Standing in the Park’s grand ballroom, a wine glass perched precariously in his fingers, Junmyeon listens absently to Marquis Kang wax eloquently about the more boring aspects of business. The play of the lights in the tasteful white currently swirling in his idly twirling glass is a tad more interesting, but Junmyeon knows he has to play nice. Marquis Kang is important, married to the daughter of the Marquis of Goeje, and a burgeoning businessman in a world where CEOs were starting to rival the yeui in power. He would make a reasonable ally, but more than that, he would make a formidable enemy.

So for that reason, Junmyeon allows the small smile playing on his lips, ignoring the tightness pulling at his temples, tapping the ring of his pointer gently against the glass. The rhythm soothes him, letting him concentrate on Marquis Kang’s talk – and ignore his pointed looks.

‘While you raise a very valid point, Marquis,’ Junmyeon says smoothly, ‘I’m not quite sure that a merger, business or family-wise, would be in my father’s best interests at this point.’ I don’t want to get in bed with you, in either case, he tacks on silently.

‘Of course,’ Kang replies, his smile as obsequious and distasteful as his overstated peacock blue coat. Both observations are kept hidden however, and Junmyeon lets Kang continue, ‘But spring is just around the corner, a time for increased production in people surviving the winter with renewed optimism. They’re just made to be capitalised on.’

Junmyeon sighs internally, but before he could respond another voice broke into their conversation.

‘Or we could treat people like people and not commodities.’

A man not much taller than Junmyeon had stepped into their circle. Handsome in a wine coloured jacket and high collar, there’s a carefully crafted blankness on the man’s face – an expression that is a subtle mix of boredom and amusement – that he recognises immediately as a mask he often wears himself.

Marquis Kang turns to the newcomer. ‘Nonsense. You must admit that the masses aren’t the smartest when it comes to their own survival,’ he insists, his voice oily with persuasion. ‘It isn’t to think of them as commodities as much as it to think of them as those who need leaders, guiders, people to turn them away from the pitfalls of the world. We wouldn’t leave sheep without a shepherd, would we?’

The corners of the man’s mouth, already attractively bowed, turn up more although Junmyeon notices the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Sheep do not rise up and kill their shepherds, Marquis, unless you know of a new breed.’

Marquis Kang scoffs. ‘Ancient history.’

Junmyeon watches the man’s eyes glitter hardly. ‘A hundred years is not ancient history, I’m afraid,’ he says, sounding almost bored by the conversation. ‘Merely enough time for them to gain better weapons.’

A disquieting conversation, one that no one of the higher echelons wishes to actually dig down and discuss. The Gochang Rebellions had been a mess, politically, brutally, but things had moved on. Powers had shifted. The people quieted. And still the classes played their games.

Marquis Kang just smiles. ‘Maybe I should have married Minister Do’s son if weapons are the way to go.’

Junmyeon tries to imagine Kyungsoo married to the Marquis and it easily flows into a daydream of false condolences of Marquis Kang’s unfortunate accident and Junmyeon rather wants to congratulate Kang on continuing to live instead.

His musings are interrupted by the man himself, seeing Count Park across the way and excusing himself from the conversation with a promise to come back later to finish their discussion.

A small chuckle falls sardonically from Junmyeon’s lips as he lifts his wineglass to it. The man beside him lifts an eyebrow at him. ‘Something amusing?’

Junmyeon shakes his head. ‘Just imagining Do’s reaction to having to marry him.’

The man purses his lips. ‘Six months to live.’

This surprises a genuine laugh from Junmyeon. ‘I was giving him at least a year,’ he admitted, still chuckling. Impulsively, Junmyeon sticks out his hand. ‘Kim Junmyeon.’ He purposely doesn’t give his title, wondering what the other man would make of it.

The man takes it. ‘Kim Jongdae.’ Equals then. If he knows of Junmyeon’s status, he mentions nothing.

