Bend (and Brand) Me [2/2]

[lababoreine]

Two

Xi’an is at its most beautiful during the limbo between night and day. The very edge of the south wing has a stunning view of the horizon beyond the castle walls, where a fine line of gold has begun to seep into the navy expanse of the sky. It’s narrow, barely enough, but there; just like the no-man zone between taking risks and plunging into danger. Infatuation and love.

Baekhyun rubs his eyes blearily. It’s cold.

Yixing rounds the corner abruptly, steps purposeful and hurried, whispers his name harshly. The usual lingering smile on his face is gone, mouth turned downwards in a frown that doesn’t become him at all. His eyes are wet and glossy, and he worries his lip between his teeth. Baekhyun automatically falls into step next to him, following him as they veer away from the south wing and take the shortcut between the ministerial block to the central court. He places a hand on Yixing’s arm cautiously. “Yixing, what happened?”

“Luhan... is dead,” Yixing replies, only slightly louder than a whisper, not trusting his voice to remain steady.

Baekhyun’s hand and gaze drops at the same time; they continue walking in silence. A dash of worry, a spoonful of grief - he’s been brewing his facade long enough. Time to bring it to the table.

Yixing leads him into the Secretary’s office. At the desk is Junmyeon, pressing his chin against the back of his clasped hands, lips pursed. He looks dishevelled and lost, far from the composed figure Baekhyun had been introduced to in the morning. Yifan leans against a bookcase, consoling what appears to be a weeping Zitao. Huddled around the corner of the desk are a few elders Baekhyun recognises from the morning court. The moment Yixing and Baekhyun enter, the room falls into complete silence, punctuated only by Zitao’s soft sobs and the closing of the door behind them.

Yifan shuts his eyes, obviously strained. “How did this happen,” he says quietly. It doesn’t sound like a question, not when every person in the room can’t possibly provide an answer.

“Where were you three?” one of the ministers snap at them. “Your watch was supposed to be concentrated around Luhan’s chambers. How on earth did the culprit manage to sneak past you?”

Baekhyun is acutely aware of another set of eyes he hadn’t noticed before, electrifying in the dark. Kyungsoo has his back against the closed window, half-shrouded in shadow, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze is telling, the most emotion Baekhyun has seen in him since they met. Worry, anguish and - despite the situation - his ever-present curiosity. How will you explain this?

“Luhan’s chambers is in the east wing.” Yixing sounds low and broken and Baekhyun touches his shoulder gently, but makes no move to interrupt. “All three of us keep a close eye on the east wing and return to it the most throughout the night watch, but we don’t stay there the entire time. Whoever did this had his timing right.” He clenches and unclenches his fist, meaning to say more, but Baekhyun can see the tears stinging his eyes.

Junmyeon raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean to say he managed to get past the entire post of guards without being noticed?”

Baekhyun has a practiced answer on the tip of his tongue, but Kyungsoo beats him to it. “No,” he says. “The killer probably took the way from the archives, not the main corridor. There are less guards and less torches there. I deeply apologise for not having been more alert; he could have slipped past me.” His voice breaks at the end. Kyungsoo taking the brunt of the explanation would make things more believable, but Baekhyun marvels at his theatrics. He’s a surprisingly good liar, despite his modest looks.

An elder shakes his head. “Do not bear this weight on your shoulders, boy; you wouldn’t have heard him walk if he can slay four people and escape unnoticed.”

Yixing furrows his eyebrows. “Four?”

“The guards to Her Majesty’s chambers, the Queen herself, and the second Keeper of the Archives, Kim Minseok,” Junmyeon confirms wearily.

Silence blankets the entire room again. Baekhyun decides it would be unwise to maintain his silence. “Was the other Keeper not with you?” he asks, directing the question to Kyungsoo.

The reply is curt. “He was unwell and told me he would retire to his room for the night. He must’ve crossed paths with the killer.” Then, in a more wounded, softer voice that Baekhyun wanted to caress and comfort, “Minseok was a good man.”

Everybody seems to withdraw into themselves, lost in the jumble of thoughts and confusion that would, without a doubt, take Xi’an by storm once the news broke with the morning. Baekhyun reckons they’d be able to keep the death under wraps until things are set straight within the palace, but not for long after. Junmyeon speaks up. “We cannot delay. Somebody will have to take up the mantle and rule, at least for a few days, until we reach the prince. It will take him several days on horseback to get to Xi’an, even if he rides without sleep.”

Baekhyun bites back his surprise. There’s a prince...?

