Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

for love, i will handle your sins.
and for justice?
for justice, i will show you mine.

Minho throws his head back laughing, even though in reality he doesn’t quite remember what the conversation is about, and pretends that he doesn’t feel like punching Hyeonu square in the face for the hand he keeps on his hip. 

The conversation is unimportant—what’s important is that someone stops by, diverting the other man’s attention away, and Minho can lean into Hyeonu’s space to whisper into his ear, “I really, really can’t wait until we’re alone.”

Hyeonu’s golden earring glimmers in the dimmed lights of the banquet hall when Minho pulls away with a slight pout of his lips. The eager glint in his eyes confirms Minho’s thoughts, tells him exactly that Hyeonu had been waiting for the first move all this time.

“Why would we even wait, Minhyun-ah?” he says, lips curving up in a smile he probably thinks is stirring something akin to lust in Minho; he just has no idea that all Minho feels now is impatience—to finally get his hands on what he wants and to go home.

Hyeonu turns towards the older guy standing beside them and makes up some excuse that Minho doesn’t care about. His thoughts are already fixated on the gold cufflinks Hyeonu is wearing, his necklace and his earrings, and maybe the tie clip his eyes fall on before Hyeonu turns back towards him, sends him a charming smile, and moves his hand from Minho’s hip to wrap it around his wrist.

He allows Hyeonu to pull him towards the dimmed hallway, allows himself to be pressed against the wall, and allows him to think he’s in control so that he lets his guard down.

Maybe if Minho had as many drinks as Hyeonu did, he would deem his kissing good enough, but the messy slide of their mouths only makes him want to get it over with as soon as possible. 

Winding his arms around his neck, Minho skims his fingers along his nape, moaning exaggeratedly when the man’s lips move to his jaw. He fiddles with the clasp of the necklace, but by gripping the man’s shoulder through his suit and breathing heavily in his ear, he manages to get it to slip off his neck without Hyeonu even feeling it disappear. It’s more difficult to get it into the pocket of his own pants, but Hyeonu is too busy devouring his neck to think about Minho’s hold on him loosening.

The cufflinks are harder to get off, but Minho grabs Hyeonu’s hands and moves them to the curve of his ass, whining in desperation that comes from something different than what Hyeonu might think. 

But those damned clips don’t want to get off, and Minho briefly considers leaving it at that, but once one of them gives, he rushes out a breathy moan, spurring Hyeonu on and moving onto the other. 

Minho mouths at his ear, clinging to his shoulders and letting Hyeonu leave a hickey on his neck, and tangles his fingers in the hair in the back of his head to easily catch the earring he pulls out with his teeth. 

God. The jewelry is not even worth all this effort.

“Minhyun!”

Hyunjin’s voice breaks through the rush of blood in his head, the sound of the fake name familiar by now as it rolls off his tongue with impatience.

Minho feigns exasperation as he pulls back from his prey for the night. Their eyes lock, Minho silently thanks him for showing up just in time, and then, he turns back to Hyeonu, fluttering his long eyelashes.

“Always ruining the fun, that bastard . . .” Minho’s voice is fake and sultry as he whispers into the man’s ear. “But I want you to call me, darling, alright?” He runs his hand up and down the front of the man’s suit, stealing the clip on his tie as he pulls him forward by it.

Suppressing the urge to throw up, he leans in and leaves a kiss in the corner of the man’s mouth. He wants Hyeonu’s dirty hands off his body already. 

“But I don’t have your number!” Hyeonu calls out after him, with the palm of his hand pressed against the wall as he tries to stabilize his stance. 

“If you want me so badly, you can try and find me,” Minho says, but he doesn’t bother raising his voice.

He knows by now that Hyeonu won’t try to find him—he’s the eldest son of the CEO of one of the small but prosperous law firms in the city, someone who thinks he can have anyone and everyone; he won’t try to chase after Minho when he has other people lining up for him and begging for a second of his attention. 

He makes sure to sway his hips as he walks away, but he doesn’t turn around—although he knows Hyeonu is looking at him, probably wishing to have or picturing Minho naked. Well, that’s never going to happen.

Minho lets out an exhale of relief and runs a hand through his hair, picking up the pace as he and Hyunjin round the corner. They don’t speak until the elevator doors slide shut and shield them away from the world for a brief moment. When they do, Minho is slumping against the metal wall with a groan. 

“It was pointless,” he says, rolling his eyes as he shoves a hand into the pocket of his pants and extends it to Hyunjin. “I got more from that wallet I got at the beginning than with him.”

Hyunjin snorts, but then he’s taking one of the cufflinks and holding them up towards the light to say, “This looks good. That’s sapphire and gold.”

“Better be worth this shit,” Minho groans, tilting his head back and exposing his neck for Hyunjin to see the itching hickey. Toying with older guys, attending banquets for rich people under a different name, and stealing from cocky bastards is satisfying enough, but he wishes there were more to it than one piece of jewelry.

He needs something better than this.

Because years are passing, Minho is getting more alluring as his triumphs over men’s urges are becoming easier, and although their ridiculousness is keeping him dizzy like the best liquor, his games are beginning to turn into a dull routine.

It’s not even about the money. 

Minho has always been well-off—his parents and grandparents, fulfilled in their fields of work, have always thrown their money at their only (grand)child without a second thought, spoiling him to the point the sweetness almost had him rotting him to the bone.

He isn’t doing this for money. It was never about that.

It’s the thrill of it all that matters—analyzing the situation, choosing the right target, wrapping them around his finger, and messing with them enough to get every valuable thing they possess. 

The rush of adrenaline with every thing that goes right, and even the mistakes forcing him to think quickly on his feet—but, admittedly, money and pretty jewelry serve as an advantage. And Minho has always had an affinity for all things shiny. 

That’s why he snatches the cufflinks out of Hyunjin’s hands and pushes him out of the elevator when they arrive at the right floor. Without much care for his perfectly-pressed suit, Minho pulls him down the hallway by the sleeve of his shirt.

Chan’s hotel suite is supposed to house the three of them for the remainder of the weekend—for the remainder of the company gala—but Minho is already thinking of going back to Seoul tonight. 

As soon as he finds out why Chan dragged him to the other side of the country for a bit of pick-pocketing, he’s making him pay for his ride back home. 

Hyunjin almost immediately leaves to take a bath when they get inside—he only slips his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the king-sized bed, and walks over to the balcony where Chan is leaning against the railing to steal his glass of champagne and kiss him on the cheek before sashaying away towards the bathroom. 

Meanwhile, Minho helps himself to champagne too, but instead of pouring a glass, he grabs the bottle and takes a proper swig. Once Hyunjin is gone, he makes a beeline towards Chan—waiting for his first move.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“I’m proposing to Hyunjin,” Chan says, casting a brief look to the side, over at Minho, before directing it back at the nighttime skyline of Ulsan. 

Minho lifts the bottle of champagne, says, “Cheers to that,” and takes another long sip. “Congratulations. It’s about time.” 

Lifting a corner of his mouth in a smile, Chan still shakes his head. “And I need a perfect ring to do it. A gem that’s worth him.” 

“That’s gonna be tough,” Minho points out. He decides to be generous and refills Chan’s glass without whining, although both of them could afford buying their own cellars filled from the floor to the ceiling with bottles of champagne. It’s also interesting that Chan is drinking; is this what love and engagement does to people? Makes them break their habits? “What do you have in mind?”

“The Crown Jewels from Levanter.”

Minho knows better than to laugh, but he wants to—it bubbles right in his chest, making the corners of his mouth twitch up. He lets out a low whistle instead.

“Good luck with that.”

Chan gives him an unimpressed look. “You know I’m already on the radar, so it can’t be me,” he says, downing the remainder of his drink. “How much do you want for getting them for me?” 

There it is—the reason why Minho is here, in Ulsan, in this hotel room, in the first place.

It isn’t a matter of how much , but rather what. At the sound of Crown Jewels, his mind conjures the image of something bewitching and one-of-a-kind, even amongst pieces of jewelry made of the same minerals. 

Minho lets the silence linger as he twirls champagne in his glass, meaning to be all mysterious and annoying. He gets off on the fact that Chan needs him to pull it off—that he wouldn’t dare ask anyone else in the world to rob the Royal Family of South Korea, because perhaps no one else will be able to do it without landing themselves a lifetime in prison.

“I don’t just want money,” he says. “I want the Dragon’s Heart.”

✦

The thing is, it won’t be the first time Minho robs someone—and certainly not the first time the stakes are this high. 