Kim Jongdae turns out to be the highlight of Junmyeon’s evening. He’s smart, he’s funny, and somehow filled to the brim with intimate knowledge of not only who is fucking who, but also amusing gossiping stories like how Vicount Oh had to scramble to when his son’s yacht got stolen by the strippers he had hired to surprise his best friend and got stranded several hundred miles out to sea and had to be rescued to which Junmyeon had to cover his mouth to try to keep his laughter contained.

For the first time in a string of such late evening parties, Junmyeon doesn’t want the evening to end. Standing with Jongdae in the corner, listening to him subtly mock the people wondering around looking too important for their own good was the most fun Junmyeon had had since university.

He gets Jongdae’s phone number and holds his phone tightly in his hand, unable to stop smiling as he waves Jongdae before going to his own car.

They meet for coffee, Jongdae an easy mess, coming in wearing leather and expensive sunglasses, but when he lifts them to his head and smiles at Junmyeon, he feels the warmth of the expression.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he says. ‘Traffic.’

Junmyeon waves him off, unconcerned about how long he had been waiting. It isn’t like he’s going to admit how eager and early he had come anyway. ‘It’s okay.’

Conversation is as light and easy as before, more personal, and at the same time not. Junmyeon talks about business and slowly moving into how much he likes his officemates – loud, honest Baekhyun and quiet, intense Jongin. He talks about how much he enjoys philanthropic work, how it gives him purpose and a drive.

Jongdae opens up slightly as well, talking stories about how he and his partner had mistakenly ordered a few too many bottles of alcohol during one of their first trips to China. It has Junmyeon laughing loudly now, still covering his mouth out of habit, but not needing to hold down his volume for offending others.

He finds out that Jongdae is older than he looks, albeit still younger than him, a fact which Jongdae uses to tease him mercilessly.

All in all, it’s an easy friendship, a light one, and Junmyeon is grateful for it.

‘I have dumped more of my money into this thing than is probably good,’ Junmyeon admits to him dryly one day over a bowl of pho that was probably worth more than the cheap hole in the wall price Jongdae had paid for it.

Jongdae slurps up his noodles and cocks his head. ‘And you’re afraid your father will find out?’ he asks.

Junmyeon snorts. ‘My father knows already, doesn’t care. It’s my money – he surprisingly lets me use it for what I want.’ The glass noodles slip out of his chopsticks and back into the broth slowly. ‘I just don’t want to fail. This is important. It’s mine.’

Jongdae nods. ‘Then don’t,’ he says simply and Junmyeon appreciates him even more.

It is only a few days later when Junmyeon is summoned to his father’s house.

‘I have a marriage proposal for you,’ the duke states states over brunch – a spread of quails eggs and kimchi and meats.

Junmyeon had known for years that his marriage was not going to be his choice. Third sons don’t get choices, not in families like his. ‘First for heirs, second for spares, third for arranging family affairs.’ The little motto had been his lullaby since the day he had been born.

Still it hadn’t effected his life much. In fact, he felt rather relieved. He knew that while his father tolerated his political bent, it had never much pleased him. With two older siblings to take care of first, it had left Junmyeon a little freedom to do as he wished before his family needed him.

Still, it surprised him slightly, even as he knew it shouldn’t. He had thought himself well past an age and no one had been nosing around their family for some time – at least with legitimate offers. But they were still rich, still powerful, and Junmyeon was still very much single.

‘Who is it?’ Junmyeon asks from where he is standing. He’s only moderately curious; he has no real say in the matter – he will do his duty to help his family, personal feelings or no.

‘The second son of the Marquis of Daejeon.’

Junmyeon holds back a bitter smile. Not even to a woman which means that this marriage is one hundred percent a political move – not even bothering to need heirs out of it.

‘They own most of the banking capital of the country, don’t they?’ he inquires, trying to keep his voice neutral.

But his father waves his dismissal, already turning back to his paper.