One of the ministers, probably the oldest Baekhyun has laid eyes on, strokes his long white beard. In a croaky voice, he says, “By right, temporary rule will fall to the chief advisor, given Her Majesty has no immediate siblings.”

Yifan’s eyes widen as he springs forward. “Surely my father is a better candidate, even if his lordship will only be for a short amount of time?”

The minister’s eyes seem to soften. “My boy, your father is ill and is not fit to take the throne. You know that.” He places a hand on Yifan’s shoulder, and it seems to Baekhyun that it slumps under the weight of the crown he suddenly has to bear. People will look to Yifan to keep the country aloft, their anchor until this ‘prince’ arrives, but Baekhyun knows the chaos will never go away, not until the killer is brought to justice.

They might as well get used to the chaos, then.

Baekhyun takes the ensuing silence as a chance to watch Kyungsoo. He’s still hanging back, watching the scene unfold before him, but he catches Baekhyun’s gaze and drinks him in.

Yifan runs a hand down his face, weighing his options and realising they’re sorely limited. “I will take up the position,” he finally agrees, looking worn out and weary, but the ministers nod and murmur among themselves in approval. Yifan appeals to the gathered elders to appoint Junmyeon to replace him in his now-vacant position. “I’m certain you remember that he has a political background and was one of Luhan’s favoured advisors before he moved to the Secretary’s office.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. He never would’ve pegged Junmyeon as someone to dabble in politics. He seems too neutral. But Baekhyun should know better than anybody that still waters run deep, so he says nothing, but surprise registers on Zitao’s and Kyungsoo’s faces, if not Yixing’s.

“Send messengers to depart for His Highness’ kingdom immediately. They should leave before daybreak.” Yifan relays instructions to Junmyeon as the small gathering disperses. They leave the room deep in discussion, and Yixing breaks away from Baekhyun to console Zitao.

Kyungsoo brushes past Baekhyun on the way out, fingers lingering on his wrist on purpose. He leans in close, the cloth of his robes pressing against Baekhyun’s bare arm and whispers into his ear.

“Don’t get caught, Byun Baekhyun.”

Stay with me.

÷

News travels far too fast for the palace to keep at bay. Word of the Empress’ untimely death scorches its way through the town like wildfire. A riot breaks out in the marketplace by late morning; the citizens are angry and thirsty for justice, and have taken to picketing outside the palace to demand a full-out search for the assassin. Yifan doubles the number of guards in every wing of the palace, digging the bottom of the barrel with personnel. The generals recall their own men from the outlying armies to help keep the situation from spiralling out of control, channelling men to the gates and perimeter.

Luhan is well-loved not only among the people, but also among the occupants of the palace, Baekhyun realises. When he’s not signing something or issuing orders, Yifan quietly mourns her death, staring into space and thinking of what could’ve been. Junmyeon is worn down by early afternoon, exhaustion beginning to seep into his actions and features. The ladies-in-waiting that used to attend to Luhan cry together by the pagoda in the gardens. Zitao refuses the day of leave Yixing offers him and carries out his duties with renewed vigour, but Baekhyun can still the glassiness of his eyes.

Baekhyun spends the day alternating between guarding the main body of the palace and the south wing. Everywhere he goes, he sees the hurt in Luhan’s eyes and feels the heat of Kyungsoo’s breath against his neck. It’s overwhelming.

÷

Baekhyun is silently grateful that Zitao has the evening watch, otherwise he wouldn’t have enough energy to spare to stay awake the entire night. He didn’t ever like consecutive shifts. From the window of his room, he can see the glow of fires above the perimeter wall; the rioting outside the palace gates must still be underway. Lying flat on his bed, arms spread against the sheets, the room seems deathly quiet after all the havoc.

A sharp rap on the door brings Baekhyun to his feet in an instant. The sudden exertion causes his muscles to protest. One hand is poised on his dagger, ever at the ready, while the other slowly turns the handle of the door. Kyungsoo stands on the other side, a sight all too familiar - raven hair falling in wisps, face set in defiance and fists firm by his side. Baekhyun considers his options, looks around for an audience and lets Kyungsoo in, wordlessly shutting the door behind him.

Kyungsoo stands in the middle of the room, by the foot of Baekhyun’s bed. “Why did you do it?” he asks. The words tumble out faster than his usual speech, but they don’t shake with emotion. He speaks softly, just in case; the walls have ears, after all. They always do.

“Which?” Baekhyun closes the distance between them with quick strides. “Release her, or release you?”

