Chapter Text
***
Minho knew that face. Everyone knew that face. From the serious magazine covers, alone, or sitting with his father or mother, to the frivolous gossip magazines with fuzzy pictures of dashing grins, speculating on his whereabouts or activities. The prince. His prince, the country’s crown prince. All of their prince. In his little store, smiling a particular smile meant to keep someone from leaping out of their skin as they faced each other over the counter. He might’ve bowed, brained himself on the glass and metal, but Chan held up a hand, stopping him.
“It’s all right. I’m not here as— I’m just a customer,” Chan said loftily, and it made Minho’s lips twitch. A customer with a bodyguard. All right, then. He could accept that. And maybe people fawning got old.
“Welcome, just-a-customer,” Minho said in kind. “How can I help you?”
“I have a ring I wanted you to take a look at. It’s an antique, but something I intend to use as an engagement ring at some point. The problem is, it doesn’t look modern. I’d like to maybe update the setting, or just use the stones in a new ring.”
As Chan spoke, he drew out a small ring box, and opened it, revealing the ring inside. An emerald ring, he thought. The center stone was a beautiful green, set in yellow gold and flanked by clear stones Minho presumed at a glance to be diamonds. When he looked up to be sure, Chan gestured that he could take it free of the box to examine it. It was old, to be sure, but in good condition. It needed a good cleaning. The setting was old fashioned, but beautiful, the tiny side stones laid out almost in the pattern of a flower. It was just neutral enough to suit anyone, not bulky nor delicate.
He explained what he noted of the condition. There was a tiny spot of damage that could be repaired, fine scratches that could be polished.
“Because of how the stones are set, there isn’t anything to be done to update this setting without redoing it,” Minho said. “The stones, though, could be removed and put into a more modern design. It could be set with a different shade of gold, or perhaps platinum. Something more straight and angular.” He took a pad of paper, and began to sketch his thought. Straightening the fan of diamonds, letting the ring rise a little more, dramatic and more to a modern fashion. It took some of the charm from the old ring, but the new effect was also beautiful. Minho glanced up as two men entered the store. He was surprised the royal guards, as he assumed more were outside, were allowing more customers to enter, but that wasn’t his concern. Not like the guard behind Chan, who was in a suit and browsing a display of earrings. He’d been years in the business, not just in his own shop but others. Burglarized once. And something about them, standing in a little clutch, dark caps, sunglasses almost looking like tourists, sent warning waves through him.
“Come here, I want to show you something. Quickly. What’s your guard’s name?” Minho asked conversationally, pressing a button to notify the security company and police he had trouble, as he shoved the ring onto his own finger and moved to the pass-through to lift it.
“Changbin,” Chan said, and moved with Minho, stepping behind the counter, with his eyes focused on Minho’s face.
Changbin looked toward them at the sound of his name and Minho pointed to the two men, grabbing the front of Chan’s shirt and hauling him back beyond the barrier he’d constructed behind the counter. It was for supplies, mostly, a thick wall taller than him behind which he could work without leaving the main shop entirely. He’d barely yanked Chan fully behind it with him when they both jolted at the sound of the safety glass of a case shattering, Chan steadying himself with Minho’s waist.
“Robbers,” he breathed. With the most horrific timing. He grabbed the back of Chan’s neck like it could protect him, pulling Chan’s head down and next to his as they crouched in unison.
It was a false wall, nowhere else to go beyond that, but it was some kind of protection. Illusion. There was shouting, the guard barking orders, the chime of the doors sounding like there was a hurricane. More voices.
At the obscuring of light from the window, Minho looked up, took Changbin’s hand and helped Chan stand up as well. Changbin kept his hand, looking at the ring on it in amusement. Minho jerked back his hand, taking the ring off, and holding it instead. He was shaking, and Chan on the other hand was calm, though wide-eyed.
“I got one of them, tied him up, but the other ran,” Changbin said.
“Robbers?” Chan said, looking between them.
“There’ve been a few smash and grabs in other stores over the past couple of weeks. I keep tabs on that kind of thing, because you never know—“ Minho shook his head. “I hit the alarm. The police should be here soon.”
