly when they share the same space? It’s palpable, the draw they have on each other, and it lies in every touch, every glance, flagrant and raw and undeniable.
It’s a stark contact to everything he’s ever been, for he’s always been so careful in all his other liaisons (with men, he must concede. He’s purposefully careless with the women-) and so this, now, every time they come together, sends his body thrumming with pleasures he could have never imagined. And it’s still so new.
He finds himself submitting even as he takes control, kissing Changmin until the other man is making soft, desperate noises in his throat and is reaching around again, and Yunho knows he’ll let him this time, he’ll let him take him right here-
A loud crash, just down the hall.
They both freeze.
Heavy breaths are too hot between them, and Yunho is uncomfortably aware of the sweat gathering in the small of his back. Changmin’s eyes are trained on Yunho and he looks almost guilty, and Yunho doesn’t want to see it- he turns his head, pressing back into the wood paneling, and tries to listen, tries to think of how they can explain this away.
They can’t, and they both know it.
No one comes near them, however, and it seems whatever mishap occurred might do more to help than harm- the servants are distracted, and they can only hope that none of their guests will come to check. Changmin leans out into the hall for a quick second, and then nods to Yunho, tugging his arm. Yunho resists for a second, lagging behind, but then he steels himself and steps in front of Changmin. He’s lived in the house his whole life and knows better than anyone how to navigate it.
They’re at a crossing point of the servant’s corridor, close to the kitchens, so Yunho leads Changmin aside through a series of storerooms and pantries until they veer off, though a closet, a minor sitting room, and an inconspicuous stairwell that leads up to the guest apartments on the second story. It’s empty now but they don’t dawdle, making quick time back to Yunho’s own private rooms in the east wing, shutting the door firmly behind them.
Yunho looks at Changmin, wrecked as he is, lips bruised and high collar torn loose. He’s still breathing hard but his face is smoothed over into something impassive- something dark and unreadable.
Yunho is suddenly angry, unspeakably angry. He knows he is just as disheveled and he tears at his jacket, wanting the evidence gone. The silence is thick and he’s ripping the last sleeve down his arm, whipping it off when he finally speaks- “That was foolish. Absolutely reckless.”
“It was,” Changmin says, but his voice gives nothing away.
“If we were caught,” he says, anger making him speak in fits and starts, “There is too much at stake. That can never, never happen again.”
Changmin rolls his eyes and Yunho glares at him. “If you’re as smart as you say, you know what’s at risk.”
“I know,” Changmin says. “How can I not?”
“If you want to be anything in society-”
“Fuck society,” he drawls.
Yunho scoffs. “You’re a fool.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’ve done well enough for myself without any help from your lot-”
“My lot runs this damn country!”
“Not for long,” Changmin replies firmly, darkly. “And we both know it. Times are changing, Yunho. You have to make something in this world that’s yours or you’ll end up with nothing.”
Yunho laughs meanly at him. Changmin has nerve enough -that he’s always known- but to stand in his house, living the life at his expense, telling Yunho that one day he’ll be worthless? Yunho is worth more than Changmin ever will be, in more ways than one.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” he sneers. “Money makes you arrogant, Shim. But I’ve seen plenty like you come and go and forgotten their names just as quick.”
And for once, his mocking seems to have ruffled Shim’s feathers. He bristles like Yunho’s words have finally gotten under his skin. Good, Yunho thinks.
“So you’ll forget me, is that what you mean?” Changmin asks, his tone low, dangerous.
The fight escalates fast and scorching and is already broaching dangerous territory, but Yunho doesn’t break even for all the signs of uneven ground. “I thought that was obvious,” he says, voice dripping with arrogance.
Changmin doesn’t reply at first, but he’s visibly affected, shaking with unspoken fury. The harsh words sit between them, smoldering, and Yunho takes a step forward, challengingly. “You’re here because I want you here. When I want you to go, you’ll already be gone.”
