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lxveille · 5 years

Text

the heart’s unwelcome

the8 x reader

word count: ~ 6900 warnings: none a/n: sci-fi / royalty au; for @boosoonhao -- you’re phenomenal. thank you for always encouraging me (and surely others!) to play around with aus. thank you for sharing your worlds and words. i sincerely hope this year and many more will be full of kindness and creativity for you. goodness knows you deserve that and much much more.

A trip to make negotiations with the king of planet far off from your mother’s realms takes an unexpected delay after an attack upon your vessel. Fortunately for your retinue, there’s the guidance of Xu Minghao in this foreign place. Though it may be unfortunate for your heart.

You can clearly recall the exact way Chancellor Shim had tacked your highness onto the end of every other thing he said to you. The precise bitterness of it was a testament to history that hasn’t yet had enough time to mend. Though you hadn’t asked his age, you can imagine he was old enough still to have been involved in the fighting that had happened when their small, far-off planet decided it no longer needed to fly your family’s banner. Of course you knew, long before your ship had even requested landing on, that it there was an important difference between a named ally and a friend.

Nonetheless, there had been something scathing in the look Shim had given upon hearing that this was your last stop before moving in to the Hymoor system. One of your advisors had been quick to step in, explaining that you were on the way to make negotiations with their sovereign. How this whole journey was at the empress’ behest, with more than enough preparations made before they began.

“With all due respect,” the Chancellor had said, “I doubt you or the empress have any idea what would be enough out there.” Everything in his tone made you feel the exact amount of respect he thought due wasn’t much at all.

And so Shim’s skepticism is all you can see when you look Minghao’s way for the first few days he’s onboard.

You’re still uncertain what Xu Minghao’s title is. The Chancellor had simply insisted that you couldn’t press into Hymoor territory without having someone familiar with its planets and its bandits alike. If he was to be believed, Shim didn’t want to risk being the last ally you spoke to before having your ship ransacked. Or worse.

Minghao was no help either. When you asked if he was more guide or guard, he’d shrugged, given a wave of one of his overly-adorned hands, and claimed he’ll be whatever he needs to be. With shaggy, dark hair and mismatched ornate patterns on his clothing, he looked more like what you imagined of a looter than of any kind of aide.

Well. No help might be a horribly unjust label to put on him. Especially now.

From across the console room, you watch with white knuckles as Minghao gives directions to your pilot, eyes flickering between radars and monitoring screens. He’d been the one to notice. (“What?” you’d asked. You hated how oblivious it made you sound. Even before he pointed out the two smaller crafts that had been tailing your ship for too long now to be coincidence.)

The floor jostles roughly underneath you. The near loss in balance is accompanied by a loud bang from one side of the ship. Someone among your crew shouts, “Are they firing at us?” You’re not accustomed to hearing panic from the officials around you. Everything somehow sounds louder. People move without you being sure where they’re going or why. You settle your sights on Minghao.

He has one hand braced against the wall as he continues to look over the pilot’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing. It means they know they’re gonna lose us,” he declares. You bite into your bottom lip, skeptical of the statement.

Before you can say anything, the eldest of your advisors snaps, “They won’t lose us if they shoot out our engines!” Minghao half turns to look back at her. You follow his eyeline, and swear her hair is more disheveled than you’d ever seen. It had looked so well put together only moments ago, it seems.

“I can pilot, if you don’t think you can clear it,” he responds. He sounds as though it’s a simple, clearcut answer to the shouted worries. The uncertain glances from your entourage along with the advisor’s stern expression and crossed arms say otherwise.

“You’re not certified for this craft,” your pilot says.

It’s unfortunately punctuated by a second blast to the side of the ship. You stumble forward two steps as the lights flicker inside the console room. A guard’s hand steadies you. As voices pick up once more, and you don’t even here his apology for grabbing your arm without permission.

After the third strike, you cut in. “Get up,” you order firmly. The room falls to a hush at the recognition of your voice. No one asks who you’re commanding; it’s evident from your fixed gaze on the pilot’s seat. “He’ll take over,” you add, eyes flitting to Minghao.