Kyungsoo stares at the ground for a long, hard moment, before bringing his eyes up to Baekhyun’s. His lashes frame his hooded gaze. “Both.”

Baekhyun isn’t sure if it’s his eyes or the dimming evening light toying with his senses, but Kyungsoo is intoxicatingly beautiful. Every little part of him seeps under Baekhyun’s skin like poison; it’s heady and exhilarating and Baekhyun wants less and more at the same time. He trails a hand along the curvature of Kyungsoo’s jaw, marvelling at the sharp edges and angles and the coolness of his skin. “On both counts, I was doing it for someone.”

No words pass between them, but Kyungsoo’s gaze is so intense, prodding Baekhyun for elaboration. “I released Luhan from her woes as an Empress. She was suffering, just not in front of people.” Baekhyun stares straight into his eyes, shifting his hand to swipe a thumb over Kyungsoo’s tightly sealed lips, as if willing them to open. “I did that for someone who kept me afloat through my years.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t falter when Baekhyun tugs him closer by a fistful of his robes. In a whisper, Baekhyun says, “I released you for you, someone who tries to drown me every time I see him.” He pulls down Kyungsoo’s collar, excruciatingly slow and drawn-out on purpose, and presses a kiss against the cross, still red and fresh from the night before.

The needy gasp that escapes Kyungsoo’s lips when Baekhyun sucks on his collarbone stirs something in him, but it’s nothing compared to the mewls and soft groans that tumble out of him when Baekhyun licks the tense veins in his neck, grazes his teeth against his earlobe, bruises the pale expanse of his shoulder.

Kyungsoo is flushed and gasping, one shoulder exposed and a hand in Baekhyun’s hair, gripping at it like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. Instead of granting him reprieve, Baekhyun steals every last breath with a searing kiss. Kyungsoo’s lips are pliant, opening for his tongue and responding to his ministrations tenfold. Please, please, please and Baekhyun and take me all fall from his mouth when Baekhyun pulls away, tousled hair and red lips.

“I’ve lived all my life doing things for other people, Do Kyungsoo,” he murmurs against Kyungsoo’s jaw. “But I’ll be selfish just this once, and keep you for myself.”

Baekhyun growls low in his throat when Kyungsoo pulls him back up by the hair, lips meeting in another frenzied mess. This is what they are. Baekhyun bites down on his bottom lip, hard. Cool air rushes into Baekhyun’s system when they part, but it doesn’t compare to the slow-burning fire that tears its way through his body, straight down south, when Kyungsoo kisses him.

Kyungsoo’s hand has moved to Baekhyun’s nape, fingers curling. His eyes are shut and he’s still panting; Baekhyun takes strange pride in having pushed him so close to the edge. When he’s gathered himself, Kyungsoo cups Baekhyun’s jaw, angles his face so their eyes meet. “I’d rather drown you than keep you afloat. That way, you won’t be able to run from me. Ever.” Kyungsoo’s fingers are cold. They send chills down Baekhyun’s spine, icicles cutting open the folds of his heart and laying him bare.

I’m already yours lingers in the air between them.

One last kiss, this one gentler than all the rest, and Baekhyun leaves for the night watch with the taste of blood and Kyungsoo on his tongue.

÷

The sixth morning after Luhan’s death brings with it a company of men on horseback, bearing a standard that Baekhyun has never seen before. From his vantage point, he reckons there are about ten in the company, all atop brown and gray steeds, save one on a glowing white stallion. A golden helm conceals his face, but he’s clad in the same travelling garment as the rest of his company, a long, slim sword attached to his belt. Baekhyun watches him as he rides by, hard and fast.

He counts three hundred and twenty-seven heartbeats before a messenger comes rushing up to him. “His Excellency requests your presence in his office.”

The horsemaster, Baekhyun is surprised to learn, is introduced as Kim Jongin, His Highness the Crown Prince of Yuzhou. Luhan’s distant cousin, the most immediate family member that can take the throne, and now, the Emperor. He’s almost as tall as Yifan, regal in stature and bearing but nowhere near as seasoned.

Jongin's voice is a lot deeper than Baekhyun would've expected. The rich tone flows like a river under moonlight, steady and mysterious. His immediate orders are succinct and curt, with all the strength and confidence of a prince in his youth, and all the woes and coldness of someone who doesn’t have the luxury of ignorance.

“If Luhan kept you around, I trust you,” he says, addressing Baekhyun, Yixing and Zitao. “I do, however, ask that three more of my men be assimilated into the imperial guard.” The motion is passed unanimously - whether out of actual agreement or desperation, Baekhyun doesn’t know.