Viscount Oh’s son manages to get his hands on his father’s boat, but remembering the story about the strippers, Junmyeon cannot stop smiling even as he boards. White lights have been strung over all the rigging, lending an almost romantic feel to the place, although the chest-thumping electronica music ruins much of the aesthetic. Probably Sehun’s choice, if Junmyeon knew anything about the boy.

‘Doesn’t look like we’ll be casting off at any point tonight.’

Junmyeon turns to see Jongdae coming up the plank, handing his coat to the valet, looking sharp in all black. A mischievous smirk invites Junmyeon to share in with his observation. ‘Probably Viscount Oh’s stipulations.’

Junmyeon laughs. ‘I’m pretty positive you’re right,’ he agrees with an amused sound, waiting for his friend to catch up.

The party is already in full swing at the back and inside, and the two of them schmooze for a while but Junmyeon’s mind – barely in it at the best of times, finds himself preoccupied by other thoughts. Eventually make their way to the front of the boat where it is quieter, the bass thumping not quite so loud, the meaningless chatter a slightly faded background noise.

Jongdae rests his arms on the rails, looking out over the water, champagne flute still half-full dangling from his fingertips. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the way the light breeze causes Jongdae’s brown hair to flutter over his forehead, or how the lights on the ship cast his cheekbones in sharp relief, but suddenly Junmyeon is struck with just how attractive Jongdae is. How he wouldn’t mind seeing those cheeks flush with desire, see that mouth swollen with kisses, see those eyes dark and eager with want.

The revelation is not welcome, especially not in his slightly inebriated state, and Junmyeon decides the only answer is more alcohol. He takes another sip of his drink.

Jongdae flips and rests his elbows on the rail instead, looking back at Junmyeon. ‘Won for your thoughts?’ he asks

Junmyeon laughs, despite the dangerous turn of his mind. ‘I didn’t realise my thoughts were so cheap.’

A shrug. ‘Economy is bad these days.’

That is an understatement – one that Junmyeon knows all too well. He sighs. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘I believe I asked you first.’

Junmyeon bites his lips together as he looks out over the lights of the cityscape echoed in the dark water, rippling softly with the tide. ‘I’m not even sure. Do you ever find a point in all’ – he waves his hand around, attempting to encapsulate all his emotions swirling around him into a single expression – ‘this?’ he finishes, rather lamely.

Jongdae says nothing, and suddenly Junmyeon feels the intense need to fill the silence – odd since before he had found the talk before so oppressive.

‘I just want to prove myself,’ he says, his fists clenching softly. ‘Something beyond my name, beyond my title. Be worth something for me.’ He realises how bitter his tone is and backs off, rubbing the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. ‘Ah, I’m sorry – ”

He has to start when he sees Jongdae is staring at him intently. His gaze is dark, uncalculatable, and Junmyeon feels it slide down his spine in a way that isn’t entire uncomfortable. ‘Jongdae-yah?’ he asks cautiously.

A little flash of light and a clatter from the party break whatever it is between them and Jongdae puts his hand on Junmyeon’s shoulder. ‘Your project?’ he asks, squeezing in sympathy.

Junmyeon shakes his head, opting to ignore whatever it was that had just happened. ‘No,’ he says with a heavy sigh. ‘It is still going forward.’ He looks back out against the water. ‘I’m getting married.’

‘And I assume by your tone congratulations aren’t in order?’

Strangely, that makes him laugh, and he smiles at his friend. ‘Well in theory, yes. It’s to a very rich family who is going to make mine even more successful. Why shouldn’t a dutiful son be happy?’

Jongdae’s eyes are dark and Junmyeon desperately wishes he could read them. ‘Maybe you’ll be surprised,’ Jongdae says, suddenly light again and lightly tapping Junmyeon’s forehead. ‘Maybe you’ll even be happy.’

Jongdae’s mouth is pale pink and curved into a pleased expression and Junmyeon’s stomach twists with how much he wants to kiss him right that moment. All he would have to do is lean forward – it wouldn’t even be that far. Press all his loneliness and affection against Jongdae’s plush mouth, drown him in how much he appreciates him, how much he has held him up.