“But--”

“Let him,” you interrupt the objection without looking to see who was about to raise one.

The ship stalls, and then lurches forwards after the switch in seating. You blame your sudden queasiness on the increased speed and sharp turns.

Your ship ends up on small planet under Hymoor’s reign.

Tension runs high among your entourage for the first few hours as you wait on a report of what damages have been done. It isn’t until evening that it’s decided that repairs will have to be made. At Minghao’s suggestion of waiting to head into the city settlement in the morning, a makeshift kind of camp is set up around your the landed vessel. He’d reasoned that it would be safer tomorrow. Not only were the stores more likely to be open, but it was also the start of the community’s festival to mark the start of spring. Which, according to Minghao, would mean people would be less concerned about newcomers drifting through the city, as long as they were still able to have their celebrations.

You watch from inside your room onboard as preparations are made. You slide jewelry off of your wrists and fingers languidly, setting them down upon the table tucked up against the window.

“Your highness,” the guard by your door speaks up. His voice has too many slivers of self-doubt in it for you to do anything but smile when you turn in your chair to face him. Minseok, if you recall his name correctly. “For what it might be worth -- I think you made the right decision. Trusting Minghao, I mean.”

You settle your hands in your lap. “Did I seem uncertain?”

“No,” he stutters out in a rush. “You’ve just… been keeping to yourself since then.”

“It’s just been a long day,” you assure him. With a deliberate pause, you look him over with a faint smile. “You can go rest with the others. I’ll be fine.” Minseok glances around your room like it could be some kind of trick. “Go on,” you tell him with a breathy chuckle.

He hurries out a thank you and assures you he’ll be there as soon as you call if you need him.

Fifteen minutes after the guard’s departure, you stand up and move towards the full-length mirror on the other side of your room. With elaborate layers stripped down to the simplest dress and all the metallic fineries put aside, you find your reflection nearly looks like a different person altogether. The only piece you still have on is the golden necklace with your empire’s emblem hanging at its center. You run your fingers along the thin chain down to the pendant.

You watch in the mirror as your fingertip runs along the curves and engravings of the insignia. Just before you go to take it off, a sudden knocking has you jump and clutch at the pendant instead.

“Sorry,” Minghao starts. You’ve already turned to find him standing in your doorway. With a sigh, you let your fingers unwind from around your necklace and fall to your side.

“It’s fine,” you tell him, and resist a sudden urge to glance back in the mirror to check your appearance. You clear your throat and carry on, “What is it?”

“I thought you’d want to come outside.”

You furrow your brow to give him a puzzled look.

“You’ve never been on this planet before, have you?” he asks, despite already knowing the answer. Still, he waits until you’ve shaken your head to carry on. “You should go see the shadeblooms, then.”

“The what?” you ask.

He tilts his head in the direction of the hallway in a beckoning. “Seeing is better.”

You glance over your shoulder and catch your own eyes in the mirror. Beyond you, Minghao’s reflection stays in place, smiling slightly and waiting for whether you’ll take him up on the offer. You grab your overcoat before nodding to him.

By the time the two of you reach the exit off the ship, you’ve slipped the coat on over your simple dress and tied its front closure. Your mother and several advisors would probably throw a fit if they saw how little had on underneath. A few guards by a fire look up as you pass by with baffled expressions. “I won’t be long,” you tell them.

Still, you hear one of them scramble to their feet to follow after you both. At the frantic steps behind you, a small chuckle rumbles out of Minghao. He glances to you with a small smile you can’t make out a meaning for.

He doesn’t take you far from where the ship is. Only just inside the surrounding greenery. The air is chillier than you anticipated, and you tug your jacket closer around you with your hands. The sky is a dark shade of teal, and seeming to deepen every few moments. “What am I supposed to see?” you ask.

Minghao points up. “Shadeblooms. No one can get them to grow on any other planet. And then don’t blossom after they’re harvested so… If you never come back, this’ll be your only chance to see it.”