Baekhyun is the first to leave the room, taking the main corridor leading out to the gates of the palace complex. He slows his pace when he notices Kyungsoo coming in the opposite direction, notices the flash of surprise that flits across his expression. Baekhyun comes to a stop by one of the balustrades, and Kyungsoo joins him wordlessly, a book nestled in the crook of his arm. They watch the breeze rustle the hedges in the surrounding garden.

Kyungsoo is the first one to break the silence. “Where are you going?”

“Out to the city,” comes Baekhyun’s reply. “His Highness assigned me to perimeter watch,” he clarifies, when Kyungsoo looks at him in confusion.

“The prince is here?”

Just then, Jongin and Junmyeon round the corner, deep in discussion about the army generals and their men. “Adequate measures have been taken to maximise the usage of the outlying personnel,” Junmyeon says, waving his hands.

Jongin looks unconvinced, but Baekhyun can see that his face relaxes somewhat. “Have the gates been secu---” His voice dies in his throat as he stops abruptly in his tracks, only a short distance away from Baekhyun and Kyungsoo. “K-Kyungsoo...?” Jongin’s tone is disbelieving, eyes wide. Junmyeon exchanges a look of puzzlement with Baekhyun.

Kyungsoo tightens his grip on his book. “It’s been a while, Jong--- Your Highness,” he greets, bowing low. Baekhyun is torn between the beautiful dip of Kyungsoo’s neck and the fleeting sadness on Jongin’s face.

Junmyeon politely interjects. “Your Highness, we have a strategy meeting to attend to. The generals are waiting.” Jongin seems to regain his bearings and nods curtly in reply before they proceed down the corridor, but Baekhyun doesn’t miss the way his gaze lingers on Kyungsoo.

Baekhyun stops himself from curling his fingers around Kyungsoo’s wrist just in time. He’s mine.

Kyungsoo waits until both of them are out of earshot before turning to Baekhyun. “I’ll come with you. I need some fresh air,” he says.

“And the archives?” Baekhyun asks. Just a formality, since he’s already pulling lightly at the hem of Kyungsoo’s sleeves.

Kyungsoo falls into step next to him. “Can take care of itself for a while.”

÷

The town has fallen into a state of restless peace. The marketplace and merchant organisations are functioning as they should again, Baekhyun notices, as are the smiths and tradesmen. Riots outside the palace gates are far and few in between now, although there has been the occasional silent protest. In the open square, flowers and lanterns have been placed together in the open square in memory of Luhan. There are remains of candles all over the cobblestone; probably remnants of a candlelit vigil.

As they pass the entrance to the city, Kyungsoo comments offhandedly that the influx of people into Xi’an seems to have lessened significantly enough. The gates seem almost empty, save a few carts carrying packages and the occasional horserider. No travellers on foot, no outlandishly decorated merchant carriages. For the first time in what could possibly be a very long time, the guards look bored at their posts.

Baekhyun remembers being here all those weeks ago, the sun burning down on his back and a thirst completely unrelated to the heat coursing through his body. He was driven solely by the letter he’d been given, a promise in ink and in the petals of the flower that came with it. He remembers being hungry, being destructive. Baekhyun convinces himself that he’s still hungry when his eyes glean over Kyungsoo - Kyungsoo in the sun, Kyungsoo quietly walking next to him, ever-curious, ever-beautiful, ever-mysterious Kyungsoo.

He can’t say if he’s still hungry for the same things.

“What are you thinking about?” Kyungsoo asks. Baekhyun distracts himself with the soft swish of Kyungsoo’s robes against the ground, the soft padding of their feet and can’t find an answer.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Give me time to think about it and maybe I’ll get the answer.”

Kyungsoo smiles at him; a small grin, but it’s there. “I don’t give things to people, Byun Baekhyun, I buy, I sell and I trade. Ask me a question and if I answer, you’ll owe me,” he reasons, shifting his book from one arm to the other and turning to look at Baekhyun, gauging his reaction.

“Who is Kim Jongin to you?” Baekhyun deploys the first question that comes to his mind, an instinctive reaction fuelled by genuine curiosity and an odd sense of possessiveness, of needing to know. There’s nobody around, save the smiths and sellers milling around their shops, but he lowers his voice anyway, because it’s quieter than usual.

Kyungsoo mulls over the question, biting the inside of his cheek. He runs a hand through his hair. After three turns, fifty-odd heartbeats of silence and a decreasing distance between them, he says, “I grew up in Yuzhou. My father worked at the archives there too, so I was brought up in the palace.”