Changmin growls, taking a step forward of his own, “I’d like to see you try.”
“Do not test me,” Yunho warns, but Changmin ignores him, forcing his way into Yunho’s personal space. If he thinks to intimidate Yunho he’s sorely mistaken; he can’t bully Yunho with his height alone, for all his tallness Yunho is not without his own strength, and when Changmin can’t get Yunho to back away he pushes, hard- and Yunho stumbles but he lashes out too, snatching Changmin’s wrist and whipping him around so that he falls back into the dresser. The drawers rattle and something glass falls to the ground, shattering to innumerable pieces, and they both pause, breathing hard.
And, then, when they come together again, it’s with no more words, just snarls and grunts and passionate, angry force that leaves them both bruised and gasping for breath. They wrestle their way across the room, grabbing at each other just as much as they strike. Yunho’s legs are the first to hit the edge of the bed, and then they’re falling, they’re tearing and ripping at each others’ clothes, they’re rutting against each other, and Yunho is left blacked-out in his finishing- and when he finally comes to himself again, Changmin has already moved away from him, eyes trained on the ceiling with an arm flung across his forehead.
Yunho realizes they have just had their first fight.
He lies there, catching his breath, and thinks that he’s never had a first fight with anyone before, because the first was always the last, the end. But -he realizes, truly realizes- he doesn’t want this to be the end.
Heavy curtains block out most of the afternoon light. His guests must wonder where he’s gotten to; he hasn’t cut off like this since he was a boy, though it can’t have been more than twenty-and-five since they left the gardens. It seems like much longer.
A sharp slice of sun falls across the bed, over the jut of his hipbones and the red quilted duvet and the curve of Changmin’s ribcage.
He reaches out and his fingers interrupt the line, distort it where his hand touches skin. Changmin inhales, and Yunho matches it.
“I think… maybe, I was a little out of line.”
Changmin snorts again.
“Maybe, just a little,” Yunho says quickly, daring a smile. “And you were no innocent party either. We were both in a state, too wound up. It was bound to come down to a crossing…”
“Stop talking, Yunho.”
“But I-”
Changmin lifts his arm and gives Yunho such a fond, wry look that cuts him off completely. “You’re absolute rubbish at apologizing, you know that?”
Yunho tilts a smile at him. “I haven’t had much practice, sorry to say.”
Changmin huffs, not quite amused, but he extends his arm so that it lies over the pillow above Yunho’s head. They’re quiet a spell, and then-
“We have to go down soon,” says Yunho, almost regretful.
Changmin sighs and nods, but his arm curls a little tighter, so his wrist touches Yunho’s ear and the tips of his fingers brush Yunho’s shoulder. “I know,” he says. “But let’s wait, just a little while.”
Yunho sighs- but he waits.
~ March 1910 ~
Yunho arrives at the new Palladium theatre with a slip of girl on his arm, different from the dark-eyed vixen that he’d been caught up with last week. He doesn’t like to be seen with the same woman twice. It helps with his image and, if he’s honest, when they hang around too long they leave a bad taste in his mouth, like bread gone stale.
This one’s a young debutante named Tiffany but she goes by Fany, and she’s an innocent thing, wearing a dress Yunho bought her, looking at everything with stars in her eyes. He indulges her whimsy, her oohs and oh my-!s, but it gets tiresome quickly.
At intermission he leaves their state box, feeling trapped and unable to calm his restlessness. Mid-spring is always the worst, when he’s exhausted from an endless stream of parties and balls and social machinations, and knows he’s still got a long set of months to go. He’s well-known for disappearing from the city even at the height of the Season, an eccentricity recognized if not approved of by most of the peerage.
But there’s no running, right now. Instead he escapes into the playhouse main, dodging around the swarm of patrons, not having any real destination in mind -and thus gets quite the surprise when Changmin snags his sleeve.