You give him a dubious look. Then look back to the guard who had come along. It doesn’t surprise you to see Minseok once more. It does give you pause, though, to see him already staring overhead. When your sights return to Minghao, he’s also shifted his eyes up. You press your tongue against the roof of your mouth and tilt your head back.

The breath leaves your lungs in a sudden sweep of awe. Vines twist through the branches, intertwining with each other and curling around twigs. They’re spotted with five-petaled flowers that are just beginning to unfurl in the darkness. What truly makes you pause, though, is the pulse of light that runs along the vine. When the glow reaches a blossom, it spreads out in an intricate, delicate pattern of gold against light blue. Then it fades, and the light carries on down the twisting path of the vine, and rounds again.

“They have a lot of stories about them here,” Minghao mentions.

You cannot look away from the tapestry of glowing flowers above you. Still, you manage to ask,“Like what?”

“Like why they only grow here. That the Shadeblooms have to want to glow. So when you try to force it by planting them somewhere they didn’t choose, the most you end up with are bare leaves.”

“Huh,” you exhale. The words swirl inside your mind. Maybe his tone (gentle, low, and somehow profound) is to blame for the way it feels like you need to keep hold of that small story. That thought makes you lower your gaze, at last, to look to him. It feels like an eon has passed just looking at the flowers. And he’s still looking up at them.

Now you notice the way the glow from the Shadeblooms catches against Minghao’s skin. The mix of shadows and flickering golden glow on his face makes you come to a halt for the second time in a row.

Your gaze must be too heavy. Minghao’s chin tilts in your direction and his eyes fall to yours. Your lips part to give some excuse or another. Instead, you turn your head and look down to your feet and to the skirt of your dress catching in small sways in the breeze. Just as quickly as you diverted your gaze down, you look up once again to the luminescent flowers.

“Why did you want me to see this?” The need to fill the silence with something too urgent at once for you.

Minghao’s eyes are still on you. You can feel it. “They’re beautiful. I think everyone should see them, if they can. Just most of them won’t.”

“Wow,” Minseok contributes from several paces behind you both. You’d nearly forgotten the young guard was there. In this moment, though, you’re grateful he’s there. And glad that one syllable for him has you feeling grounded once again.

“We should head back,” you announce, turning to look at Minseok. He rips his eyes from the treetops to look at you, seeming dumbfounded. “Before it gets much darker.” At your added point, the guard snaps back to reality; he nods and half-bows to you as he agrees.

You avoid looking back to Minghao on the short walk back.

It’s mid-morning when the group of you begin the journey into the city. It takes twenty minutes of debate about whether or not you should go with the group or stay behind at the ship with a guard. A conversation that was only settled by you putting your foot down with your choice to go. A couple of your advisors begrudgingly decide to join the excursion out of the obligation to look after you.

Minghao sounds a little exasperated already when he asks, “Do we have everyone?” before officially heading out.

But he leads the way without hesitations after that. The city starts out as scattered homes and dirt paths that gradually term to gravel. And then, finally, to proper pavement and to crowded buildings.

Shop windows catch your attention as you pass by. Baked goods in forms you don’t recognize and clothing in styles you hadn’t considered before draw your attention most of all. All of it, however, pales in comparison to the way a sudden increase in volume as the group passes into the heart of the city.

You pause at a corner and look down the street towards the ongoing commotion. There’s a thick crowd of people, all with their backs to your direction. The sound of drums and instruments carries down the distance, mixed with shouts and laughter of so many voices.

“Are you coming?” Minghao asks. There’s amusement in his tone. Like the last thing he expected had been for you to stop and gawk at some ongoing festivities.

“Is that the festival you mentioned?”

A smile crosses his features. Somehow unsurprised that you didn’t give him any answer at all. He gives you the same treatment, and replies with a question in return, “Do you want to go check it out?”