But his affection is not an invitation and he’s promised elsewhere, so Junmyeon shoulders his want back and instead clasps Jongdae’s hand.

‘I suppose time will tell,’ he says with a smile.

Jongdae’s expression is unreadable for a moment, but then it crinkles into something mischievous and wicked. ‘In the meantime, I think I figured out how to undo the moors to this tub. Want to help me cast off?’

Junmyeon’s palms itch with sweat, and he resists the urge to rub them against his pants in a very undignified manner. His father’s house is as oppressive as always, obligation and formality hanging in every uncobwebbed corner, draped in every expensive art print. This time, he’s here to meet his new soon-to-be husband, adding yet another layer to the Duty that always seems to compress his spine the second he walks into the grand foyer.

He hands his outerwear to the manservant, and is told that his father will meet him in the salon as soon as he has finished up his business.

Junmyeon makes his way over, keeping his head up and back, not letting it get in the way of his future. Marriage changes nothing. He would go into this with the same strength he’d use for anything else. Perhaps he’d even come to enjoy whomever this Marquis’ son is.

When he opens the door however, he freezes.

‘Hey, hyung.’

Jongdae’s grin is teasing as he sits splayed on the couch, arms thrown over the back of it, looking comfortable and like he isn’t sitting there prepared to be married off like a sacrificial cow.

‘You?’ Junmyeon asks, then colours when he realises how rude that sounds. ‘I mean, that sounds – ah…’

Jongdae shakes his head. ‘It’s okay. Yes, hyung, me.’ He stands, slings his hands in his pockets, looking casual and as if they were about to head out for coffee instead of being arranged to marry.

Words scramble around in Junmyeon’s brain, but he can’t seem to grasp any of them, can’t seem to pinpoint any down in order to come up with whatever he might want to say, so he settles on, ‘What?’

Jongdae shrugs, his expression amused. ‘I know you never asked me about my title, but really now, hyung.’

‘Then you… knew?’ Junmyeon manages to stutter out, trying to sort out the hurt from the relief warring in his chest. Horror would come later, he knows. ‘All that time, on the boat? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I know you,’ Jongdae replies, sitting back down. He seems so at home amongst the elegance of Junmyeon’s father’s things, at ease with the expensive décor, splayed out and owning the space in a way that Junmyeon always felt as though he had to struggle to do. ‘You need time to come to terms with things on their own. Just getting married was a big enough change. To have your best friend change as well – well, I figured a bit of space between the two would be appreciated.’

Junmyeon collapses on the couch, burying his face in his hands. ‘Thank you,’ he says helplessly.

He feels the couch dip as Jongdae moves closer to him, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. ‘Besides, my lease is up on my place.’

It seems to happen in a whirlwind of papers and not much ceremony. They sign their names and seals to the contract while sitting in Junmyeon’s father’s office. Jongdae shows up to his flat the next day with a set of luggage and a smile, officially moving in. Junmyeon determinedly ignores the flair of disappointment in his gut when he takes over the guest bedroom.

‘What do you want for dinner?’ Jongdae is peering through his cupboards.

‘I usually order out,’ Junmyeon admits, still reeling slightly from the quickness of it all. Jongdae seems to have adjusted quite well, settling into his slightly messy apartment with just as much ease as he had arranged himself in Junmyeon’s father’s house. ‘I’m not a fantastic cook.’ Didn’t it feel strange to Jongdae too? Surely he had some misgivings about this whole arrangement.

Jongdae shakes his head. ‘Well, it’s impossible to cook anything well when your cupboards are filled with liquor instead of food.’

‘Jongdae.’

As soon as Jongdae turns to look at him however, all of Junmyeon’s carefully planned words fall out of his head and he finds himself stuttering slightly. ‘Are you – are you alright with this? I mean really? I mean…’

Then Jongdae is padding over and pressing his hand against Junmyeon’s bicep, holding him as if to hold him up. He’s looking dressed down in just sweats and socks, and there’s an odd intimacy in the situation that has all of Junmyeon’s nerves crackling.

