𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖔 • ᴛᴀᴇᴋᴏᴏᴋ

𝐗𝐈𝐕. It Has Always Been You

A bolt so harsh, striking down to his bones, the prince was not even able to find a balance of his thoughts.

The light in the room was enough for him to capture the frame, dusty and dirty but it was evident that it was him.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to see the frame clearly, there was no way it wasn't him.

Oh how he remembered the way he smiled when he got to see himself in the painting, if it wasn't for it to be gifted to the tri-committee Museum, he could have kept it with himself but it was right there.

There in the writer's bedroom.

The prince couldn't even understand what to conclude as he was struck by the lightning, not even able to bring his thoughts together.

He stood there in silence while his thoughts were louder than ever as he didn't even know why the frame was there in the writer's room exactly on the wall above his desk.
The smeared pages beneath the painting and the ink on the wooden table... What did it all mean?

Stepping back as he clasped his hand to his mouth, prince Taehyung definitely had a lot to know.

~♛~

The other hand, the writer was seeking the apple of his eye.

The work had almost drained him but he was not tired enough to get his hand on a beautiful rose plucked from the garden, running his hand through his hair to fix as he made his way to the hallway of the palace where there was the main event.

He hadn't seen the prince all day and definitely was craving to see his face, that wondrous smile and the honey like voice easing every pain of his aching tired muscles.

Having the thought of the prince in the back of his mind all day long, the writer realized how he loves him in all healthy and unhealthy ways.

He came to a point of realization that he won't even fear his coming death if it's 'cause of the prince, moreover like he'll welcome it with his open arms and rest in peace under his name.

And he knew if he wouldn't be able to see him, this might happen earlier than he believed it to happen.

After finishing his work, the writer didn't even care about his meal but only searched for the prince, knowing exactly it was his last day in the kingdom and being bound by his job he couldn't accompany the prince on his voyage of the kingdom nor could for the polo game.

The writer mostly wondered about the prince even whilst he was working, the reminder of his beloved heavy against his chest gave him a hard time to focus without any distractions but he couldn't because everything would remind him of him.

The scribbling of pen would remind him of the way he would write his beloved prince poetries, the gentle scent of roses coming from the gardens outside, the strawberries settled in a bowl in middle of the table for the writer to snack on, even the stains of their juices on his silk handkerchief he always kept in his front pocket of the coat near his heart, the sun, the sky, the gardens, the books and even air or his breath - they all reminded him of his beloved.

He missed the prince more than ever. More than ever he could.

Stuck in the mirage of his love, he let himself chase after that one drop of life and the prince was the rain he wished could fertile his lovelorn land.

Could he even wait to see that face when he finished the task of his day? He couldn't. Not even for another unbearable moment.

And that's when he found himself in the hallway with a rose in his hands, desperate eyes scanning through the hallway where everyone seemed so engrossed in having fun, way too under the influence of alcohol as they let themselves be swayed by the magic of melody and intoxication of drinks.