You turn from him to glance back at the waiting throng and then down the street to where a few of your crew are still heading down in the direction of the repairs store. “We should just get what we need,” you give the dutiful answer. “The sooner we’re able to head out of here and carry on to the capital the better.”

“I asked what you want,” Minghao offers a second chance to be honest. Your face must look guilty enough for him to catch on. He gives a quick look in the direction of the rest of your party and then nods his head in the direction of the crowd. “Come on, then.”

“Shouldn’t we make sure the others know?”

“You’re safer without a whole entourage here, honestly.” He looks to you again. Perhaps to make sure you’re still walking beside him. It gives him a chance to catch your questioning look. “Having a whole bunch of people around you just draws attention. Anyway, we’ll only be gone a moment.”

It’s more than a moment.

When you reach the back of the crowd, you come to a stop. The noise is louder, but it’s nearly impossible to see anything more than a stray glimpse at the goings on, and even that is by pushing yourself up on to your tiptoes. Minghao, however, starts to press between onlookers. He half turns back to you and reaches out one hand to grab onto your own.

He has no apparent reservations about his action. His fingers wrap with yours firmly without being so tight that you couldn’t pull away if you wanted to. As far as your memory can recall, no one has ever taken you hand so certainly. It must be a side effect of him having grown up in that lonely republic that sits between Hymoor and your mother’s realms. He must not realize he’s just done something so easily that would make half the court back at the palace gasp.

He uses your linked hands to lead you through the the crowd. A few of the people you press by grumble or groan. For the most part, however, everyone seems too caught up in the revelry to complain. Minghao stops only when he’s reached the front of the group, and tugs at your hand to pull you to stand beside him.

From here, it’s much easier to see what all the noise is all about. A parade of people and instruments and intricate costumes passes by in front of you. Drums and singers move steadily side by side. Dancers and acrobats fill the rest of the street. It’s impossible to take in all of it at once. Yet it all keeps moving steadily by, with more coming just as other slip out of view. It radiates an energy all the same that makes it impossible for you not to break into a small grin.

You don’t realize your hand is still holding Minghao’s until your own fingers squeeze his lightly as you stand there in awe.

“This is the Spring festival you mentioned?” you ask. You want it to be a whisper, but it’s impossible to do with all the surrounding noise.

Minghao nods. “Part of it, at least.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean… Parades, sure. But this is…” You don’t manage to find a word that fits what you see. What you feel there. It’s an energy you’re not even sure has a name.

“Well, no one told them they had to put on a fair,” he says. It’s an explanation that makes you tear your sights away from the parade to look at him.

“It’s not like they don’t have a king.” It’s hard to say if you sound more defensive or confused.

A chuckle comes from Minghao, and he looks to you from the corner of his eye. There’s a tilt in his smile that makes you aware, all over again, of your linked hands. It makes you consider tugging yours away from his hold out of impulse. But you don’t. “We’re still in the outer reaches of Hymoor. No one here has ever seen a member of royalty except in pictures. They’re certainly not getting direct orders on what to do beyond paying dues.”

Your eyes stay on him a little longer, contemplating over his point. To envision the monarchy not being central on any planet is an odd thing for you to envision. You recall visits you’ve made to other settlements in the empire over the years, and wonder how you’d know whether or not the citizens there ever thought of you any time you weren’t there. With an exhale, you look back to the celebration happening right before you. Something melancholic slips into the awe you’d had only moments earlier.

Streamers of gold and blue wave through the air. As you try to trace their pattern for some hidden meaning, you don’t notice Minghao’s eyes on you.

“We should go before your people think this whole thing was an abduction scheme,” he says.

“A what?” you sputter, jerked out of your stupor by even a joking suggestion of such a possibility.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and starts leading you back out through the pack of people. It’s easier weaving the way out, with everyone you pass eager to fill in your spot. “Shim would have to actually want anything to do with the empire for that to even be a passing thought.”

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a scoff and a laugh. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

Stepping back out onto the sidewalk at the back at the crowd comes with a renewed feeling of coolness in the air. “Just the truth,” he answers, and lets go of your hand. Your curl your fingers in to your palm, trying to hold on to the warmth of his.