‘I’m alright with this,’ Jongdae says softly, his eyes deep and brown and warm, ‘I promise.’

Junmyeon nods, striving to believe in him, feeling his tension flow out of his shoulders. He’s struck again by how gorgeous Jongdae is, just like this, in his house, married to him, and he suddenly can’t help but follow the trail of light down the curve of Jongdae’s neck, the notch of his adam’s apple – the hint of collarbone sliding out of the collar of his tshirt.

His husband. His best friend.

‘Yeah,’ Junmyeon says, shuttering everything back. He can’t do this, he can’t ruin his friendship just because they’re married now. Jongdae had no choice in the matter – same as him. It is unfair and just plain wrong to expect anything else from him. He gives a weak smile. ‘Besides, it could be worse. I could be married to someone I don’t even know.’

Jongdae laughs and rubs at his hair, mussing it, and Junmyeon finds himself ducking and smiling. ‘If I didn’t like you so much, I would consider that rude.’ Just like that, their friendship boundaries are back in place, marriage or no.

‘I keep my take-out menus in that drawer.’

The yeui is obsessed with their quick arrangement for a whole week before it finds something else to focus on. Junmyeon heaves a sigh of relief as he stands in his foyer, flicking through the invitations sent out still on thickly embossed paper, and realising he didn’t have to go to any of them anymore – marrying Jongdae had freed him from that particularly gruesome social obligation.

‘Why are you smiling?’ Jongdae’s arms are full of grocery bags. He’s taken it upon himself to keep the kitchen stocked and Junmyeon fed and Junmyeon would find it romantic if it didn’t feel more like a roommate situation – or a mothering one.

‘Just thinking about how I don’t have anything on this evening,’ he replies, taking the cards over to throw into the recycling under the sink.

‘What are you talking about – I thought we were going to watch that movie.’

Junmyeon laughs and even lets Jongdae put his legs in his lap halfway through.

Junmyeon often gets so caught up in the casualness of their situation that sometimes his attraction sparks out of nowhere. Jongdae moving close in the kitchen to squeeze by him to get to the dishwasher, Jongdae emerging steaming and slightly damp from the shower, Jongdae giving him slow, sleepy smiles before bed.

Junmyeon can feel himself falling and has no way to stop it.

Leaving for work is hard. Feeling clean and neat, seeing Jongdae done up in his own suit to go out to do his small business working in overseas trading, it takes a lot of willpower not to brush a simple kiss across his mouth as he says goodbye.

Jongin and Baekhyun talk about how he works harder at work now – they have no idea it’s because he’s desperate for a distraction.

His job ramps up – long hours turn into missed dinners. Missed dinners turn into late nights. Junmyeon presses hard for meetings, phone calls, anything to get his project off the ground. He works like a man possessed, feels the eyes of the media on him waiting for this to screw up, waiting for it to crash. But Junmyeon is determined – he’s not going to let this die.

Through it all, Jongdae is a steady constant, not commenting on how much time Junmyeon isn’t at home anymore, except to ask whether he needs another serving of food packed for him in his lunch so he can make it until dinner.

Then work makes a turning point. He works all through the day, the sun touching the edge of the mountains before he gets the contract signed. And it’s done. He can leave it in the hands of the contractors, the people who know what they’re doing, and he can finally finally rest.

Junmyeon manages to keep upright until he’s home. Dropping his briefcase by the door, he lets his undone tie slither out of his fingers on top of it. Shoes come next, toeing out of them as he heads towards the bathroom to wash his face. Briefly, he wonders if Jongdae is already in bed.

He isn’t. He’s on the couch, asleep, an arm thrown up against the back, his cheek resting on it.

