THEM. － l.sm + k.sy

; o1

A rasp for a breath, a trickle of desolate laughter, and silence.

The stars trembled overhead at the sight: an ocean of red that reflected their pure light and within in it two bodies, limp and weary, gaunt and cold, together, fountains of youth morphed into whispers of death, as nameless as the rugged land they sat atop. At the side of one was placed his partaining weapon, woven with jewels and gold, and invisible chains were heavy on both their necks, encaging their souls up until their remaining instances of existence.

Seokmin, once Prince and never will be King. Soonyoung, tailor, perhaps always having been destined to die on dirt.

Their fingers, entwined, feebly clutching in a calm security, for they were certain that beyond the end they called for, lay a freedom unspeakable, a universe so diverse and rampant with dreams, idyllic. A world, a celestial plane, where sun shone constantly amidst scant clouds that took the forms of rabbits and torn wool, where pleasant music could be found around every corner, where hills were high and vast and green, flourishing meadows as far as the human eye could see, and them － their love, it could skim across the still lakes' surfaces and amongst the tree tops, loud and honest, unashamed and serene.

A place for just them, where no harm could even be fathomable, where titles and class were non-existent.

A meadow, soft and warm, and just for the two of them.

Seokmin's lips curled, weak but content. Soonyoung struggled to shift those few inches closer, squashing the sparse blades of grass that grew in this dreary no man's land beneath him.

"Does it . . . hurt a lot, da－ darling?"

"Not as much . . . as the years that we've endured on Earth."

Soonyoung's words were mellow, his eyes still burning with a certain flame, and Seokmin glanced down at the blood that swamped their forms, in which lay their joint hands, innocent. He inhaled, wanting to smell the scent of his lover that promised nothing but comfort and protection, yet his eyebrows drooped in melancholy as all that greeted him was the acidic odour of iron.

Upon the grass, the Prince's sword. Upon the stained blade, an engraving: Bearer of Light, Beacon of Hope.

What irony, Seokmin couldn't help but think to himself. A sword he'd used in battle, the same sword he was meant to rule over his Kingdom with, the weapon he was to weild as a symbol of his greatness, utilized to bring his own death.

He turned his head to find Soonyoung dazedly gazing at the midnight sky, clear, despite the belief of an oncoming tempest, moonlight dripping along every curve of his smooth features, stitching itself into every thread of finger-combed, black hair, glimmering in the infinity that were his tailor's － his lover's － sweet eyes.

Seokmin could not feel the pain to which his body had grown numb, the small gashes along his arms, the wound where he'd stabbed himself and then retracted the blade, for he knew of better things to come, once their eyes shut on that lonesome hill, kissed by nothing but the warm wind that stung at their skin coated in perspiration.

"Soon, my heart, we － we will be where we belong and nothing － nothing can keep us apart."

》》》

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