“Quick thinking. Good thinking,” Changbin said.
Chan laughed at that. “That’s a new life experience. I didn’t know what was happening. I thought you wanted to show me something else about the ring until you started yanking my shirt.”
“I didn’t want you to turn. If they were too stupid to know who they’d stumbled in on, I didn’t want them to know there was a bigger fish. Everything else in here can be replaced.”
“You prioritized the right things,” Changbin said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.
Minho tucked the ring back into the little box, shutting it and handing it back to Chan. He left the sketch with it. Even so, his gut feeling was they weren’t going to use a jeweler where the prince nearly got embroiled in a robbery. Not that it was any fault of Minho’s. Bad vibes, if nothing else, for a ring meant to start something with happiness.
“Is there a place we can get away from the windows?” Changbin asked.
Minho gestured them forward from behind the cases, and back to the combined space of break and work room. The police were there, he could hear that. They’d want statements, footage. If one was detained, the other might have gotten away with something. He’d have to get reports. Deal with insurance. He stood, unsure, while the prince sat, and then sprang into action when Changbin veered into the little kitchenette.
“I can manage tea, I think,” Changbin said. Though, he blinked. “If you show me where the tea is.”
Minho got that down, realized his hands were still shaking.
“Fuck. It’s not like I was in danger.”
“I mean, you didn’t know if you would be. You did fucking amazing, you know that?” And Changbin shook his head when Minho started to protest. “I’m not joking. You could’ve run. Instead you made sure your customer’s valuables were safe, and more importantly than that, the customer. And you gave me a heads up, too. I’ve trained people who didn’t have that presence of mind. You looking for a job?”
Minho snorted, and accepted the cup of tea. “I’ve got my hands full with this one. I should talk with the police.”
“My guys are out there right now. Sit, drink all of that. I’ll give them my statement first.”
He didn’t really take well to being ordered around in his own shop, but he knew it was a better decision. Whoever Chan had been speaking to followed Changbin out after Changbin handed Chan his tea directly.
“You all right?” Chan asked him.
Minho exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yeah. Though it’s not something you get used to. Fu—Yeah.”
Prince, he reminded himself. It was one thing to swear to the guard, one thing to swear to the crown prince who was sitting at the table he ate his lunch at, and sipping tea with him. He’d been caught, though, because Chan sent him an amused glance.
“Don’t worry, my sensitive ears won’t burn off. It’s happened before?”
“Not while I was here. I got the notification from the police, the security company. Middle of the night. That felt violating. This was— I didn’t have time to get scared. I was too focused on…” He flopped a hand at Chan, in probably the world’s rudest way. “So, thanks for that.”
Chan’s eyebrows climbed. “I should be thanking you. Changbin’s going to want to give you a medal. Hell, my parents might, too. We don’t have knights, but. Royal order of Changbin’s approval.”
Minho chortled, shaking his head and taking a long, hot drink. It steadied him, like Changbin had likely intended.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. For all I know, you being there might’ve saved my life. No one’s gotten hurt in any of the other places, but you never know. I was already on alert because you were there. Plus, if not for Changbin, they might’ve gotten away with a lot more.”
Chan accepted that with a nod. “Glad we could at least be of some help, then. After the police— You won’t open back up again today?”
“No. I think that’s enough for one day. I’ll need to get the case repaired or replaced, too.”
It’d been one of the biggest ones, not something he had spare pieces for, or a spare of to just swap in. He’d have to inventory all of it to be reimbursed if what was taken wasn’t found.
“All right, I’m done,” Changbin said, striding back into the back, and looking to Chan. “They don’t need to talk to you. I’m going to have the car pulled around back so we avoid some of the circus. We have a couple of extra cars in to help keep people away. You ready?”
Chan glanced to Minho and nodded, picking up his bag with the ring in it.
“It’s okay if we go out the back?” Changbin asked.
“Fine with me,” Minho said.
“You’ll be all right?” Chan asked Minho.
“Yeah. I have people I’ll call. It’ll be fine.”