Although that’s what he’s most comfortable in, Minho isn’t just a pickpocketer. He has stolen priceless art from private collections before, and some pieces are still hanging in his friends’ offices and homes with everyone convinced they’re nothing more than duplicates; he has broken into museums and swapped ancient vases with the security alarm blaring in his ears, loud like his pounding heart; he has robbed homes—and he can’t imagine how utterly foolish are all the people still keeping their valuables in the most obvious places, thinking they won’t be targeted even though they know that the most exciting news all over the country lately have been the break-ins and robberies with nothing but a sprayed smiley face with crossed-out eyes left behind. 

If it weren’t for his equally sly and insane friends, he would never pull half of his heists off—not because they’re stealing with him, but because they work to help him behind the scenes. Back when he insisted on being self-sufficient, there had been too many times of him being too close to getting caught for comfort.

He would be stupid to not recognize that the risk is what he mostly does it for, though. 

Risk and the adrenaline keep Minho on his feet even in the worst moments, even when he’s just a heartbeat away from being escorted out of the scene by the police. They have his mind going into overdrive to think of a way to escape when everything goes south in the blink of an eye; they serve as a reminder that he’s done it all before—that he took the risk and got away with it, so he can clearly push his luck some more and do it again.

But everything has its limits—even the risk. So when Chan asks him to rob the Royal Family, in return Minho wants something that will equal its price, something that will be permanent enough for Minho to look at for days, something that will make him think, The risk was worth it.

The Dragon’s Heart will be exactly that—the source of power for his future heists, the reward after committing a robbery that feels more illegal than any other theft, one that feels impossible to commit. And yet. 

Minho will take everything the Royal Family owns and he’ll do it with a smile on his face.

✦

To get to the island located two hundred kilometers from the mainland territory of Korea, Minho uses the most comfortable mode of transportation—a plane. The flight from Seoul to Levanter is a little under two hours long and—courtesy of Chan—Minho doesn’t have to worry about anything, even the tickets.

If everything goes according to plan—and Minho is sure of that—he’ll get to the town square exactly in time to make it to the last tour of the castle. He’s got a camera slung over his neck to capture whatever Jeongin might need, and he’s going to pose as nothing more than a regular tourist, eager to see each corner of the marvelous home of the Royal Family.

Minho has to admit—the Levanter Palace is one hell of a breathtaking structure that makes him want to stand still and watch it for the rest of his life. The soaring towers leave him feeling small, the huge gardens fascinated, and the divinity of its aura crave the power held within the walls.  

After Minho crosses the gate, it closes behind him automatically; maybe it should be anxiety-inducing considering his actual intentions, but he feels far from trapped inside.

The Levanter Palace stands high on the edge of the island, adorned from the back by the immensity of waters of the Chang Bay. The royal gardens stretch out near the steep cliffside, at this time of the year blooming in colors Minho could never possibly be able to name.

This place is a dream.

Minho inhales sharply and takes a step forward. He’s quite sure that his eyes look like two glimmering saucers right now, but . . . What can he do about that? He loves castles, he loves the splendor of royalty, he loves the jewels waiting for him inside. 

He looks around, trying to remember all the details of the exterior of the palace—so that he can visualize everything again and perfect the plan once he’s lying alone in the privacy of his bedroom—and at the same time makes a determined step towards the front door. The guards spare him no attention as he climbs the seemingly endless stairs.

Cold air from the conditioner hits him like a wave when he steps inside the grand foyer. He shivers and wills his body to get used to the change of temperature as he makes his way through the palace.

Using the regular tourist map—and comparing it to the exact one Jeongin got for him to take a look at—Minho studies every room profoundly and takes pictures of anything and everything so that they can properly analyze all the details that aren’t accessible through hacking.

As he leaves the small library on the second floor, the security gate that separates the hallway in two draws his attention. But because the lights are off, Minho can’t see what’s behind it—and that alone only fuels his curiosity.

“Excuse me, sir, but this part of the castle is not intended for sightseeing,” he hears behind his back and puts on a cheery smile on his own face as he turns around. The guard looks him up and down, but Minho frankly couldn’t care less.

“I’m very sorry. I just got interested in the tapestry hanging on the wall,” he lies, keeping his face composed and friendly. Innocent. “I’ll be moving to a different section now.”

Sneering, Minho lifts the camera and snaps a picture of the bewilderment on the guard’s face, just to walk away forcing a giggle down his throat. Teasing people brings him too much joy for him to let go of any chance to make others’ lives a little more miserable. 

He takes a leisurely pace to the next floor, memorizing and taking pictures of the exact location of the guards who seem to be everywhere—although he knows that’s something that might change, and it will be much easier to get a hold of their schedule. 

Mounting the staircase, Minho lets out a sigh.

Nothing can be left out of the plans and he knows it. Knows that he can’t afford even the slightest and most insignificant mistake—not here, even though the palace isn’t kept as safe as they think it is.

It had taken Jeongin twenty minutes to hack into the right security server, from where they can easily intercept all the messages the royal guards pass between each other. With one press of a button, they can access everything in the castle that’s run by technology—open doors, turn the lights on and off, manipulate the cameras, and—what’s undoubtedly most important—disarm the alarm or completely turn it off.

That alone has lowered the risk of getting caught by a vast percent and is helping to build a plan that won’t depend on pure luck. Even Minho, sometimes too confident and overzealous, knows that it would be stupid to throw himself into this heist without proper and thorough preparation.

That’s why he has the blueprints of the building, along with the photos that he had taken at the palace hanging on the whiteboard in his apartment, kept together with magnets. All notes and ideas, drawings, and diagrams are attached right there, allowing Minho to easily see the whole picture without leaving a digital footprint—after it all, he’s going to burn all the evidence down.

In the middle of it all is the photo of the most prized item of the desired collection—the crown with the largest ruby of them all that Minho isn’t sure yet if he’s going to steal; around it, a few smaller pictures of rings and necklaces and bracelets with the same crystal. Below, one of them is particularly eye-catching.

Even though it’s just a photograph, the Dragon’s Heart still seems to glimmer in the daylight, emanating energy powerful enough to make everyone feel intimidated—even Minho. 

A necklace with a heart-shaped pendant made of ruby and twenty-four karat gold makes Minho’s head spin. It’s the most beautiful piece of jewelry he has ever seen. His deepest dream and most hidden need. There’s no doubt—with something like that on one’s neck, anyone would feel like a Royal.

Usually, after getting a hold of art and jewelry, Minho reaches out to his network of friends to find the person who’s prepared to pay the most. But the Dragon’s Heart . . . 

Once Minho gets his hands on that necklace, he will never let it go. No matter the offered price—he wouldn’t be able to just sell it and let it lie in someone else’s hands. A treasure like this . . . It can’t be bought. It can only be stolen.

For this heist, then, Minho needs something more than his slyness and patience; he needs something more than silly imitations of the jewels, needs something equally bewitching as the glimmering ruby. 

That’s when having a tight-knit group of people gifted in different fields comes in handy; when Minho needs exact copies, ones that won’t be distinguished from the originals by the world’s most known specialists.

The best thing is, Minho doesn’t even have to say a word or pay a penny—because it’s technically all Chan’s heist and Minho is simply doing the dirty work. Chan will be using some of the jewels to make a perfect and drop-dead expensive ring for his future husband and selling the remainder to pay off Jeongin—and Felix. 

Felix, the absolute master of forgery, is perfect for the job. He’s the person behind the replicas of Magnasco’s Landscape with Shepherds and Rosetti’s The Loving Cup that were switched during the exhibition’s journey from Seoul to Tokyo’s National Museum of Western Art; he created the perfect copy of the Taj Mahal Emerald so that Sana could swindle it during an auction back in 2019—it’s been years and no one has found out that the art and the gems he forged aren’t real.

But, most importantly, Felix never asks questions.

Chan calls him while he’s doing business in Australia and Felix says he’ll be on the first plane back to Seoul the moment he’s done. 

That’s when the fun will really start.

✦

Fixing the round glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose, Minho finally tears his eyes away from the screen of his laptop. He has to bring eye drops next time around—not even blinking a thousand times helps the stinging in his eyes, and he isn’t even halfway through the study guide.

Minho cracks his knuckles. The sound echoes like a series of gunshots in the silence of the library, and some girls over at the table by the window turn to glare at him as one man. Hyunjin, too, sends him a disapproving look, and it’s a surprise he doesn’t break into yet another cracking your bones is bad for you lecture.

Maybe it’s because he has just awoken from his half-hour long nap and now he’s scrambling to finish his essay before the deadline. He had tagged along with Minho, saying Chan was working from home today and he would be too distracting for him to get anything done. But it’s just him, Minho, and a bunch of other students scattered across the library, and Hyunjin is yet to type out something more than Why are sunsets so colorful? into the search bar. 