Kyungsoo keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead as he speaks, neither ashamed nor proud of his story. His indifference intrigues Baekhyun, but he continues without interruption. “The King passed away when Jongin was really young, so it was just his mother, his two sisters and him. His sisters are a lot older than him and were already dabbling in affairs of state when he was a boy. We became friends when he came to the archives one day.” His gaze flickers to Baekhyun’s face. “When I was seventeen, my father died and I moved to Xi’an. The night before I left, Jongin told me he loved me.”

Baekhyun presses his lips together, but doesn’t try to make his distaste any less apparent. “What did you say to him?”

“I said one question,” Kyungsoo reminds him, but there is no malice in his voice. “You owe me an answer.”

Despite himself, Baekhyun laughs. It’s too easy around Kyungsoo; this game, this push-and-pull, whatever this is, is enjoyable. Baekhyun finds himself wishing it would last. “I was thinking about how I don’t belong.”

Only when they’ve stepped into a shadowy alley does Kyungsoo stop him, fingers pressing lightly against Baekhyun’s side. “What do you mean?” Kyungsoo lets slip another question, waits for another answer.

Baekhyun lifts a hand to Kyungsoo’s neck, splaying it against his clavicle. “I kill people. I kill for fun, for personal satisfaction, not to make a living. Why,” his thumb brushes against the cross he’d made, now scarring against Kyungsoo’s skin, “are you still being around me like I’m safe?”

“You’re not that different,” Kyungsoo says. The only thing that betrays his calm exterior is the slight fluttering of his lashes, the small parting of his lips. “All of us kill in our own ways, Baekhyun. Everybody kills for personal gain. It’s the way we are.” Baekhyun thinks back to his first night in Xi’an, and thinks maybe Kyungsoo’s right.

There is hardly any distance between them now, as Kyungsoo leans in, close enough that even a whisper could be heard. Baekhyun lowers his hands to Kyungsoo’s waist reflexively, as if to catch him when Baekhyun is really the one falling. “I broke and killed Jongin in every way when I told him I didn’t love him back. The only thing I haven’t destroyed is his physical being.”

Kyungsoo finally answers Baekhyun’s question, without asking for anything in return.

Baekhyun shivers when Kyungsoo kisses his throat, then his jaw, then his lips. “I’m leaving. Thank you for the fresh air and the exchange of secrets. Don’t let your guard down, Byun Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo pulls away, straightens his collar and presses his book to his chest.

He only takes a few steps before turning around. “You haven’t been watching the perimeter at all. Someone dangerous might slip in,” Kyungsoo chides in a casual tone. He graces Baekhyun with a smile, slow and calculated and beautiful, like the blooming of a flower in darkness. Baekhyun doesn’t move.

How could he hope to defend the city’s walls when his have already been breached?

÷

Nights in the palace have been grimmer and quieter as of late. The dark is as sharp and potent as any fine blade, keeping everyone on edge. Breathing becomes harder.

Baekhyun has, on more than one occasion, readied his blade when he sees someone with a purple scarf that is neither Yixing nor Zitao, but then he remembers that three more have been added to their ranks. He’s met one of them by passing earlier in the day, a boy that looks even younger than Jongin, with silver hair and cheshire eyes that gleamed under the sun. A lot taller than Baekhyun but no less agile, if the way he prowled around the corridors, ready to spring at any time, was anything to go by.

Baekhyun stops by the gardens to marvel at the soft glint of the moonlight against the pond water. He likes being here and makes an effort to pass it every night; only darkness does its exquisite beauty the justice it deserves. It’s the only part in the palace that has maintained some semblance of freedom and independence from the gloom in the city; there are no guards around the concourse, just greenery that continues to grow, rain or shine, peace or chaos.

He stares down the length of the corridor, winding away into obscurity, permeated only by the dim moonlight and the soft fire of a torch far in the distance. The shadows are a lot longer now, though, Baekhyun notes in dismay. Black lines hash across the floor from the pillars and balustrades, wider, darker, moving---

The tip of his dagger rests against fabric at the same time as the curling of cold fingers around his neck. Forces in equilibrium; all it takes is a small push for either one of them to break, but Baekhyun notices the odd angle of the hand poised on his skin. It’s not a usual chokehold. The figure is clad completely in black, face concealed by a mask that left only slits for his eyes and nose. He’s not tall, but reasonably built, too strong to be a girl.

“Speak,” Baekhyun orders harshly.