He stops, turns, and Changmin greets him with a knowing look. “Ah, so the Duke is here,” he says, “Hello, your Grace.”
The men he’s with all tip their hats in Yunho’s direction, offering pleasantries, and Yunho offers a slight smile. “Gentlemen. Changmin,” he adds, more casually. “How have you been?”
Changmin grins and excuses himself from the men quickly and then they walk together, two friends catching up, nothing unusual, except-
“You planned that well,” mutters Yunho, as soon as they’re out of earshot.
Changmin gives him an innocent look. “What?”
“There aren’t many who are on familiar terms with a Duke. I’m sure you’ve impressed those men we left behind… business associates of yours, I assume?”
“Something like that,” he smirks.
“Tsk, tsk. I should be offended, you abusing our friendship so.” Changmin laughs, and Yunho adds, in undertone, “How are you, really?” He crooks his arm so his elbow brushes Changmin’s side. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages... you’ve certainly made yourself scarce.”
“Business is business as usual,” says Changmin, but Yunho notes a certain wryness in his tone. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude on you during Season… I know how busy you get, dressing up for all these fancy events, carousing and drinking with friends, sampling women to your heart’s content…”
Yunho bites his tongue, and tries to stay good-natured. “You’d be surprised how quickly old it gets. Half the time I’m stir-crazy and the other I feel thoroughly worn. Sometimes I think it’s enough to drive me mental.”
“It must be so exhausting,” Changmin agrees, mockingly.
“It really is,” Yunho sighs. Then, on a whim, he says, “I’m actually thinking of taking a break… a holiday sounds quite nice.”
“A holiday?”
He was thinking nothing of the sort, but now that he’s spoken the words, he wants nothing else. “Yes. Holland in particular is beautiful this time of year. The tulips will bloom soon.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.”
“Never?” Yunho echoes. “Well, maybe we should change that.”
Changmin smiles and Yunho is already making plans in his head -he already knows the rooms he wants to rent, imagines them there, a certain sort of private freedom…
A hand wraps itself around his arm, snapping him out of his reverie. “There you are!” Fany whisper fiercely, a second before the lights start flashing. Inside the theatre the orchestra starts cuing up. “And oh, just in time! The music is starting!”
“Yes, I can hear that,” Yunho sighs.
Changmin quirks his eyebrow at them, mischievous, but Yunho sees how his smile tightens ever-so slightly.
“Fany,” he says. “This is Shim Changmin, a good friend of mine.”
“Hello,” she says, smiling up at him. She blushes slightly and Yunho wants to scoff. “Pleasure to meet you,” she goes on, thrusting out her hand.
Changmin takes the hand but even as he does they catch eyes, over her head -Yunho’s wry, Changmin’s long-suffering- and then Changmin looks down and says, “How do you do,” like he’d love nothing more than to hear her entire life story. He’s a wily bastard like that, sometimes.
Fortunately, the lights flash again and her mouth drops open slightly. “You’ll come back to the box with me, right?” she pleads. “I didn’t like being there alone.”
The crowd around them has begun to move, but Yunho has no inclination to move just yet… he shifts just that much closer to Changmin, as if he’s generously making room for passerbys. “Oh?” he asks, scarcely glancing at the girl.
Fany nods fervently. “Those other ladies turned on me the moment you left! That Shapley woman looked ready to tear out my hair!” she whispers again, conspiratorially.
Both Yunho and Changmin laugh; the more time passes, the more possessive Lady Dana has become, though fruitlessly so. Seems she’s finally cottoned on to the idea that Yunho will never settle down, let alone with her.
“My apologies, m’lady,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left you to the wolves. Shim, if you’ll excuse us-” Changmin dips his head and starts to turn, but Yunho stalls him for a second longer- “But call around to mine soon; I’ve got a place on Curzon Street for the month. We’ll discuss the matter of that Holland business.”
“Holland?” Fany asks.