“I didn’t think you’d need to be comforted over the fact that you’re not being ransomed.” The lilt in his voice tempts you to laugh once again, despite the corner of your mind saying he must be getting some kind of amusement at your expense.

“You say that like you’ve got some kind of experience in the field,” you feign a veiled accusation.

“Experience in comforting or ransoming?” he quips back. He sounds genuinely uncertain, but the gleam in his expression gives away his act. You feel your lips spread into a smile, and watch a matching one light up Minghao’s face in return.

Down the street, one of your guards calls your name with a mix of relief and annoyance. You force your smile down into tight pressed line. Like it ought to be a secret between you and Minghao alone.

The repairs are already underway by the time you wake up in the morning.

You drift through the morning trying to ignore a nagging sensation at the back of your mind and pass time pacing through rooms and hallways of the ship. It’s one of your advisors who suggests you take the time to rest outside. Appreciate the flora, she said.

Which is how you end up sitting by the extinguished remains of a fire from the night before. More than one part of you wants to ask to go back into the city; to go see more of the celebrations of these strangers who wouldn’t guess your name. You know better than to voice it. Your people are stressed enough with this unexpected detour. Even if none of them would dare say it to you that way.

And Minghao. Minghao would probably try to sneak you back to the festival if you even hinted at the desire to be there.

That thought makes you stop short and look around you in worry. As if there were any possibility of some kind of psychic having heard what just went through your mind. It’s not even like you know it’s true, you tell yourself. You’re assuming. You’ve never predicted what he’ll do before. Why should you start now?

You take in a deep breath and look over the different people mingling around the makeshift camp Some are working on the ship; but most seem to have found other ways to occupy themselves with conversation or something else. You realize, then, that you don’t see Minghao. Nor can you place the last time you saw him. If you half curse yourself for even noticing, you do so entirely when you stand up to seek him out.

You end your search in the galley, asking two guards if they’ve seen him. In the middle of their lunch, they both stare at you as if they’re unsure if your question means they’re supposed to jump to action or not. Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth and you wave one hand quickly to assuage them.

“It’s fine. I was just wondering,” you tell them, and turn just as quickly as you speak.

Time passes by, and you try to convince yourself you aren’t worried about Minghao. Or even that you aren’t thinking of him at all. Once the sky begins to shift colors, you debate whether or not to send guards out looking for him. You get as far as standing on the ship’s entry ramp with an eye out for the commanding officer to make your suggestion.

That is, at least until you spot Minghao coming out of the greenery.

You catch his eye and force yourself not to smile in relief at the sight. If you wanted to seem sterner, you would turn your back to him deliberately now and walk away. Or if you wanted to act as though his sudden absence hadn’t even been noticed, you would say nothing at all. Neither of these are the choice you make.

You can’t run to him, even if the impulse exists inside you. But you meet him halfway across the camp. “Where did you go?” you demand before he can get a word in as greeting.

Minghao hesitates, and gives you an uncertain look. “I figured with all the fixing going on that I wasn’t needed here.”

“You should’ve told someone where you were going,” you insist. “You’re meant to be assisting us through all of Hymoor, aren’t you?”

“At the Chancellor’s request. Not by order,” he reminds you.

His points makes you draw back and look aside. Your arms uncross and your fingers fidget as you seek out a way to sound something other than disapproving. It takes a quick look to make sure there aren’t any onlookers before you admit, “I wanted to know where you were.” The words hover between you and him. Minghao’s expression lies somewhere between curious and surprised. You aren’t sure which is better. “I can worry, you know.”

He smiles, and for a moment you regret having said anything at all. “I apologize,” he says before you can fall too far into reproach. “If you worried. It wasn’t my intention. I didn’t think I’d be missed.”

There’s an instinct in you to deny missing him. To hide away the strange, unwelcome feeling of bitterness that he didn’t ask you to go with him. Wherever it was he had gone. “It’s alright,” you say. And push aside the realization that you wish he had invited you along before evening knowing where he’d been. “I’m glad to see you returned safely.”