The stranger’s speech and voice is muffled by the thick mask he’s wearing. “You’re not the only one,” he says, voice low and electrifying, and it takes all of Baekhyun’s energy not to loosen his stance. The anonymous figure slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a single white rose, a red ribbon tied around the stem - a carbon copy of the flower Baekhyun had received.

A gasp slips past Baekhyun’s defences. “If I win first, I’ll join him first. Guess you were his second option,” the stranger says, pocketing the flower again.

He observes Baekhyun for a while. Silence fills the air and the space between them, interrupted only by the quiet sounds of their breathing and the soft trickling of water in the pond. Impatience begins to grip him; Baekhyun applies slight pressure to his dagger, digging it between the folds of the unknown figure’s mask and his clothes. The fingers on his neck shift a little and a searing, blinding pain overwhelms Baekhyun, bringing him to his knees.

Baekhyun bends over on the floor, one hand supporting the weight of his upper body and the other resting lightly on his neck in defence. The pain is incapacitating, ebbing away at a snail’s pace. He pants, gulping for air, feeling as if his windpipe is coming down on him.

The stranger chuckles and speaks again. Baekhyun can barely make out what he’s saying, much less try to commit his voice to memory. “You’re lucky I won’t kill you yet. The game has to end first.” Baekhyun scowls when a set of fingers cards through his hair. He tries to lift his dagger, but all strength in his upper body seems to have left him.

“You’re pretty when you kneel,” is the last thing the stranger murmurs before taking off into the night. It takes Baekhyun long moments before he finds the strength to pick himself off the ground, gathering the remnants of his wounded pride and sore ego, far worse an injury than the blooming bruise against his neck.

÷

The stranger’s mockery haunts Baekhyun throughout the night, resounding in his every footstep and waiting for him around every turn. The bruise throbs sometimes, and Baekhyun is reminded of his helplessness, how easy it was to disarm him. He balances his time between suppressing his anger and maintaining his bearings, but he lets his feet take him where they please throughout the palace as he switches between the wings.

Only one person has ever been known to be able to do that, at least in the underground circle of assassins. His name was spoken of only in whispers, and even then, only by those that have been in the business for far longer than Baekhyun. The Esper, he who was faceless and killed with no weapons.

“He uses pressure points; he attacks them all at one go. The victims wouldn’t know what hit them,” his benefactor had told him once. The Esper kills without leaving a trace or getting caught, limits the knowledge of his existence to a few people, and even then, none know of his true identity - the penultimate example of an assassin.

He finds himself crossing the threshold of the archives just as the sky begins to brighten outside. Dawn is creeping up on the city; the palace’s occupants will begin to rise soon. Baekhyun isn’t sure what he’s doing at the archives, what brought him there or if it’ll do him any good, he just needs to get away. He needs solace, an asylum, Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo is tending to a disorganised shelf of scrolls at the very back of the archives when Baekhyun finds him. “Baekhyun?” he asks, sounding surprised as he hops off the small stool he’d been using to reach the higher shelves. “What’re you doi---” Kyungsoo stops short when he draws close to Baekhyun, gaze falling on the angry marks on his neck. He places his fingers lightly on the skin, amends his question, and in a softer voice, asks, “What happened?”

He grips Kyungsoo by the shoulder and forces him down. “On your knees,” he says, breathing ragged and heavy.

Kyungsoo obliges, hands resting on the band of Baekhyun’s pants. Baekhyun watches his eyes cloud over and thinks about the way Kyungsoo’s pretty lips would look around his cock. “What do you want me to do?” Kyungsoo asks, eyes never leaving Baekhyun’s, even as he nuzzles his nose against Baekhyun’s dick through the fabric of his pants.

It all happens too fast after that.

Kyungsoo is fire and ice, alternating between slowly flicking his tongue over the tip of Baekhyun’s cock, licking stripes along the underside, and taking him in whole, hollowing his cheeks and panting for air. Baekhyun comes at the back of his throat with a strangled cry, thrusting obscenely into Kyungsoo’s mouth, and Kyungsoo takes it all, swallows his gasps and profanities and groans in a kiss.

Baekhyun returns the favour when he props Kyungsoo up against a wall and takes him there, Kyungsoo mewling and crying out into the palm of his hand when Baekhyun pulls all the way out and slams back in with full force, his thrusts as erratic as the fray of thoughts in his head and the clamour of feelings in his heart. I will win, I will always win---

Kyungsoo can barely stand on his own, fingers digging into Baekhyun’s shoulder as he struggles to remain upright. Baekhyun has one hand under his thigh and the other furiously pumping his shaft, urging him on with, face buried in the juncture between Kyungsoo’s neck and shoulder, peppering the skin with angry bites and trails of spit. Kyungsoo comes undone first, unravels in the most beautiful and sinful way possible, prods Baekhyun on to his own completion.