“Tulips,” Changmin replies, and without another words turns on heel and chuckling to himself, disappears through the theatre doors.
“He’s a bit of an odd one, isn’t he?”
It’s an innocent question but Yunho finds himself frowning hard at her for a moment, before he catches himself and rearranges his expression. “I suppose so,” he shrugs. “But he’s a good fellow… a good friend.”
“That’s nice,” says Fany, absently, and then he leads her back up the balcony stairs, back to their curtain-framed box -but in Yunho’s mind, he’s already an ocean away.
~ April 1910 ~
In Holland they have their second fight. At first they wrap themselves in each other, barely leaving their apartment. When they finally do it’s for a drive to the countryside to see the flowers, but they end up caught in a wild rainstorm- car trapped on the side of the road, they climb into the backseat and press together, sharing warmth, the smell of rain and wet grass heavy in the air.
But that quiet solitude doesn’t last long; before the week is out Yunho is called upon, invitations to dine with friends-of-friends and cousins-removed that Yunho cannot decline. Night after night Changmin accompanies him and pretenses must be upheld- they play good friends, a gentleman and a dandy, and Yunho is his usually, flirting self. And night after night, Yunho has to endure the vise-like grip Changmin keeps on his knee, under the table, out of sight.
When they arrive back at their rooms Changmin doesn’t says a word, but once in bed, the broad, unwelcoming expanse of his back speaks volumes.
When a next invitation arrives in the morning by post, Changmin sniffs disdainfully and announces he won’t go.
Yunho shrugs. “Fine. I’ll go alone.” When the other man glares, he can only answer, “You can’t expect me not to go.”
“I certainly can.”
The tone he uses, demanding and insolent, makes Yunho bristle every time. “Then expect to disappointed,” he snaps back.
He expects Changmin to get angry, but instead he looks away. “If you really- It shouldn’t have to be like this,” he says instead, after a pause.
There’s almost something like melancholy in his voice, and Yunho covers his confusion with a frown. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Changmin snorts, and still doesn’t look his way. “You don’t know what you want, Yunho.”
“I-”
“Either you want this life or you want me,” he says, sharply. “It’s not so complicated. Go or don’t go, I don’t care anymore.” Then he stands and walks back into the bedroom.
Of all things, Yunho was not expecting that. This life- it’s not a choice. Nor is it an obligation, not unless he makes it so, and Changmin…
Yunho shakes his head and thinks, after all he’s learned, there are some things Changmin will never understand.
~ August 1911 ~
Yunho stumbles through the dark. He concentrates on the damp warmth of the hand over his eyes, even as light slips through the fingers and the back of his eyelids flash red.
He trips again, cursing, and Changmin steps into him, his laughter tickling Yunho’s spine.
“Where are we going?” he demands again, the hundredth time. Whatever Changmin might say, he is not whining, because Duke’s do not whine. “Surely we must be close-”
“Ah,” scolds the other man, right against the back of Yunho’s neck. “No questions.”
He shivers. “Changmin-”
“Quiet.”
“I did not agree to this,” Yunho points out, petulant. He’d been in the middle of a solitary stay at his cottage in Exmoor, a welcome retreat from the world after the interminability of the Cowes Week races. Changmin had arrived unexpectedly and Yunho hadn’t been sure whether he was glad to see him or not -there is no enmity between them, not really, but their liaisons have tapered off recently. They’ve seen each other more often on chance, randomly crossing paths and parting just as quick. It's like they are drifting apart, like all the heat and drive has gone out of this risky affair with each other -but at the same time, it isn’t like that at all.
It isn’t so much unpassionate as it is… unhurried. Comfortable, in both ardor and distance. Yunho still doesn’t know how to feel about it.
Yet, he’d agreed to this mysterious day-trip. That was before he’d realized Changmin planned on dragging him out to God-knew-where. He’d had a kerchief round his eyes for the drive, and he's still blind as they stumble about in the wilderness -it's had to have been an hour now, surely.