Minghao lifts a hand up to the strap of the rucksack slung over his shoulder, and inclines his head back towards the logs set up around the unlit fire site. “I can share something with you. If that’d work as a kind of compensation?”

You check once more for anyone watching before giving him a slight smile and a nod.

The two of you sit side by side in the evening light. He pulls a fruit out of his bag, and tells you about the continued festival back in the city as he peels it carefully. It makes you wish all over again that you had gone with him; but his telling of it all is attentive to detail and enthralling. It’s second best thing, you imagine, to having been able to see if yourself. He separates a piece of the green and yellow flesh of the fruit and eats it himself first before offering you some.

“What’s it called?” you ask as you take a section of it. Minghao shrugs and pops another piece into his mouth. You glance between the fruit and him a few times before taking a bite.

You don’t mean to let out the hum of approval at the sweet and tangy taste, but you do. He smiles anew at the sound and holds out more of the fruit for you.

At the end of it, you’re both left with fingers damp and almost sticky from its juice. The sugary, citrus-laced scent lingers in the air around you even with the fruit entirely gone. Somewhere in sharing it, you had shifted closer to him. Or he had to you. Either way, you both sit with little space left between you on the log; knees risking brushing against each other with the proximity.

“Thanks.” You resist the urge to wipe your hands off on your clothing. Or else try to lick any remaining flavor off your fingertips. You curls your fingertips into your palms instead and let a sincere smile come across your face.

Minghao returns the expression. “Don’t mention it.”

The closeness strikes you at that moment. It’s a realization of more than just space. Something altogether greater suddenly hangs in that distance between you. It would take only an instant and several inches for you move to him, to kiss him. Your eyes stay locked with his. Not a single word leaves either one of you. You wonder if he’s realized the same thing. If that’s the unreadable thing in his gaze.

Want, want, want thuds out beneath your ribcage. With a sharp inhale, you pull yourself back. You give a quick murmur -- of thank you, or of goodbye, you can barely tell which -- and jolt up to your feet.

The feeling stays with you after the ship departs the next morning.

You’ve never woken up with someone on your mind. Not even that charming, eccentric duke’s son who had stayed at the palace for a spell three years back. You wish you hadn’t started now. Or if it had to be now, you wish you could give yourself some kind of reasonable explanation. Instead, all you have is smiles, a golden glow, and the steady, soothing rhythms of his voice. And want most of all.

The day drags on slower than the one before. Despite the fact that you’re actually on the move once again. Your heart thrums on all the same, with spare thoughts enough to get it racing all over again. Worse are fleeting glances made from across the galley or the console room. If Minghao’s mind is as tangled up as yours, he doesn’t let on from a distance.

Sleep refuses to come when you finally lay down again. Conflicting thoughts strike back and forth inside your head; wishing you hadn’t moved away from him so quickly, and insisting it was the only rational thing to do. Tossing aside the sheets of your bed, you sit up with a huff and straighten out your appearance quickly in the mirror.

Your intention was only to go make tea in the quiet of the galley at this hour. Finding Minghao in the hallway was, perhaps, the last thing you wanted.

Though if that were true, then why is your first reaction to smile?

“You’re up late,” he remarks. The first thing he says to you since the awful realization of your desires, and it’s nothing more than a simple observation.

“I wasn’t able to sleep,” you admit. Your heart buzzes in your chest; you feel as though you could get dizzy from the sensation.

He nods in understanding. “Sorry to hear that.” Quiet settles over the two of you for a moment. The pristine hallway fills slowly with a tension that’s familiar now. “Is there anything I can do to help?” It’s impossible to tell if he’s asking out of some sense of obligation from your title or not. But you remind yourself that he’s seemed to care very little about what someone with your title is owed this far.

“I’m not sure there’s anything you could do,” you say. Your feet drift forward. You move too little for it to be too obvious an advancement. His eyes flit to the floor and back to your face again all the same.