Minho gets it. He really does. He would rather be sleeping the classes off, too, but it just so happens that in a few weeks, he’s going to rob the Royal Family so that Hyunjin can have a one-of-a-kind engagement ring, so he needs to finish his coursework ahead of time. 

“When’s Jeongin getting back?” he asks, staying quiet to avoid subjecting himself to more deathly glares. 

Hyunjin seemingly doesn’t care. He grabs his plastic cup of sickeningly sweet coffee off the table and slurps it down until there’s nothing left, obnoxious to the point Minho considers moving to a different table and pretending he doesn’t know him.

“Monday, but he’s telling everyone who asks that his flight is on Wednesday so that no one bothers him for two days,” Hyunjin says, making Minho roll his eyes; that’s exactly why he isn’t asking Jeongin anything directly. “I doubt he’ll even pick up the phone if you call.”

“I need to run a few things by him,” Minho says. “And properly analyze the footage I got in the palace, since he left before we could sit down together.”

Hyunjin grins and sing-songs, “Not my fault he ran to Canada just because his crush called for help.”

“Love,” Minho spits out, grimacing exaggeratedly. “It makes people do the most stupid things.”

Leaning over the table, Hyunjin steals a glance over the room to make sure no one hears and whispers, “Like ordering a heist to get that perfect engagement ring, huh?”

Minho sighs, turning his attention back to the screen of his laptop. “Worse.”

✦

Weeks leading up to the heist are busy. Alongside with his usual ocean of coursework, Minho studies blueprints of the castle and maps out potential routes in and out in case of an emergency—because everything will go according to plan and Minho will walk out the front door with the jewels snug in his bag, but it won’t hurt to be prepared for the worst.

When they finally meet, all of them, it’s in Chan’s penthouse. Hyunjin is sitting on the armrest of the couch, twirling wine in his glass as he peers at the screen of Jeongin’s laptop, who also has ten different portable drives scattered across the coffee table. Felix is watching Chan inspect the copies of jewels between his careful fingers, gloves and magnifying glass and everything else.

And Minho is focused on how the city glimmers at night, perpetual lights making up for the lack of visible stars. It feels like the entirety of Seoul can be seen through the ceiling-to-floor windows from this high up, seemingly endless in its dark infinity. 

The view proves to have a calming effect on Minho as the situation he has found himself in slowly sinks in. This weekend, he will be flying out to Levanter Island and committing a robbery of one of the most prized possessions in the country. He isn’t nervous per se, but he can’t shake off the tension in the shoulders, can’t think about anything other than the heist. 

“They’re perfect,” he hears Chan’s voice, laced with astonishment as he carefully puts one of the faux rubies into the velvet box. Some of them are yet to be attached to the replica of the gold cascade necklace, but even on their own, they look real. “Does the weight match, too?”

“Of course,” Felix tells him. “Weight, the shade of red, the facets. Everything.”

Minho knows how well Felix does his job, but he’s still impressed when he walks over to the table to take a look, too. He exchanges glances with Chan before breaking into a satisfied smirk. 

“Good job, Yongbok,” he says, patting him on the back and swallowing the question of where the replica of the Dragon’s Heart is. He doesn’t need to know since it’s not the real thing, but he’s dying to finally hold the necklace in his hands.

It doesn’t matter that he won’t ever be able to show it off—it will be enough for him to know that he was sly enough to steal it right from under everyone’s nose, that this beautiful treasure is his and his only. Forever.

“By the way,” Jeongin starts, lifting his eyes off the screen of his laptop to briefly glance at Minho, “I just rented a car for us, so we’re all set.”

He’s the only person who will accompany Minho in Levanter. The access to technology is easier when he isn’t on the other side of the country, and Minho needs someone to get him out of the palace grounds as soon as possible.

“I’ll have the jewelry done by Friday evening,” Felix says, closing the case with the fake jewelry. He pours himself a glass of wine and refills Hyunjin’s when he extends it towards him, fluttering his eyelashes. “You got the papers to get you through the airport security?” 

Jeongin lifts one of the folders off the coffee table. “Printed and stamped.” 

At the screening, the security will most likely be interested in the jewelry in Minho’s luggage. Once they unzip his suitcase, right on top of his clothes, they will find the customs declaration of all the necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings. Although Minho is hoping they won’t need the documents, they have to be prepared to be pulled to the side.

(The documents are obviously forged as they had to be prepared in advance and Minho doesn’t trust the airport staff enough to think they won’t get curious at the sight of that kind of jewelry.)

“Nice work, everyone,” Chan says, lifting his own glass (of pineapple juice, because he’s an abstinent, even in moments that call for a celebratory drink with just the exception of his engagement) in an early salute to their robbery.

One would think they’re an organized group, pulling heists together left and right, but Minho’s friends just live for the thrill of it all and they like money. It’s never a thing set in stone; when it comes to the actual stealing part, he always works alone. 

Even if he were to turn back time and find a partner at the beginning of his career, he wouldn’t. Two people at the crime scene is already too much—there are too many things to take into account, from the entrance to the escape. It’s too much planning with too many factors, with impulse and striving for independence right on top of the priority list.

Minho doesn’t trust anyone the way he trusts himself. 

✦

Jeongin drops him off at the Levanter Palace in a black Range Rover and parks it close enough to Minho to make a run for it once all is said and done. He’s pulling out his laptop even before Minho makes his way out of the car, and they nod at each other in lieu of good luck. 

Minho takes a deep breath, willing his heart to stop racing, but it doesn’t listen. He has to endure it crashing against his ribcage as he makes his way through the gate, letting the staff scan his ticket while he looks around in search of a familiar face in the crowd of tourists.

Nayeon finds him first, waving around her tour guide flag so that Minho knows which group to join. That’s the secret weapon—an insider who will let Minho into the palace unnoticed. She’s been friends with Chan since forever and she agreed to help under one condition: they won’t tell her what they’re doing. 

Minho puts on his practiced act the moment he finds himself in between people, pretending that the exterior of the palace is of any interest to him, chatting everyone up to seem more friendly. He laughs at unfunny jokes he doesn’t pay slightest bit of attention to and compliments some girl standing beside him in the line. Although he’s growing impatient with each passing minute they spend waiting outside, he doesn’t let it show. 

He prepares his personal earset, of different purpose than the ones worn by the rest of the tourists. Instead of listening to the guide’s explanations, Minho will be tuning into a personal channel—the wireless receiver will allow him to communicate with Jeongin without making him look out of place like it would if he were to use a phone or any other device. 

He takes Nayeon signaling that they can head into the palace with relief. The whole group makes its way through the courtyard with gasps of astonishment coming from left and right; Minho would be lying if he said that surprises him—it’s his second time seeing the palace, and it still seems to take his breath away. 

It would draw the entirety of his attention if only Minho wasn’t so preoccupied with the thought of the treasures hidden inside. 

As it has taken him weeks to memorize it, Minho notices with ease that everything is going according to the schedule—the guards are standing in their assigned positions, no exhibitions have been relocated, and the cameras are still positioned just right to perfectly control the swarm of tourists.

It’s a pity no one has foreseen Minho and his plan—perfect until the very last step. 

There are no guards in the corner that interests him the most. The lights are out, shrouding the hallway with darkness, but he can make out the shape of the barricade. While the rest of the group is focused on swooning for the tapestries hanging on the walls of the palace, Minho whispers, “This is bananas,” as he fakes his amazement all the while letting Jeongin pick up on his codeword without him making it obvious. 

“Got it.” He barely hears Jeongin in the earpiece with how his heartbeat is pounding in his ears. “Now, slowly start walking away towards the throne room. I’m glitching the cameras one by one.”

They couldn’t loop the footage without making it obvious that the group of tourists isn’t moving at all, so Jeongin came up with the next best thing—freezing the live video for a second; long enough for Minho to slip past without being caught on tape, short enough for the security to chalk it up to technical issues. 

He slips out of the crowd unnoticed, staying alert for any mishaps. 

Nothing happens. Minho makes it into the dark hallway with ease—and that’s what finally gets him to calm down. Just a little. 

Ducking under the rope barrier, he finds himself in the part of the palace that hasn’t been available for sightseeing tours in a long time. If he continued walking down the hallway, he would encounter the home of the Royal Family—the wing that the Han Dynasty has moved back into after years of living in a grand mansion just outside of the city.

But Minho comes to a halt in front of massive ornate doors. Figures intricately carved out in dark wood, the giant dragon out of legends, tigers and snakes, and the national flowers—and of course the Levanter Palace in all its glory, right in the centerfold. Details made of pure gold. 