“What have you got up your sleeve, Shim?”
He gets no answer. When they come to a root or rock Changmin nudges his leg to keep him from tripping, and eventually they find a rhythm that keeps them going smooth. The only sound is of nature - bird song and branches rustling and snapping twigs, and Changmin’s hand on his face is uncomfortable, almost unbearably hot, but he stops caring around the time the younger man slides his other hand over the back of Yunho’s, fingers ghosting along tendons until they slot in between his own, curling in until he’s got Yunho firmly, wholly, ensnared.
It’s peaceful. When Changmin finally stops and takes his hand away from his face, Yunho keeps his eyes closed anyway. He hears the sound of a stream, water burbling over stone. Changmin is still a spectre of warmth behind him.
“What now?” he asks, still never opening his eyes. He can feel heat of a different kind on his eyelids -sunlight, bright and stark, a rare day of clear skies this summer.
Changmin keeps his grip on his hand, while his other arm loops around Yunho’s chest, pulling him that much closer. He feels his chin drop to his shoulder.
“Did you know, three years ago today was the first day we met?”
Yunho frowns, uncertain -but then he remembers, yes, at the dinner party, they’d seen each other briefly. The first time.
“You’re right. I hadn’t remembered,” he admits.
“I knew you wouldn’t have,” says Changmin, but it’s not in reproach. “We’re miles from anything,” he adds, and Yunho believes him.
“Is that why you brought me out here?”
Changmin sighs in affirmation, and it’s such a silly little thing, this act of remembrance. Yunho escapes to his cottage for peace and solitude and Changmin interrupts it, only to give it back… just with himself included.
It’s such a ridiculous, strange way of doing things, but it puts a lump in Yunho’s throat that he can’t get rid of or just explain away. “Thank you,” he says, and thinks he might mean something else entirely. When he opens his eyes, Changmin’s still there.
~ January 1912 ~
“I’m thinking of going to America in the spring.”
Yunho flicks the paper down so that he can give Changmin a proper look.. “Whatever for?” he asks.
Changmin shrugs and takes a sip of coffee, eyes roaming over the breakfast they’d had brought up by a particularly loyal and tight-lipped footman (he’d always known he’d liked that Junsu for a reason). A good lie-in is Yunho’s favorite way to spend Sunday mornings, and he’s doing his best to teach Changmin how to do it properly -a difficult task, when Changmin’s so determined to keep bringing up business.
“I need to go for business, for one-” (Yunho sighs-) “And I hear they’re about to start selling tickets for that new ship… you’ve heard of it, the one they call unsinkable. The Titan? Titanic? Anyway, its maiden voyage is to New York City in April.”
He scoffs. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“What’s the point?”
Changmin fake-gasps. “What’s this? Lord Yunho, Duke of Cassington, not wanting the pointless prestige of going on the most luxurious ship ever to be built, just because he can?” he teases. Yunho rolls his eyes, but Shim takes it even further, crawling onto the bed to place the back of his hand on Yunho’s forehead. “Are you ill? Is your brain fever-addled?”
“Come off it,” he growls, swiping playfully at the offending hand. “But I’m not joking. Don’t go. Wait at least until the end of summer, then you won’t have to deal with the awful heat in New York. I know you don’t like it.”
Changmin slumps into a boneless heap beside him, twisting to look out the window -damp and grey as usual. “I do dislike the heat,” he affirms, and then sighs.
“You’ll thank me for it later,” Yunho murmurs, eyes drifting back to the page. “And it’ll save you a good £900 or so.”
“Since when did you become the voice of reason?” Changmin grouses.
“Since I started hanging around you, I suppose,” he replies. “You’re a horrible influence.”