“Well, I guess you can always just sleep in as long as you want. There’s still a few days before we’ll reach the palace.”

“That isn’t exactly how I’d hope to spend time onboard,” you answer.

“Is there really something better?” He chuckles over the words. “I appreciate the time to read, but still, it’s hard not to feel too cooped up on a trip like this. I don’t know how you do it.”

You don’t know which part of you to blame for the way you blurt out, “There’s people.”

His expression shifts some. A bit of intrigue lifting the corners of his lips and lighting up his eyes. “Aren’t you used to everyone in your escort by now?”

“Not everyone.” The answer comes out too easily. Entirely too laced with something more you’d refuse to say directly. The silence rises again. Where you tore your gaze away yesterday, you hold steady now. Temptation taps against your ribs once again. And you let yourself give into it, leaning towards him with careful eye contact.

He jerks back suddenly. Minghao’s hands are hot against the skin of your wrists, but he holds you at arms length away. “Stop it,” he tells you quickly. His voice is all sharpness -- consonants crashing against the suddenly thickened air between you. It feels as if you’ve been scathed.

All you can manage is to stare at him agape. He murmurs an apology and lets go of your arms. An indignation rises like bile against the back of your throat when he turns to leave. A part of you, ashamed and embarrassed, wants to swallow it back down. No matter how much it may sting to do. But impulse wins out, and you snap, “Don’t you walk away from me!”

Your voice reminds you too much of your mother’s. There isn’t as much echo in this small corridor as there is in her throne room. But your words don’t need to boom to get Minghao to stop and turn around.

“Is that a royal order?” There’s a wrong answer. And the flatness of his words is nothing more than a challenge for you to give it anyway. You don’t have it in you to take him up on it.

Instead, you falter. Your jaw clenches, and your hands fidget against the impulse to cross your arms. “No,” you answer, reigning in your volume. The embarrassment is twofold now. “I…” Minghao’s brow arches as you begin again, looking you over in a way that asks if you’re sure you want to finish that thought. “I want to know why.”

Perhaps it’s the simplicity of your words. Or else the suddenly whiplash from anger to vulnerability. But something in makes Minghao sigh a kind of defeat. As though he’d never had any intentions of giving a reason. Regardless of how clear of one he already had in mind.

He takes a few steps closer, so as to speak at the lowest volume he can. There’s a caution in his approach, though. “I’m not interested in having two monarchies out for my blood.”

“That’s not a real reason!” You risk boiling over again. “I’m just--!”

“You’re not, though,” interrupts Minghao. “You’re a princess. You’ve never been just anything. I might not be royalty, but I’m not naive either.”

“What? Like I’m playing some kind of cruel joke on you?” The words rush out of you impulsively. You shake your head in dismay. “Is that what you really think?”

“No. That’s not it,” he’s quick to refute. “Like I realize that if the end goal of these negotiations was anything other than you getting engaged to Hymoor’s prince, they would have sent someone way less valuable than you. So...”

You wish you could be outraged. That you could deny, or could furnish some kind of official documents that would disprove his theory. Reality doesn’t afford you either option. Not with all the conversations you’d had with your mother and advisors over the weeks. Whether worded cryptically or put in terms as simple as Minghao’s, the possibility of this trip ending with you staying in Hymoor for longer than just negotiations had always been clear to you.

Minghao’s gaze stays on you, seemingly looking for some kind of sign of recognition from you. There’s no change to see, though. Because all facades aside, you had known somewhere inside of you exactly what he meant the first time. And you understood. An unpleasant understanding. Still, there was no radical realization to dawn upon you. You may have felt the possibility for Minghao to be a great many things, but he was never going to be the first one to make you see all the ways your heritage took certain choices out of your hands.

“What if I wasn’t?” You hope he’ll understand your meaning at that.

“It’s not your fault. You’re just not someone whose heart gets to have a say in this.” He must have seen straight through to the wishful thought behind the question. If he’s smart enough not to want to get entangled with you in the first place, he’s smart enough not to give you sparks of hope through hypotheticals.