Seeing him like this, lashes throwing dark relief over his high cheekbones, Junmyeon can’t help but suck in a breath. He’s pretty, all soft and unguarded in sleep, pink mouth slightly open. The simmering attraction that he has been keeping so under wraps boils over and Junmyeon wants. He wants so badly, he can taste it on his tongue – sharp and sweet.

Junmyeon lets his gaze slip down to the V of Jongdae’s chest left bare by his shirt before slipping back up to admire his face. He starts when he sees Jongdae’s gaze, open and dark on him.

Jongdae says nothing, just lifts his arm towards him and Junmyeon, exhausted and feeling fragile, falls into them, curling up, his cheek pressed against the relaxing sound of his heartbeat.

‘Welcome home, hyung,’ Jongdae murmurs. ‘I can’t believe you took the time to wash your face.’

‘Needed it,’ Junmyeon mutters back, nuzzling harder into Jongdae’s chest and falls asleep to the gentle rumble of Jongdae’s laughter.

The next morning is slightly awkward for Junmyeon. He boils eggs and scoops rice from the maker that Jongdae had set up the night before.

‘Good morning, hyung,’ Jongdae says, casual as ever, and Junmyeon despairs. He’s looking pleasantly rumpled, but clear eyed, and Junmyeon wants nothing more to do than to press him against the fridge and run his fingers through his hair and taste the toothpaste of his freshly brushed teeth.

‘Morning,’ he replies and starts the espresso machine. ‘Um, about last night…’ I want it every night, I loved curling up in your arms, you smell wonderful, please can I fuck you…

Jongdae raises a brow, but doesn’t prompt him.

‘Thank you,’ Junmyeon says finally, defeated, handing him a coffee.

Jongdae’s lips curl mysteriously around the rim. ‘You’re welcome, hyung.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Kyungsoo regards him coolly over the glass of wine.

Junmyeon doesn’t know why he’s at this party again, except his father had emailed him with thinly veiled threats about keeping up appearances, and weak as always to his family duty, Junmyeon caved. So once again he’s standing in Count Park’s ballroom, drinking moderately priced alcohol, dressed to the nines.

‘It’s pretty simple,’ Junmyeon says, not sure why he’s dumping all his issues on the Minister’s son, except perhaps maybe because he’s there as a slight outsider as well. With no title, and new rich from business and not title, Minister Do was still treated with only passing friendliness by most of the yuei. He also from all reports is a very reticent person, and the person he would normally tell all of his issues too - across the room at the moment, trying to maneuver his way around the incredibly drunk son of Marquis Park to get to the table of food – is actually the source of his most pressing problem.

Kyungsoo gives him an unimpressed glace. ‘So let me see if I have this straight. He’s your best friend.’

‘Yes.’

‘You are attracted to him.’

Like nothing else. ‘Yes.’

‘You two are married.’

‘You are certainly hitting on all the main points, I’m glad you can keep up.’

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at the dry statement. ‘Then what’s the problem?’

Another sardonic quip is on Junmyeon’s tongue, but it dies a slow death as Junmyeon watches Jongdae who has somehow very politely dumped an entire plate of red sauce down the front of Chanyeol’s jacket in a way that made it seem like Chanyeol inconvenienced him. ‘I don’t want him to do it purely because he has to,’ he says quietly.

‘Have you asked him?’

Junmyeon turns to gape at Kyungsoo, then begins blushing hard. ‘Wh-what?’ he asks, taking a drink of his wine to cover up his embarrassment.

‘I don’t know you rich fucks all that well,’ Kyungsoo says calmly, crunching on a canape. ‘But from what I have heard, trying to get Kim Jongdae to do anything is an exercise in futility.’ He turns his dark gaze on Junmyeon meaningfully. ‘I doubt he does anything because he has to.’

Kyungsoo’s words still ring through his head as they sit in the back of their limo on their way back to their apartment. Of course, those thoughts were interspersed with how good Jongdae looks in his black suit.

‘Won for your thoughts?’