Minho swallows, keeping his cool as he pulls gloves onto his hands, ignoring the way the bracelets hidden up his sleeve clink against one another. Just before he pushes the door open with a barely audible creak of the hinges, he whispers, “I’m coming in.”

Jeongin tells him, “I got you.”

This is where looped footage proves to be useful—the giant throne room with mythological ceiling murals is usually empty; if Jeongin lets the same frame play over and over, no one will ever know.

The sun is bright as it pours into the room through the enormous glass panes, kissing the marble floor with warmth. It feels like a road straight to heaven as Minho makes his way to the center of the room, where the Crown Jewels are kept in glass cases. 

If  he weren’t in the middle of a race against the clock, Minho would spend an eternity just staring at the rubies glimmering in the early afternoon sun. They are even more gorgeous in person—so gorgeous that he has to force himself to look away from the Dragon’s Heart lest he does something stupid.

“I have my eyes on the jewels,” he whispers—but he doesn’t make the move to get close to any of them. 

Jeongin hums, the sound of his fingers skimming across the keyboard of his laptop audible in the background as he works to disarm the alarms. The electromagnetic locks of the cases pop open one by one as Jeongin works his magic—and it almost makes him hesitate.

How can the theft of national treasures be so easy?

“You in?” Jeongin asks. 

“In,” Minho replies curtly. And then he thinks, It’s easy because they did a good job making it that way. 

Careful not to leave any prints despite the gloves he’s wearing, he props open the display of bracelets. It takes more effort to take the fake ones off his arms than it does exchanging them for the real ones. The material the fake gold was made of—whatever it is—wasn’t detected when Minho went through control at the entrance of the palace, but it’s convincing; it’s identical.

He’s attentive, making sure to put the forged bracelet into the exact same places he took them from, even though his fingers are trembling with adrenaline and nerves wracking his body.

With no other way to keep them safe, Minho slips each of the pieces into separate cotton pouches, and then into the empty camera bag slung over his neck.

Then, he switches the earrings, feeling more confident with each pair he puts inside his bag. After that, Minho moves onto the necklaces in the next glass case—the giant cascade one that he swiftly takes off the mannequin, those with simple charms, and, finally, the Dragon’s Heart, the most bewitching of them all, shining just for him. 

Minho hasn’t been this careful with any of the pieces of jewelry, but he slips the necklace with a heart-shaped pendant over his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt so that it isn’t visible to anyone. It must be a figment of his twisted imagination, but once it touches him, Minho feels like his skin is burning where the pendant lies against his sternum.

“I’m done,” he whispers, feeling breathless as he closes the last case and sweeps his eyes over the replicas. They look convincingly real. If he hadn’t just switched them with the real ones, he would never be able to tell. And that speaks of something, because Minho has spent the last month staring at those jewels, getting to know every scratch and facet. 

He takes a step back, shoving the gloves into his camera bag and zipping it up. This time, he doesn’t draw his signature smiley face to annoy the police. No one can know that a heist occurred in the first place. 

“Great,” Jeongin says, his voice laced with relief. “Now get out of there.”

Minho braces himself to turn on his heel and march out without wasting any more time, but a blood-curdling sound of the door creaking makes him whip around with a choked noise falling out of his throat.

Never has Minho thought he would see the Crown Prince Jisung standing in front of him—or, rather, by the entrance a few meters away. There’s no way to mistake him for anyone else; with his heart stuck in his throat, Minho is staring at the future king of his nation.

Out of all the ways this heist could have gone wrong, this is a pretty spectacular one.

“Who are you?” the Prince asks. His eyebrows are furrowed as he stares Minho down, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. 

Minho opens his mouth, but nothing comes out with how tight his throat feels and how dry his mouth is. Buying himself time, he casts his shaking eyes to the floor and bows. His heart is pounding as if he has just run a marathon—it’s comical how all it takes to drive him into this state is the prince’s dark gaze.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the Prince asks again. Minho stupidly wonders how come someone with features usually soft can make himself look this stern. 

Minho’s name sounds in the earpiece, followed by a rushed out, “What’s going on?”

He rips the device off and turns it off with trembling hands before Jeongin can hear anything more. The prince is watching him, alert and cautious of Minho’s every move.

There’s no getting out of here without slipping up, but Minho can still turn things around. 

“I’m Lee Minho, Your Highness,” he introduces himself, but not without hesitation. “I came here on a guided tour.”

“This part of the palace isn’t intended for sightseeing,” the prince says without missing a beat.

“I accidentally lost my group, and there were no guards around, so I couldn’t ask for help,” Minho lies, schooling his expression into something akin to regret. He has come too far to just let himself get caught now—the weight of the Dragon’s Heart on his neck serves as a reminder of that. “While I was trying to find them on my own, I came across this room. The jewels caught my attention, and I just . . . I couldn’t walk out before admiring them for at least a moment.”

Jisung’s expression visibly softens, even though his posture remains stiff and defensive. He’s smart enough not to allow himself to trust Minho entirely. “We should leave,” he says, nodding towards the door. “What’s your guide’s name? I’ll have the security escort you back to your group.”

Minho jerks his head in a hesitant nod, slipping past the prince out of the throne room, careful not to brush against the door as he steps out into the hallway and waits for the prince to show him the way—as if Minho doesn’t know it himself.

“It’s Im Nayeon,” he says. “She’s my guide.”

Prince Jisung sends him a soft smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

Funny. Even though Minho is walking down the hallway of the palace with the prince by his side after just having robbed his family, with the jewels in his bag, he isn’t worried anymore. It doesn’t feel like he’s being suspected of anything, because as far as anyone knows there was no robbery. 

Minho’s nerves calm down with each step he takes—to the point he dares to steal a glance to the side, at the prince dressed in casual clothes, a black hoodie and skinny jeans, with his dark hair falling into his face. He looks much different than the prince Minho sometimes sees on the television screen; less dignified, despite the aura of power and easy confidence that surrounds him.

Minho shakes the thoughts off when he hears an unfamiliar voice saying, “Your Highness.” 

The security guard stares Minho down, probably wondering why a civilian is in the presence of the Crown Prince, before looking over at Jisung in the blink of an eye—clearly not deeming Minho a threat or of any importance at all. 

“Please walk him back to his group,” Prince Jisung tells the guard. “His guide’s name is Lee Miyeon.” 

Minho blinks and corrects, “Im Nayeon.” 

The prince sends him an amused look. “Close enough,” he says with a shrug.

Minho cracks a smile. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he says, forcing himself to speak in a softer tone. “And I’m really sorry for wasting your time.” 

“Nonsense,” prince Jisung says, waving a dismissive hand. “Glad I could help, Minho.” 

Minho swallows. His name has never sounded more majestic than in this dimmed hallway, rolling off of Han Jisung’s tongue. At the same time, the nervous lump in his throat comes back at the thought of the prince remembering his name all the while forgetting Nayeon’s, which was more important to get Minho out of the throne room safely.

Not wanting to spend any more time in the prince’s presence, Minho nods at him and spins on his heel to follow the security guard out, ignoring the gaze drilling holes in his back and the way Jisung is smiling, soft and warm and pretty.

Minho feels like throwing up.

The guard finds Nayeon and the rest of the group beside the entrance to the ballroom. She apologizes profusely for losing Minho both to him and to the guard, pulling the most believable act of worry Minho has ever seen. 

Once everybody moves on and the tour continues, Minho untangles his earset and turns it on again, listening to the radio static before everything goes quiet again. He knows Jeongin can see that the device is on again; he immediately lets out a hesitant hello? on the other side, probably not knowing whether it’s Minho or someone else who has acquired access because they caught him.

Minho smirks.

“You really thought they got me, huh?” 

✦

Minho’s heart is still lodged in his throat when he yanks the Range Rover door open almost half an hour later. The adrenaline rush hasn’t worn off yet, but the post-heist tiredness is catching up to him, and he lets out a heavy sigh the moment he hauls himself onto the passenger’s seat.

The silence that settles over the car is pregnant. And then—

“I was sure we’d have to break you out of prison,” Jeongin says.

Minho turns his head to look at him, and the gravity of the situation comes back. If the prince had walked in one minute earlier, Minho would have been caught stealing from the Royal Family of his country. He would spend the rest of his life in prison, probably.

“For a second, I thought so, too,” Minho admits. The vision of the Crown Prince standing in the threshold of the throne room comes back to him in a flash and makes a shiver run down his spine. “But then I got everything back under control.”