All the same, his answer doesn’t deny any feelings. You scan over his expression,imploring him with your look to cave. To make a confession. Or at least to admit that there would be endless confessions if you could somehow change your place in this life. He holds your gaze, but doesn’t break. Minghao is steady, certain and patient. (Traits that had made him all the easier to love. Traits that mean he’ll never let you get away with it.) He waits for you to come around to the same conclusion he already has.

“It’s not like I even know his name.” Your voice is low. It’s more of a surrender than anything else.

Minghao’s smile is faint. Only there out of some vague hope of consolation. “Seungkwan,” he informs you. “I’ve heard people say he’s kind. It’ll suit you.” Your gaze drops to his shoes, and to the blurry dots of the overhead lights reflected against the metallic tiles. You think that if you try to say anything more, you’ll simply end of crying instead.

Days pass onboard. With the capital ever nearer, you spend the first three after your painful conversation with Minghao avoiding him as best you can. There aren’t many places to hide in such limited quarters, though.

Inevitably, you end up at meals with him. The last thing you want is to risk your advisors catching on to exactly why your mood seems to have fallen lately. So you put up the best front you can.

Some of the days aren’t awful. In some fleeting moments, it doesn’t feel like a front at all when you smile or laugh at something Minghao says. It makes you wonder how easy it is for him to pretend as if nothing happened. And what that might mean for his feelings if it really is that simple. You try to save those thoughts for when you’re lying in bed. It’s an easier thing to tackle when there’s no else around to worry about seeing your furrow brow and frowns.

It’s a different line of thought that creeps up on you the day your ship reaches the planet of Hymoor’s capital.

You know what’s real. What’s more, you know what’s reasonable. They aren’t things that go hand in hand very well in your circumstance. If Minghao’s emotions lined up with what was realistic, it would have been far easier for him to tell you he was uninterested than to blame it on your birth.

Before any of your advisors can come to tell you it’s time to disembark, you slip out of your room and head in a hurry down the corridor to find Minghao.

He looks caught off guard when he opens his door to find you standing there. He stammers over your name, eyes flickering over you in your best ware. Fit to meet fellow royals, and somehow right in front of him with an uncertain smile on your lips and a nervous fondness in your gaze.

“I need to thank you,” you rush to say, before he can think you’re here to retread the same conversation. “Your chancellor was right, when he said we didn’t know everything we’d need to to fly into Hymoor. Who knows where we’d be now if it hadn’t been for your guidance.”

Minghao blinks, and appears unsure how to answer you at that. So you nod and carry on, “If you were one of my men, I’d feel the need to give some kind of title to you, you know.”

“I’m not,” he reminds you unnecessarily.

“I know.” Your hands fidget, but your smile doesn’t fall. “But you ought to know, all the same.” At that point you pause. You could stop there. Leave it at genuine gratitude and let the rest of what had brought you to his door fall away unsaid. Except he smiles. It makes it too difficult for you to resist;

“It’s also why I wanted to ask if you might consider staying.” His lips part immediately. You hurry to finish your words, “As an advisor. Or… guard. Or friend.”

He presses his lips together again, and gives you another look over. Then glances past you down the hallway. Maybe wondering about how much time there’s left before you’ll be ushered out to meet with Hymoor’s king. “I’m not part of your mother’s empire,” he falls back to again, “I don’t owe you anything beyond the task Shim asked me to complete.”

“I know,” you repeat. “Still. I’m asking you. I’m asking if you’d want to.”

Down the hall, there’s an echo of someone calling your name. You don’t break your gaze upon Minghao’s face. His expression is impossible to read. At this point, it’s surely down to only a matter of moments before you have to exit the ship and put on a new facade.

For now, you stay just where you are, waiting for Minghao’s answer.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #xu minghao x reader #seventeen fanfic #the8 scenarios #i really started this concept thinking it would be a drabble #i hope you might enjoy it!

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