Junmyeon starts, and looks guilty over at the person who was doing rather inappropriate things in said thoughts. The familiar phrase is comforting though, along with the gentle curve of Jongdae’s smile, flashing into view with the passing streetlamps.

The darkness makes Junmyeon a little bolder, his thoughts feeling like they were going to explode out of him sooner or later anyway.

‘I want to kiss you but I don’t want you to feel like you have to kiss me just because we’re married,’ he explains in a rush. He rubs a palm over his face, feeling the words hang between them, thick and heavy in the air.

Then Jongdae laughs. Loudly.

Junmyeon looks at him, slightly hurt, but then Jongdae is kissing him, pressing his mouth against Junmyeon’s in a soft, kiss that quickly deepens as Junmyeon feels his shoulders relax.

‘Like that?’ Jongdae asks, his eyes glittering even in the darkness of the limo.

Air seems like an afterthought as Junmyeon drags some into his lungs in order to let out a ‘yeah.’

‘Good.’ His smile is smug, but Junmyeon doesn’t care, leaning forward for another one – greedy greedy greedy now that Jongdae has given permission. His mouth is as soft and good as he had imagined, probably even better.

Stopping in front of their place interrupts them briefly, and Junmyeon makes a noise of irritation which causes Jongdae to laugh.

‘Come on, husband,’ he murmurs, his voice filled with warm amusement as he noses behind Junmyeon’s ear and Junmyeon shivers. He certainly hadn’t expected Jongdae to react with such… enthusiasm. Readily, in fact. Junmyeon’s eyes narrow even as he takes Jongdae’s hand.

‘How long have you known?’ he asks as soon as they’re in the elevator.

Jongdae’s grin is unapologetic. ‘I’ve suspected since Oh’s boat party,’ he replies. ‘When you aren’t playing bored aristocrat, you’re basically an open book.’ Junmyeon opens his mouth to protest, but Jongdae beats him to the punch. ‘I was waiting for you to sort through your feelings first.’ His lips are soft on their joined fingers. ‘I knew you’d come around sooner or later.’

‘You are impossible,’ Junmyeon mutters, annoyed and warmed in the same moment and wondering if he’d always feel like this around him. ‘You could have told me.’

‘And miss your cute frustrated expressions?’ Jongdae asks teasingly as Junmyeon unlocks their place. ‘I wanted it to come from you – with no prompting. That way I could be sure you weren’t just doing it for duty. That’s a terrible habit of yours, you know.’

Junmyeon grunts but wraps his arms around Jongdae’s waist, kissing him hard again, trying to lick the flavour of wine out of his mouth.

‘Can we have sex now then?’

Jongdae laughs and pulls Junmyeon towards the bedroom. ‘Of course.’

Junmyeon shuffles his feet in his socks, fingering the box in his pocket. Gathering his courage, he makes his way over to where Jongdae is sitting on the couch, reading.

‘I have something for you,’ he states baldly. In fact, he’s had the something for nearly a week, trying to figure out a way to broach it.

Jongdae sets his book down and smiles at him. ‘What is it?’

Junmyeon hands it over, holding his breath as Jongdae opens the small jewelry box to find a simple white gold ring inside, etched with lines of darker rose gold.

‘You don’t have to wear it,’ Junmyeon says quickly, ‘but I am pretty sure I love you and while I know we were arranged to be married, I’m so glad it was you I was arranged with because I couldn’t have chosen a better person –”

Junmyeon trails off as Jongdae pulls the ring out of the box and presses it onto his finger. ‘I’ve been wondering when you were going to give this to me,’ he teases, and stands up to press a kiss to the corner of Junmyeon’s mouth. ‘Let me go get mine.’

Jongdae’s ring for him was something a little more elaborate, with a single blue jewel nestled in the centre. He slides it onto Junmyeon’s finger and Junmyeon is certain his heart is going to explode.

He kisses him hard, pulling him close. ‘I can’t believe you did it again,’ he grumbles, pressing his forehead to Jongdae’s. ‘Thanks for being so understanding.’