“When you turned the earset off, I pulled up the real-time footage to check up on you,” Jeongin tells him. “I really thought I was hallucinating when I saw him in there. Talking to you.”

He shakes his head.

Minho still can’t process it—it’s going to take a while before he’ll be able to.

“When he came in,” he says, “I just made up a story about how I’d gotten lost and he bought it.” 

Jeongin grins, throwing his head back against the headrest. “I don’t know how come he believed you. You’re awful.”

“But I’m a good liar,” Minho says, shrugging with satisfaction. That at least is true—he could say he’s proud of himself for handling that well enough. “And the prince has too good of a heart to not trust the poor, lost tourist who just wants to look at pretty jewels.” 

“Well, then,” Jeongin shrugs, “he’ll be a terrible king.”

Minho blinks, and realizes that he’s unsure. He doesn’t know the prince well enough to judge his character, but it wouldn’t be fair to label him as unable to rule over the country just because he didn’t immediately suspect Minho of committing a million crimes. If anything, that would speak in his favor. That he’s willing to trust.

It’s simply not Jisung’s fault that Minho was cunning enough to trick him. 

But instead of dragging the topic on, Minho looks over at Jeongin and—having the slight slip-up in mind—clarifies, “This stays between us, right?” 

Jeongin clenches his fist and extends it for Minho to bump his own against his knuckles. “Got it,” he says. “Everything went according to plan, if you asked me.” 

The Dragon’s Heart hanging off of Minho’s neck would agree.

✦

“You’re seeing something interesting up there?” Seungmin asks, walking inside.

Up there being the ceiling of Jisung’s bedroom, as he’s been staring at the paper-white paint while lying on the carpet without moving for the past ten minutes. He props himself up on his elbow only to send Seungmin a look, and lies back down with a deep sigh.

“Oh, lord,” Seungmin whispers, but he still makes his way over to the bed, close enough for Jisung to know he cares. “I already know where this is heading.”

Jisung has to bite back a smile that threatens to curve his mouth at the comment. “I met the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life today.”

“And that’s the reason why you’re staring at the ceiling?” 

“I’m going to die if I don’t see him again.”

Seungmin shrugs and says, “Well, if he came here for a meeting, then chances are you might see him.” But when Jisung pulls a face, he instantly catches up. “Jisung!” 

“What?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes although a grin is playing on his mouth.

Seungmin deadpans. “Don’t tell me you went to see a visitor,” he says. “You know you can’t get involved with civilians. Your mother—”

“I didn’t go to see him anywhere. I was just there when he got lost, so I walked him back to the security guard.” 

A distressed huff leaves Seungmin’s throat. Jisung can’t see him from where he’s still lying on the floor, but he can imagine the expression across his face: exasperation laced with worry. 

“You were with him alone? Have you gone mad?” 

Kind of. Jisung is going mad spending days and nights locked-up here, and the impromptu meeting with a stranger is the only exciting thing that has happened to him in the past two weeks. It should be telling enough of how bored Jisung is here—that two minutes with a cute guy have rocked his world.

After all, it’s not a big deal—it’s nothing important. It’s not like they will ever see each other again, and it’s not like the stranger seemed to have any interest in Jisung beyond the layer of anxiety at being in close proximity with a member of the Royal Family. 

“You’re lucky your parents don’t know,” Seungmin says reproachfully. “He could’ve been dangerous!”

Although Jisung can understand it to some extent, he thinks Seungmin worries about him too much sometimes. After all, they are of the same age, friends since diapers, and he’s Jisung’s only connection to the outside world, really. He’s the one who should understand his need to explore and wander around and meet people, and it tends to feel that in all his care, Seungmin wants to limit him and set him straight just like everyone else does.

“Yeah,” Jisung mumbles under his breath. “Dangerously stunning.” 

Seungmin fixes him with a look. “You know you can’t trust someone just because they’re pretty,” he says, pulling a pillow onto his lap to hug it. “Especially when everyone is already taking maximum precautions to keep you safe.”

Jisung swallows, gaze skittering away to the balcony, where curtains are swaying with the breeze. He knows Seungmin is right—that everyone is right—but it doesn’t lessen the suffocating weight in the center of his chest every time he’s denied to go on a walk alone, each time he brings up moving back to the mansion and he hears that stern No laced with bitter finality.  

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says quietly. “I’ll probably never see him again.”

“Maybe you were meant to see him just that one time,” Seungmin tells him, clearly trying to be softer and more consoling. 

Jisung hesitates—and then decides he’s always holding himself back, so he can say what he thinks at least this one time. “When I become the king, I’ll decide what I’m meant to.”  

Unable to disagree, Seungmin nods, and they both fall quiet.

Jisung cracks a smile—not because he’s particularly happy, but because the silence has started becoming tense, and he has this habit of trying to light up the atmosphere at all costs. “How did this conversation stray from my pretty boy to my stupid destiny?” he asks with a dramatic sigh, even though he knows he’s the one who brought it up.

Seungmin takes the bait. “Maybe your pretty boy is your destiny,” he says, stretching his leg only to nudge Jisung’s shoulder with his sock-clad foot.

Letting out a curt hum, Jisung concludes the conversation. He doesn’t want to think about that. Talking about destiny, reigning, and coronation weighs on his shoulders like a bag of rocks and doesn’t let him sleep at night. If he could, he would rid his mind of all royalty-shaped thoughts without hesitation. But he can’t; the people he’s surrounded with, the place he lives in, the things he has to do all never fail to remind him of his future every single day. 

That night, Jisung doesn’t doze off with a smile on his face. He’s tossing and turning for hours, longing for at least a moment of blissful sleep, but he isn’t able to loosen up with one incessant thought buzzing like a swarm of bees right in the forefront of his mind. 

He has to find Minho. 

His dark brown eyes don’t leave his head and drill holes into his soul as if he’s standing right at the foot of Jisung’s bed, just staring at him with the intention of ruining his peace. He’s at the back of Jisung’s eyelids, vivid even though he should be nothing but a fleeting memory. 

This reckless infatuation is stupid, and pathetic, and isn’t proper for the future king, but Jisung’s heart is pounding with the need to see what’s hidden underneath the mask of that pretty guy.

Because that’s something he’s sure of—Minho is definitely more than just a cute face.

✦

“Your grandmother is going to stay in the palace for a while.”

Jisung’s hand stops mid-air before he can bring the glass of juice to his lips. He looks over at his mother, who’s finishing up her dinner completely unbothered. As if she has just pointed out that the weather outside is sunny—not announced that the person Jisung hasn’t seen in years is suddenly coming back.

“Why?” he asks before he can stop himself.

His mother fixes him with a look. “Because she wants to,” she says. “Appreciate the fact that she will be around and learn something from her.”

It’s strange to hear that coming out of his mother’s lips when his grandmother is known as the one who got away from the monarchy; Jisung is being taught that he doesn’t have the chance to choose for himself.

That’s also why he hasn’t been in contact with his father’s mother in years—when his parents got married, she gave the crown away to her son, and ran off somewhere far away. At the time, Jisung wasn’t even born, and she wasn’t keen on coming back to the place that trapped her in her unhappiness; the last time he saw her, he was a kid—one who didn’t care about why she hadn’t been coming home more often, because she was a stranger. His parents have never bothered to fill him in, either.

Even now, he only knows the rumors; that she was depressed for years after her husband died, unable to chase real happiness, and when the chance came, she gave up the throne and ran away with her civilian lover.

Jisung doesn’t know if any of it is true, and he never had the courage to ask—considering the fact that no one is keen on bringing her up, his cowardice is justified.

But if there’s anything he knows about his grandmother, it’s that she must care about him at least a little. After all, she always makes sure to send him a card for his birthday, with a short but sweet handwritten note inside. 

That’s what keeps him from losing himself completely in the nerves of having her—practically a stranger—around for god knows how long. 

He’s also a little too busy daydreaming about another stranger to think about anything else. It’s been days since he saw Minho and although he had been hoping for it, Jisung can’t seem to get him out of his head. He’s had crushes before, so he knows how it goes—he’s so infatuated that he goes to sleep with the image of Minho on his eyelids and wakes up to the thought of him.

Jisung knows that it’s weird to be so fixated on the idea of this one particular stranger—to project his dreams onto this one person he exchanged a few sentences with, but he’s putting off any action in hopes this crush will simply pass with time.

But another part of Jisung, the one conjuring up vivid images during his frequent sessions of daydreaming, clings onto Minho like he’s a lifeline; like Jisung himself is a princess in need of saving and Minho is the knight in shining armor ready to fight dragons for him.

It’s stupid. But Jisung is literally stuck in the palace most of the time and he has nothing better to do than to let his mind run free. 