“There’s one of my guys out in the front,” Changbin said. “You can kick him out if you need to, but he’ll see you make it safely home after, if that’s where you’re going. There’s going to be press. I can’t stop you from talking to them—“
“I don’t talk about clients unless I have permission,” Minho said. That, to him, was as sacred as any NDA they could produce. The police already knew everything else.
That got a smile and nod out of Changbin, and a clasp to his shoulder. “Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
He disarmed and unlocked the back door, as Changbin went out first, and then Chan, getting into a sleek black sedan. Chan waved once before he closed the door, and Minho closed his own door, locking and arming it, and standing with his forehead against it for a second. What a bizarre fucking day.
He spoke to the police, gave them his statement, nodded to the guard Changbin had said would be there. In between, he texted Jeongin to see if he was free. He wasn’t, but when Minho explained what had happened, he decided he was going to become free no matter how Minho protested. Part of it could wait. Most of it Minho could do himself. He could’ve called his friends, but Jeongin worked part time in the store with the motions toward apprenticing. Maybe it wasn’t making or selling jewelry, but the inventorying, the aftermath— If Jeongin wanted his own shop, or just to work in someone else’s, the experience could be important.
When the police left, he got the guard a chair and thanked him for staying. He wasn’t going to kick the man outside into the humidity and gawkers. Still, it was a relief when Jeongin arrived.
***
The guard left to get something to eat once Minho wasn’t alone, and Minho waved him off. The blinds had been pulled, securing the shop from outside looks anyway, and the shop itself was still secure. At least it hadn’t been the door broken in. He and Jeongin set up shop in the main room, sweeping away scattered safety glass and making sure no jewelry was mixed in with it as they tossed it. Then, sorting through the safety glass inside of the case. There had been one display of rings totally overset, rings scattered like they’d been picked up and dropped. Every piece was noted in what Minho had documented had been in that case.
“I can’t believe the crown prince was here?” Jeongin asked, like he couldn’t really believe it even after Minho had said so several times. “Prince Chan?”
Though he looked around like someone might’ve heard.
“The one and only. Stood right there by the pass-through, plain as day. I never expected to get streets away from him much less have him just walk in and say hi.”
Minho shook his head, not even close to processing that. From seeing the cute smile in teen magazines, to having it trained on him as an adult. Weird.
“I think I wouldn’t have even been able to speak. There’s like, a thousand jewelers, though. And they walked in here,” Jeongin said, and read off an inventory number to Minho so he could note it down before the ring was put into a separate tray for storage. Minho would inspect them for damage before putting them back out for sale, but later after the inventory was done. “You think they saw one of your custom pieces?”
“You’d think they’d have a jeweler for the royal family already,” Minho mused. “We didn’t get that deep into trading stories.”
“Was the ring beautiful?”
Minho described it, the luster of the green stone, the lay of the diamonds carefully held in by their tiny beads.
“Beautifully made. Just a bit old and needing cleaning. I wish I had a picture of it. I’d show you.”
He sketched it from memory, though, and Jeongin got the gist.
“Seems a pity to undo it if it’s that pretty,” Jeongin said.
Minho shrugged a shoulder. It was one thing learned over years of dealing with people. His taste wasn’t everyone’s taste, and he could suggest things - some of them logistics meant for making things functional - but in the end it was the customer who would wear it, and was paying for it. With some cleaning and polishing, he thought the old ring would have been a lovely heirloom to pass along. But a new setting with the quality stones, or even a few more added in to enhance them, had the potential to be a stunning piece also.
“How it goes sometimes,” Minho said.
In the end, less was missing than he thought. Half a dozen rings and two bracelets, probably two quick grabs before the robber had fled. Everything they’d sorted was carefully locked up. Any displays within the case that were undamaged would be reused. It had been a good case, there from when he’d opened the store to start. But he wasn’t too sentimental about that. He’d buy another. Had bought another already, in fact, over the phone before Jeongin arrived. Jeongin helped him carry the empty, decimated case to the back alley. The person delivering the new case would have the option of taking it, repairing it to sell. They chased down any other glass that had escaped their notice after the guard had returned. And with that, Minho was done in. He saw Jeongin, with thanks, safely into a taxi, and ordered delivery before he and the guard left the store safely locked behind them. He was delivered with all limbs intact and no media accosting him directly to his front door, after which the guard politely told him to have a good night and left.