They are their own destruction, their own collapse, and Baekhyun doesn’t kiss Kyungsoo when he pulls out, doesn’t help fix Kyungsoo’s crumpled robes, doesn’t straighten Kyungsoo’s hair before he leaves.

Baekhyun feels like he’s already lost.

÷

Jongin’s new administration brings about a lot of work and channelling of funds and manpower into different departments. Junmyeon and Yifan are up to their necks with work, as are the rest of the ministerial and secretarial departments. Baekhyun takes perimeter watch when he can, distances himself from the palace and steers clear of the archives. He keeps himself busy throughout the day and is extra vigilant at night.

Baekhyun tries not to sleep, but when he does, he falls asleep with the image of his cock between Kyungsoo’s lips and dreams of the stranger he’d met.

Fire takes him from the inside out for a week.

The eighth night after their tryst in the archives, Baekhyun finds Kyungsoo waiting for him by the gardens, perched on the balustrade and reading a book under the moonlight. He pauses, torn between fight and flight, between wanting Kyungsoo and running away from him. Kyungsoo has always touched Baekhyun like he’s curious, like he wants to know more, like he’s caught in his own web of conflict, but today, when Kyungsoo presses a palm to his cheek, he touches Baekhyun like he wants him to stay.

“I’m not angry at you,” he says gently. “I just need to know.”

Baekhyun does a one-over of his surroundings, despite knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone around. Not now, not here. “Know what?”

Kyungsoo looks him in the eye, bottom lip quivering slightly. He draws Baekhyun closer, open book lying forgotten in his lap. “What is this, Byun Baekhyun? What are we?” he asks. The weight of the question hangs between them, faces only inches apart, made no lighter by the way Kyungsoo is tracing circles with his thumb. “I let you have all of me. I gave myself to you. What does that make us?”

A mess, Baekhyun wants to say. A mess of what shouldn’t be and what is wrong.

“I don’t know,” he says instead, leaning into Kyungsoo’s touch. Gentility is a foreign feeling.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Kyungsoo says, somewhat withdrawn now. “I don’t care who you were before you met me. I just need to know if you’ll stay with me.” He doesn’t plead, doesn’t beg, only asks. This is not an ultimatum, it’s a choice, and Baekhyun doesn’t know what to do with it because he hasn’t had that luxury a lot.

Kyungsoo isn’t asking Baekhyun to choose him; he’s asking Baekhyun what his choice is.

Baekhyun presses his lips against Kyungsoo’s, sighing into the kiss. Kyungsoo neither pulls him closer nor pushes him away, only kisses back, because he knows this isn’t supposed to escalate. This is Baekhyun’s answer, his way of saying yes and no and I want you and I don’t know all at the same time.

“Run away with me.” Again, Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun kisses his eyelids. “Sell me time, Do Kyungsoo. I need time. I don’t know if this is love; I don’t know what love is.” He brings the back of Kyungsoo’s hand to his lips, never breaking his gaze. “But I want you and I want to stay with you and I’ll follow you. I just need time.”

“You’ve paid your price,” Kyungsoo whispers. “Time is yours.”

“Why do you love me?” The question slips past Baekhyun before he can hold it back.

All Baekhyun has ever lived for are the letters he receives, the people he kills. He takes away one life and lives it for them, carries it on his shoulders wherever he goes. He looks at Kyungsoo now, dark blue hair set aglow in the light, and wonders if he can live for something else now.

Kyungsoo lays a hand flat against the pages of his book. “This is the price you pay, Baekhyun. You’re not allowed to ask me anything else.” Kyungsoo smiles then, dazzling and beautiful, and it’s the most breathtaking he’s ever been.

÷

A sense of deja vu grips Baekhyun when he fells the two guards by the entrance to Jongin’s chambers. He opens and closes the door silently, noiseless even in the deathly still of the night. Jongin has taken over Luhan’s room, and Baekhyun sees that they haven’t moved anything. The bed is still where he’d murdered Luhan in cold blood, and there are still stacks of books and papers on the desk.

The piece of parchment in Baekhyun’s pocket is weighed down by promise and expectation and pressure. Your last task, Byun Baekhyun: the new Emperor. The fully-blossomed blood red rose that accompanied it still sits prettily on Baekhyun’s desk; he hadn’t moved it.