There’s just something about Minho that gives Jisung this foolish impression that he would be able to show him a completely different world—a world even Jisung with his vivid imagination doesn’t dare to dream of. So it’s only natural that he’s holding onto this man with all he has, wanting nothing more than to see him again.

✦

“I know you said you just want the necklace, but I’m still paying you thirty percent of everything I sell,” Chan says when they finally meet up in his penthouse. He sweeps his eyes over the jewelry spread across the dining table with a satisfied smile, and then looks back at Minho. “Are you gonna take it?”

Minho is never going to say no to money, even if he doesn’t need it. He can always find a way to spend it, especially that a new animal shelter has opened up a few streets away from his apartment. He might be a thief without an ounce of remorse, but he isn’t a bad person, alright. 

“I have to set up new bank accounts,” he says, taking the mug of coffee from the table. He smiles at Chan before bringing it to his mouth to take a big sip. He’s going to need it—and more—to get through the day. “Have you already got a buyer?” 

“From overseas,” Chan tells him. “But Hyunjin wants to keep a pair or two of the earrings. He’s still thinking about it.”

Minho lifts a corner of his mouth in amusement. “Of course he does,” he says with a fond sigh. Hyunjin likes shiny things just as much as he does—that’s why the heist happened in the first place. “Anything for our prince.”

Chan rolls his eyes, but Minho knows that’s exactly the truth: anything in the world if Hyunjin wishes for it. He would never say it out loud, but there’s a lot he would do to make his best friend happy, too.

“Thank you for doing this,” Chan says finally, a dimpled smile and everything as he pats Minho on the back. “Seriously. No one in the world would have agreed to go there in the first place, but you did and you came out with everything. You’re just as incredible as you are insane.”

Minho clicks his tongue, waving a dismissive hand, but it feels nice to be appreciated—when the appreciation comes with words and not just a gazillion won and the most beautiful necklace this universe has ever seen.

He doesn’t discuss Felix and Jeongin’s payments since it’s not his business and he doesn’t really care, but he can imagine Chan being equally generous when it comes to them, not only because of their involvement, but also because of their silence. 

Their friendship is tight-knit and built on mutual trust—and that’s not something one comes across often in this field, where everyone is ready to rat others out just to save their own ass. But that doesn’t mean they don’t like being rewarded for their work—and it just so happens that Chan is very munificent. 

Almost as much as he’s perceptive.

“The adrenaline is still not letting you sleep?” he asks, pointing out the dark circles underneath Minho’s eyes. It’s not his fault that the worry sounds mean to Minho’s ears because he in fact has not been able to sleep well for the past few days and it’s leaving him agitated. 

Without thinking, he brushes it off as a college thing, rolling his eyes at the memory of the tall pile of assignments he needs to finish.

The truth is much more complicated. 

Minho has been on edge because of the dreams he’s having, fighting consciousness so as not to fall asleep, not wanting to face the Crown Prince even in the safety of his own mind. For two nights after the heist, he slept better than ever—and then came the flashes of Han Jisung’s presence. Even though Minho is tired, he refuses to risk seeing him in his dreams again, refuses to wake up with a pounding heart and racing thoughts one more time. 

He’s been staring at the white ceiling of his bedroom every night for the past few days without a chance for proper rest. Some days he’s so tired after classes that he comes home and passes out on the couch, falling into dreamless slumber—but it never lasts more than an hour and Minho is left even more anxious than before. 

He doesn’t know why the prince keeps appearing in his dreams, but he’s the most vivid part of them all—the only one Minho remembers when he opens his eyes. The worst thing is, he can only keep pushing him away from his mind and hope that will be enough to forget about their impromptu encounter. There’s nothing he can actually do to chase him away.

But he can’t tell Chan that. He doesn’t even want to mention the fact that he met Jisung in the first place, just because he knows Chan would freak out in all his worry for Minho’s safety, and that’s not necessary.

After all, Minho saw the prince once and he will never see him again. 

✦

Jisung expects journalists swarming the gates of the castle and a grand feast as a celebration on the day his grandmother comes back to the palace, but the truth is, her arrival is quiet. The black Camry pulls up to the driveway in the evening and Jisung’s father is the one to open the door for her while Jisung and his mother stand at the foot of the stairs.

Dressed in casual but elegant clothes, devoid of a crown atop of her head, not having ruled over the country for longer than Jisung is alive, she still emanates the energy of someone who yields a lot of power.

Jisung is fascinated. 

“You’ve grown up well,” is what she tells him, her voice just as warm as the smile on her face as she cradles Jisung’s hands in her own wrinkled ones. 

It’s especially amusing to watch her grill his parents with seemingly never-ending questions about everything and nothing, wanting quick and precise answers, and then turn towards him and sweetly ask how his studies are going.

Maybe he hasn’t seen her in ages and he doesn’t know her, but—so far—she’s been nothing but warm and funny; the life of the party. 

“I think it’s time for a walk to help with digestion,” she says, setting down her glass of wine. It’s getting late and Jisung doesn’t know how far she had to travel—she must be tired, either way. What comes off as a surprise, though, is the way she turns towards him and asks, “Would you like to join me, Jisung? It’s been a long time since I was here—a lot must have changed.”

“Oh, of course,” Jisung says—without question, even though he’s taken aback by the request and the thought of being with his grandmother alone does make him feel a bit nervous. As he stands up, he briefly meets his mother’s gaze; even a second is enough to read her expression: behave.  

Right.

They leave the dining room in silence. Jisung offers his arm once they’re in the hallway and the doors close behind them, but his grandmother waves him off, preferring to walk on her own. 

Jisung doesn’t know how to strike a conversation, but it doesn’t seem that she’s looking for one, anyway. Maybe she just wants company, and her grandson, whom she hadn’t seen for years, is the best choice.

They make their way past closed doors and security guards that could pass as statues of stone with their lack of movement, and end up at the exit of the palace that opens to the gardens. 

Jisung didn’t even mean to lead them outside, but his feet seem to have unconsciously brought him to the most beautiful place he knows. Because of restrictive outings, he has had the chance to explore every nook and centimeter of the palace—the Royal Gardens stretching around the building take the cake. 

They are the most breath-taking in bloom, when everything is awakening after months of deep sleep, with sweet spring in the air and the birds chirping around; more beautiful than any wonders of the world.

Jisung has never seen anything more stunning. Until the day he saw Minho. 

He lets out a huff of laughter at his stupid thoughts. That doesn’t escape his grandmother’s attention.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. 

Jisung ponders it for a moment, and decides against spilling his heart out. “Just some stuff. I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing yet. I don’t know what it might bring.”

Bad, his common sense prompts uselessly. Dangerous.

His grandmother hums in acknowledgement, looking around the gardens shrouded in the darkness. The outdoor lights flicker on as they start moving along the main path, illuminating their way.

“Sometimes you have to let things happen and unfold their own way,” she says finally. “Even if you choose to do the good thing, you can’t control the outcome and expect that everything that follows won’t bring anything bad.”

Jisung nods. What happens, happens. He wonders if his parents would’ve said the same thing. Probably not. They would look him in the eye and say, Don’t do anything. 

He looks up at the stars scattered across the dark expanse of the sky—something one can’t see in the city but what greets Jisung every night. The reflection of the crescent moon wavers on the surface of the pond; the wind that moves it makes Jisung shiver in his button-up. 

The quiet atmosphere that surrounds them isn’t as overwhelming as it usually is for when Jisung doesn’t know what to say and he’s itching to break the silence; this time, it feels like everything has fallen into place.

When they’re on their way back, his grandmother speaks, albeit hesitantly. 

“I know we practically don’t know each other, but I’ve been in your shoes and I’ve lived through enough to be a little more understanding than your parents,” she says. “I gave the crown up, so I know—maybe better than they do—how hard it can be to grow up under the constant pressure of everything and everyone.”

Jisung swallows. “It’s not that bad,” he says, and it’s partially true, although he isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince his grandmother or himself. 

“I’m glad,” she tells him, a soft smile painted on her lips. “But when it does get bad, you can’t just stand there and take it, all by yourself. You need to talk about your worries, to let go of them.” She sighs. “Because when it all gets too much, things will get so hard that you’ll take the first chance that comes and you’ll run.”

Jisung can’t stop himself. “Just like you did?” 

“Exactly,” she says, clearly not taking any offense. “Now I’m happy, but back then, everything seemed worthless and dark. I don’t want you to have to go through something like that.” 

Jisung doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t feel overwhelmed by her request, doesn’t even think of disagreeing, but he can’t bring himself to make any sound that would say so. Maybe he should.