~ November 1912 ~
The rousers burst hundreds of feet above them, exploding pinpricks of light, red and gold and white. From the roof Yunho and the other partygoers have a perfect view of the sky and the revelry spread beneath it, the endless parade of torchbearers that give the impression of a sea of fire. When those big fireworks go off all the town seems to hold its breath, waiting until the lights fade before squealing in delight.
Yunho himself is not immune; his head swims with one too many sips of fizz and his chest swells with boyish wonder. He hasn’t ever been to the Lewes Bonfire before; he and his friends received their invitation via Changmin, who’s friends with the owner, Heechul Bonamon. Being somewhere on Changmin’s behalf is a first- but not an unwelcome one. The club is mediocre but lively, and there are worse places to go slumming, as Yunho called it.
Now, Changmin brings him another glass of champagne and says, “Not too bad, don’t you think?”
Yunho can’t take his eyes off the sky. “It is quite remarkable,” he breathes, when Changmin presses that much closer.
“Quite,” Changmin agrees, and the way he looks at Yunho, so very fond, makes Yunho flush.
But no one gives them notice. Half-past midnight and the party is in full swing, set aside from the masses but still caught up in its raucous fervor. It’s the sort of crowd where Lords can loosen their arrow-collar ties and Ladies can kick of their rubber-heeled shoes; where Yoochun tries to overtake the band’s jazzy tunes, as he sings Guy Fawkes chants with less and less coherence as time goes on -remember remember the fi’th of November, the gunpow’er treason and plot!- and where Boa and Jaejoong share cigarettes and kisses without caring who sees.
Yunho tries not to look at them, tries to tell himself he is not feeling wistful -and then Changmin grabs his hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” Changmin says. Yunho starts to protest, but Changmin only moves closer. “No one’s watching.”
It’s true. It seems there’s been an even bigger commotion: from what he can tell, Lady Dana may or may not have just set her own dress on fire.
And with a laugh and a shrug Yunho lets himself be led into a backroom of the club, fitted into a "borrowed" scratchy striped jumper and red hat, and pulled off into the heart of the blazing revelry. They hide in plain sight, laugh and drink and rag away the night, until Yunho suddenly finds himself pinned in an alley, staring into the red-yellow reflections smoldering in Changmin’s eyes.
“Enjoying yourself, your Grace?” asks Changmin, ever teasing.
“Quite.” Yunho laughs even as he tries to catch his breath. “You’re being perfectly wicked tonight.”
Changmin’s eyes, his smile- everything about him glows. “Wicked?”
Yunho can’t hold himself back; he leans in and touches his lips to Changmin’s neck, to the steady pulse in his throat. “Yes. Undeniably, irresponsibly, utterly-”
Changmin moans. The fires burn bright and Yunho wouldn’t let this go for all the world.
“Perfect.”
There is no resisting this. Shim Changmin.
It’s a night of firsts, it seems, as Yunho admits to himself (only to himself, only, but they’ll have plenty of time, forever-)
He might just be in love.
~ End ~
started writing: 5/7/11
finished writing: 10/24/11
master list
…except not really.
When I originally planned for this fic, I wanted to cover an entire decade, 1908-1918, from the golden age of the Edwardian period to its end post-WWI. Obviously, it ran wild from there, and found itself quite long and happily ending not even halfway through that plan!
So technically, this is the end of this fic. There is also, however, the matter of all those years up to 1918 and the wonders they wreak on Homin’s relationship… I enjoy their story and can’t help but what to write it, so I’ll be posting the rest as a sequel at some (hopefully near) point in the future. It’ll be there for those who’re interested -War! Arranged marriages! Derbies!- but if not, pretend Yunho and Changmin are eternal dandy bachelors who keep living the high life, become society’s best-kept secret, and grow old together and do shameless things like yelling out at the theatre like those old curmudgeons in the Muppets :D
The sequel can now be found here: And to our Great Returns.
Thanks again to kallistei for donating and putting up with my tardiness, and for all of you who took the time out to read! Hope you enjoyed this little slice of history and homin ♥