He can see Jongin’s sleeping figure, cocooned in his sheets just like Luhan had been, except Jongin is even younger, even greener, has even brighter prospects than she did. Maybe he could’ve run away with somebody too.

Baekhyun doesn’t have time to register the icy fingers on the back of his neck before he tumbles to the ground, groaning when his head collides with the rough, scratchy surface of the carpet and the rock hard marble beneath it. Another touch on his arm, and he can’t feel anything in his limbs.

Somebody pulls him back up onto his knees by his hair. Baekhyun growls, low in his throat, fighting back a cry when sharp fingernails graze against his scalp. The same masked figure stands above him, unarmed yet so elusive, so invincible, and here Baekhyun is, losing, second, at his mercy yet again.

“Don’t bother about the Emperor,” he says in a voice so cold, Baekhyun feels like he’s been doused with ice water. “I killed him in his sleep. It was fun to see him thrash about.”

“Who are you?” Baekhyun hisses, his entire body immobile and upright only because of the man’s hand in his hair, tugging at his roots.

The figure laughs, and in one swift motion, pulls off the mask. Eyes the colour of midnight rest on him, partly obscured by a long fringe of raven hair. Do Kyungsoo looks down at him, eyes dark and mouth turned downwards in a distasteful smirk. He reaches out to press two fingers to Baekhyun’s temple, and Baekhyun lets loose a whimper as his head throbs in agony. “Afraid?” Kyungsoo asks, in exactly the same tone as he had the night of Luhan's murder.

“I watched you, Baekhyun. All those years, I watched you and I loved you because you destroyed everything everywhere you went,” Kyungsoo murmurs, enunciating each word with force. “I wanted to be the only one who could break you. I wanted you to be with me.”

“I loved you,” Kyungsoo declares again, running a hand along Baekhyun’s jawline. The touch is gentle, almost as if Baekhyun would break if he presses too hard. “I loved you, and you chose someone that wasn’t me. You chose my facade over me.”

Kyungsoo curls the fingers of his free hand against the back of Baekhyun’s neck, sending jarring pain down his spine. Tears sting the back of his eyes, pool under his lids, spill down the side of his cheeks at the unbearable sensation. “I thought you were the most beautiful when you were killing. I glorified you.” His whisper is rough, clawing at the surface of Baekhyun’s very being, scraping against it. “But this, nothing compares to this. When you cry and when you kneel, you are so, so beautiful.”

“This was your test, Byun Baekhyun, and you failed. I asked you to come to the palace so I could meet you, and feed you emotions. You getting to know Luhan and being in the imperial guard just made everything easier.” Kyungsoo continues his spiel without rest, without giving Baekhyun a chance to slow the torrent of fear and confusion and sadness within him. “If you’d said no to me, if you’d said you didn’t want to run away, I would’ve told you who I was then and there.”

“You’re the Esper,” Baekhyun manages, throat coarse.

“Please. The Esper was my father. I killed him before I moved here; it was just easier to assume his title instead of having to make one for myself.”

Kyungsoo smiles at him. “My last gift to you, Byun Baekhyun, is an answer. I don’t give things to people, so take this as a symbol of my love for you.” He crouches down so they’re eye-to-eye, and kisses him slow, gentle, like a farewell. “You asked me why I loved you.”

Kyungsoo readies his thumb on Baekhyun’s left temple, stretches the other fingers till the column of his neck. The other rests over Baekhyun’s chest. “You burnt my letters instead of keeping them. You were my flower, the one that festered in darkness instead of light.” Baekhyun still shudders when Kyungsoo nips at his earlobe, mouth heavy on his skin, still hot with want and need.

“You were lovely in your deepest pain, in your weakest hour, and on your darkest nights.”

Baekhyun never rouses from his sleep again.

A/N:
1. Xi'an is the old name for China's modern day Chang'an, and was actually the Imperial City and administrative capital.
2. The name of the palace, Weiyang (未央), translates to 'something that still has more than half left to go', a concept played on in this fic - happiness is a long way away from its occupants, or will likely never be fully attained. Fun fact: this is the largest palace to be built on Earth.
3. Please excuse the discrepancies of Korean officials in the palace; the characters' Korean names were retained although this was written with the idea that all of them go by their Chinese names and converse in Mandarin.

Thank you for the wonderful prompts that gave inspiration for this fic! Love also from the bottom of my heart to R & S for being my support system throughout the process of writing this; I wouldn't have done it without you ♥

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