✦

Although that has been changing lately, Jisung doesn’t usually feel so overwhelmed by the massiveness of the palace and spending almost every minute of the day in it. Things just seem too despondent. He spends a lot of time hanging out with Seungmin and even his grandmother, visiting an animal shelter to make a donation and bring it some publicity, walking aimlessly around the gardens with Changbin diligently trailing beside him.

But it’s not the freedom he’s longing for, not the same as wandering around the island or watching the sunset from the Manggak Hill without constant supervision.

All these people he sees from his balcony as he sweeps his gaze over the city can do whatever they want whenever they want. From up here, the little people are nothing more than ants—or, rather, dust. They transform into tiny spots before they disappear entirely, vanishing right in front of Jisung’s eyes, off to lead their fleeting, normal lives.

It’s not that Jisung has ever been forbidden many things. His life as a pretender to the throne and an only child is a bed of roses—and he’s more than grateful for that. But being the King’s only son means being protected from threats that don’t even exist—just in case someone would want to dethrone the Royal Family by putting an end to their direct bloodline.

Jisung is twenty-two years old, but his parents, completely overtaken by the thought of the crown being in danger of getting left without an heir, are always acting as if he’s at least ten years younger.

He lets out a sharp exhale, shivering when the chill breeze of the dawn tickles his skin that the oversized t-shirt he’s wearing as a pajama is leaving exposed. He should be grateful there’s no one forbidding him from being on the balcony—that there’s no guard keeping him locked in his room because someone could assassinate him while he’s standing out in the open. All Jisung really wants is to stroll down the streets of Levanter and feel the city come alive under the palm of his hand. He wants to run through the park and laugh out loud until he’s out of breath and his stomach is aching.

Jisung wants to finally feel free.

Twisted fate has it that since the moment he saw Minho, Jisung has been thinking that he could be the person to give him a hand at tasting that freedom. It’s beyond foolish, and he knows that, but as the realization that he will never be seeing Minho again settles in, Jisung feels it all slipping through his fingertips. Again.

He really isn’t sure why he’s so drawn to Minho. After all, they have never properly talked, they don’t know each other, and for all Jisung knows, Minho can be a criminal wanted in twenty different countries. 

But he could also be friend-material.

Would reaching out to him be so bad? Would it break any rules? Would it drive Jisung’s parents into early graves? Definitely, but the sudden surge of courage bursting in his heart with a blazing flame is enough to cloud the common sense.

Jisung wants to get to know Minho and that’s enough of a reason to search for him.

He turns around to face the balcony door and lets out a sigh at the sight of his own tired face reflected in the pane across the oranges of the rising sun. He hasn’t been sleeping well, but thinking of the root of it all makes sleep even more elusive, looming large in his mind as his thoughts swirl and tangle, creating a mess that he’s unable to control. 

He needs to get himself together. At least together enough not to give his parents any more reasons to worry about him and keep him in the palace. The scarce political events he’s forced to attend are truly his only way of getting out.

And that day, he’s going to show up at a charity event for a family that has suffered in a fire to make a donation and—unfortunately—attend a family dinner with the Prime Minister. The last thing he wants is to sit there while yet another transient politician tries to sweet-talk their way into the Royal Family or makes a painfully unsubtle attempt at setting Jisung up with their children.

But Jisung has his duties and responsibilities that he’s going to attend, no matter how strongly he feels about corrupt people that he’s forced to sit at the table with and how much rather he would like to be anywhere else.

As the future king, he has to set a good example and be a role model for his citizens and associates who will be working with him once he gets the crown.

Jisung spends three hours in bed mindlessly watching nature documentaries, dozing off during some of the boring parts, only to be awoken ten minutes later by a particularly loud screech of a parrot or his arm starting to tingle where it’s trapped underneath his body.

Around nine, he takes off to the ensuite bathroom to have a shower, and then dresses in a hoodie and sweatpants, taking all the chances to wear comfortable clothes before he’s going to have to change into something more formal.

He was hoping he wouldn’t see anyone in the dining room, but his grandmother is already sitting at the head of the table when he walks in. Jisung sends her a weak smile with a polite greeting and takes a seat farther away. 

He can feel her watching all throughout breakfast. She stares shamelessly as he languidly eats his quail eggs and as he waves off the member of the staff that wants to pour him something to drink. She doesn’t say a word. She just stares.

Her eyes are glimmering in the morning sun when Jisung finally looks back at her. They are identical, the same shade of hazel as his father’s, and though certainly unfamiliar, hers are more amicable.

She clears her throat. Jisung only raises his eyebrow in question.

“You look exhausted,” she points out. Noting how she isn’t beating around the bush, Jisung straightens in his chair, unsure whether she’s about to scold him for it. The change of his expression doesn’t escape her attention—she instantly adds, “It’s understandable. You have a lot of responsibilities. I want to make sure you get enough rest too.”

Jisung swallows, hesitating before he even decides to speak up and admit, “I don’t sleep well lately. Or at all.” 

His grandmother nods in understanding. He’s not sure what she’s trying to do when she says, “You know, there’s this legend that says that when you can’t sleep, it’s because you’re awake in someone else’s dream. That someone is thinking of you.”

Jisung hates himself, for the first thought that crosses his mind is I hope it’s Minho. A deep flush of embarrassment settles over his cheeks, and he has to take a deep breath so that he doesn’t accidentally drift off into pointless daydreams.

It’s stupid. He’s the Crown Prince; everyone is dreaming about him.

But the possibility that he could be occupying Minho’s thoughts just like Minho isn’t leaving his is electrifying. 

Jisung barks out a dry chuckle. “Finding the culprit will be hard. Who isn’t thinking of me?” 

His grandmother sizes him up and, without an ounce of shame, says, “You are acting strange. And if I can see that, the rest of the kingdom can, too.” 

Jisung has never had a good relationship with his grandmother. He practically doesn’t have any relationship with her. But when he lifts his eyes from his plate, she’s staring at him with gentle concern written in her eyes and the kindest smile Jisung has seen in a while.

It feels like a spell, whatever it is that has him propping his cheek up on his hand and speaking up.

“There’s—” He drops his gaze back down. “There’s this boy.”

“Oh.”

Swallowing harshly, Jisung doesn’t dare to gauge her reaction, even though she must have known before—that he likes men too; but he has learnt that being told about it and facing it head-on are two different things. 

“He’s just a civilian,” he adds. “He was here as a visitor a while ago, and I just. . . He’s charming. I think he’s charming.” 

His grandmother mumbles something under her breath. Although Jisung’s heart is threatening to plunge right out of his chest with worthless anxiety (after all, he doesn’t see this woman at all—who cares what she thinks?), he steals a glance right at her. And finds that her kind expression hasn’t faltered at all. 

But she’s silent for a long moment before she finally seems to have made up her mind about what she’s been thinking of saying. 

“Have you tried reaching out to him?” she asks. “Do you even know his name?”

That takes Jisung aback. But maybe unnecessarily so—after all, she did run off with her commoner lover. If anyone wasn’t against searching for Minho, it would be her. 

“I know his name, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to look for him,” he says. “And even if. . . I don’t know where to start and how to search.”

His grandmother smiles. “Jisungie, being a member of the Royal Family gives you access to databases that hardly anyone in the country possesses. You just have to use them well.”

Now, that makes it sound more real—it’s an anchor point that bears more questions: Will his parents get furious when they find out? What will he do once he gets Minho’s contact information? Will Minho even want to become his friend?

Jisung has to push them all aside, at least for the time being—at least until late at night, when he returns to his bedroom after the fundraiser and the most boring dinner the world has ever seen. He doesn’t even greet Seungmin when he walks in, only throwing himself onto the bed beside him with a heavy sigh.

Seungmin pats him on the back in that slightly-awkward but comforting manner of his, and lets the silence linger for a long while. He knows Jisung needs to put his mind back together after spending a whole day socializing.

“Thanks for coming,” Jisung finally mumbles, not caring that he must sound incomprehensible with his cheek pressed against the mattress. 

Seungmin understands him either way. “You said you needed me.”

Jisung sits up at that, tiredness pushed aside as he jumps off the bed and makes a beeline to his desk. Seungmin is watching him, equally confused and curious as he sits back on the edge of the mattress, setting his laptop down in Seungmin’s lap. 

“You know how the computer stuff works,” Jisung says. “I need you to find a name for me.” 

“Don’t tell me it’s about that tourist guy.”

Jisung beams. “Then I won’t tell!”

Seungmin acts all opposed to the idea, heaving sighs and throwing Jisung disapproving looks, but he’s already doing wonders logging into one of those default programs Jisung never uses on his computer.

Jisung peeks over his shoulder, but the mere interface of the program intimidates him. All he does on his computer is play games and listen to music and fool around in graphics-related apps, so the amount of numbers and words and fields to fill makes him dizzy. Thank the heavens for Seungmin’s existence—if he were to use this on his own, he would give up in three seconds and lose the chance to find his pretty boy. 

He clears his throat when Seungmin glances at him expectantly with the cursor blinking angrily on the bright screen in the dimmed lights of the room.

“His name is Minho. Estimated age. . .” Jisung trails off, sheepish. “I don’t know. He must go to college, though.”

Fixing him with a pointed look, Seungmin asks, “Do you realize that there are over three thousand universities in Korea?” 

Jisung rubs the back of his neck, gaze skittering away towards the balcony as he swallows the apology trying to get out of his throat, the words of Maybe we shouldn’t do this. This is a disastrous idea. Each passing second only proves it.

Seungmin nudges his shoulder, though, and says, “He must have booked a ticket to come here, so I’ll just check the database.” 

Nodding, Jisung starts chewing on his lower lip and remains quiet to let Seungmin work in peace. It’s strange, but exciting to watch him with his eyebrows furrowed and gaze focused completely on the screen of the laptop as he scrolls through countless names and ID numbers. Although he’s sure they will get to Minho in no time, Jisung still doesn’t know what he will do with whatever information they find. He just wants a head start, a way to communicate with him, not to dig into his life just because he’s got resources. 

It takes maybe two minutes, and Seungmin is humming, eyes squinted. “I think I got him,” he says, making Jisung jerk up and lean in to stare at the screen, too. “The picture is loading. It’s from his license.” 

“He’s got a license? Shit. . .” 

Seungmin snorts.

Just as the full picture pops up on the screen, Jisung sucks in a harsh inhale. There’s just no way someone can look this good on an ID picture.

But there’s no doubt that it’s exactly the person Jisung was looking for, Lee Minho, resident of Seoul, aged twenty-four, hypnotizing brown eyes and everything.

Seungmin traces his finger across the screen while he reads the information gathered by the security system. “Comes from Gimpo. Enrolled in Korea University as a Political Science major. Aced all his entrance exams,” he says. “What a perfect guy. A little too perfect.”

Jisung’s attention has drifted elsewhere already. He grabs his phone and types in both of Minho’s addresses—to his apartment and to his parents’ house, although he’s sure he won’t be using the latter.

“What are you going to do with that?” Seungmin asks, looking over his shoulder to peek at his phone.

Jisung shrugs. “I might write him a letter.” 

“He’s got an email, you know.” 

“No one reads emails these days,” Jisung says, like it’s obvious, and then lowers his voice to mutter, “And a letter seems more romantic, anyway.”

Seungmin smacks him on the shoulder, because of course he could hear it—that makes both of them laugh out loud despite the late hour of the night. 

“You can do that tomorrow,” he says, his tone laced with amusement as he slings an arm over Jisung’s waist to tackle him onto the bed. “Now sleep.”

✦

Minho’s parents are no longer there when he’s leaving Gimpo after having spent the weekend over at home. He figures they have a lot of work to do, with his father trying to catch the serial robber and his mother trying to come up with an article that doesn’t involve said thief as this topic has been on people’s tongues for long enough to get them to complain about the police’s incompetence and lack of action.

If only they knew the person everyone is looking for is right under their roof. 

Minho scoffs as he gets into his car.

He needs to swing by his apartment before classes, but he doesn’t have much time—the little over half an hour he has proves to be enough only for him to park his car, jog to the elevator in the underground garage, grab his bag and fill his bottle with water before he has to rush back out. 

He’s about to leave the building when the girl at the front desk calls him over by his name. Minho internally groans, but he doesn’t need to get her in trouble or be rude, so he makes his way back there and asks if there are any issues.

“Mail for you has been piling up over the past few days since you hadn’t been here to collect it,” she says, pulling up a bunch of letters and packages from beneath the desk. “The residents have started complaining about the hallway being blocked, so we had to move them from your front door.”

Now, that’s embarrassing—and annoying. His neighbors are pricks, he has always known that, but he always had the decency to not complain about their packages lying around or the delivery guys coming and going non-stop. 

“I’m really sorry for that,” he says, shoving the letters into his bag without much care and tucking  the remainder of three packages under his arm. He doesn’t even have the time to carry them into his apartment, so he’s going to have to take them into his car. “It won’t happen again.”

“No problem,” the receptionist tells him. “Have a good day.”

“You too!” Minho calls out, already spinning on his heel. And then he finally rushes off to his car, feeling like he might have to break a few speeding limits to get to class on time. But he gets to the lecture hall two minutes before it’s supposed to start, flushed and slightly out of breath.

It’s only in the evening, when he’s in the university parking lot after class, that he remembers the letters he received. He has to rummage through his bag to get them from between his books, and they’re a little crumpled when he does—but what he finds inside is mostly unimportant.

It’s the actual letter that catches his attention. 

Minho’s name and address are written neatly on the envelope, but there’s nothing on the other side—not even a name of the sender. It’s suspicious. Maybe it would be wiser to just throw it out. With what he does on the regular, his thievery business and everything, packages like these could be dangerous—although he has never had a problem like that before; after all, no one has come close to discovering his involvement in the crimes.

In the end, curiosity wins over everything else.

Carefully, he rips the envelope open and takes out the piece of paper that’s been slid inside. As he unfolds, he sweeps his gaze over it, but there’s nothing to indicate that it might be dangerous. It’s just a handwritten letter—one he must read now that it’s sitting open in his hands.

Minho,

This letter might seem strange to you, as I imagine you don’t get them often, but I hope you won’t toss it out without reading the rest. You might not remember me, but it’s Jisung. I believe we met when you were visiting the palace a few weeks ago.

I’ve been hesitant to reach out. After all, we don’t know each other and the only topic we had had been me getting you to the security guard. You must think it’s foolish of me, but I find you intriguing, and—if that’s fine with you—I would like to befriend you. You don’t have to feel pressured just because of my title, and it’s quite alright if you don’t respond to this letter at all, too. I’ll understand and won’t hold it against you! Though it would be nice if we could meet for coffee (or any drink of your preference, of course!) and get to know each other better. 

Either way, I hope you’re doing alright! There’s been a few pretty sunny days lately here in Levanter. Fingers crossed the weather is nice wherever you are now, too! haha 

If you want to, you can send me a letter to the address below. Although it has got my friend’s name, I’ll make sure to get it directly. 

Have a great day!
HJS

PS. I’m really sorry for invading your privacy and getting your address off the database without your permission. I just didn’t have another way to reach you.  

Holy shit.

That can’t be true—it simply can’t be real.

Minho’s heart begins to race. His car feels stuffy all of the sudden, and his shaking hand jerks to press the right button and roll down the window. He tries to take a deep breath, but he chokes on it and the coughing fit he breaks into doesn’t actually help him calm down. His fist closes around the piece of paper, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

Minho tries to keep his cool; he closes his eyes, sticks his head close to the window to inhale the cool evening air, and counts up to twenty—and then backwards, but his mind stumbles on the numbers, turning his thoughts into something even more messy and confusing.

This can’t be happening. 

Minho managed to leave the palace with the Crown Jewels and no one has even noticed the gems are missing. He did the undoable and got away with it. Except now, the Crown Prince he has just robbed not only has got his home address, but he has also written Minho a letter and wants to be friends.

Karma is hitting Minho hard—she’s tackling him to the ground and kicking him while he’s already lying there, gasping for air. She’s saying, How you like that, huh?

But Minho isn’t some weak rookie thief. He can manage a little slip-up. What is that Jisung guy going to do, anyway? Minho won’t respond to his stupid letter and won’t ever step his foot onto the Levanter Island again.

Han Jisung might be the Crown Prince with the whole country in the palm of his hand, but he can’t make Minho befriend him. 

Scoffing, he crumples the letter and shoves it back into the confines of his bag to take care of once he gets home. With the last deep breath to stabilize his pounding heart, he plasters a shaky smile on his face and checks himself in the rearview mirror.

Fine. Things are going to be just fine. 

Minho has never screwed up a heist before, and even the Crown Prince won’t make him ruin this one either. 

His temples are pulsating with anger by the time his hands stop shaking. He takes another moment to breathe before starting the car and getting the hell out of the university parking lot.

The moment he gets home, he sets the letter on fire and lets it burn in the sink until there’s nothing left of it. And if the letter doesn’t exist anymore, Minho can pretend it never did.