His food arrived fifteen minutes later, after Minho had showered off everything. Would’ve showered off his skin if he could have. He half had no appetite, picking at the food as he tried to process everything and mostly failing. It was ridiculous. His brain kept replaying the sound of the glass shattering, the startled look on the prince’s face both from Minho pulling at him and the realization of what was happening.
He got enough food down to live, anyway, before he called his mother to fill her in. Hopefully before a news story broke out with his face or the storefront all over it. She’d worry otherwise, like he’d been in some pirate hostage situation on the high seas. Her reaction had been close to Jeongin’s. The prince?? He could only hope that the next days would be not nearly so eventful.
***
“I wish I had a picture of it.”
His stupid fucking mouth, Minho thought. He’d wanted a picture? How about a picture most of the size of the tabloid’s enormous front page of his own hand grabbing the prince’s neck, with the ring on prominent display on Minho’s ring finger. They’d been practically face to face, about to crouch for safety. Staring at each other. Whole paragraphs of absolute slop of speculation, and a fuzzy old picture of some royal or another wearing the ring thirty years ago. A sibling of the king, or something. Were they dating? Was this the prince’s boyfriend/fiancé? And if not, should he be since he saved the prince’s life? That was stretching it far beyond what it had been. The other robber had been found, but not the rings or bracelets he’d swiped. Probably long gone. Who knew if he’d had a weapon, but the robber caught in the shop had had only a little switchblade. Enough to do damage, Minho conceded. But it’d never been drawn, and certainly not in Chan’s direction.
“It does look like a nice ring,” Jeongin had ventured, face straining for sympathetic as he tried not to laugh as he examined the tabloid cover. He’d brought in the paper because he said Minho needed to have a copy for posterity. His voice shook with his heroic restraint and Minho sighed.
“It’s gorgeous. And safe with the prince. Thankfully not still on my finger, or I’d just have people crowding around gawking at my hands.”
“You should wear one of your custom rings,” Jeongin said, looking at him. “On that same finger. Maybe you’ll get some orders?”
It wasn’t a bad thought, if anyone was that determined. But, Jeongin had been correct. The only good thing about it had been an influx of the curious. He’d done a brisk business on earrings and semi-precious necklaces that he purchased to sell as a supplier. Some rings sold as well, even a few of his own. Still, the money hit his bottom line. And as that day approached the finish, he purchased more as supplies dwindled. Maybe he needed a prince to drop by every day. Jeongin was there as much as he could be, and there were extra cameras in place. He had worn one of his own creations, and had been asked about it several times. Even as he’d chatted with a couple about engagement rings, having moved things around in the cases. The new case would be there that night so that more could be put out. The empty scar of where it’d stood was almost a monument itself, people staring and whispering as Minho drew out a solitaire necklace for a woman to look at.
He’d only been cornered by a journalist and her cameraperson once, walking home from the store on the second day after. He’d almost walked into her in fact, looking up from trying to dig his key out of his satchel and having to come to a flat stop.
“Ah, Mr. Lee, about Prince Chan’s visit—“
His eyes narrowed, chin lifting.
“I don’t have any comment,” he said, and skirting her, kept walking.
Most of the other reporters kept their distance, just calling to him before he opened up the store and getting ignored for their trouble. And if any were reporters that came into the store, Minho didn’t know it. If they came in and bought something, he wasn’t in charge of their wallets. Minho bought he and Jeongin both a big meal after several days of that. He felt like he’d talked to half the city about stones and settings, been stared at. Most people hadn’t been so bold as to ask him directly about the prince, but there’d been a few sweet moments as he’d swiped credit cards of a customer thanking him for protecting the prince.
The first time he’d been so caught off guard that he’d done nothing but awkwardly smile. The second he’d muttered something about being a citizen like everyone else.
He sold the ring he had on his finger on day five of the onslaught, immediately replacing it with another. And just a few minutes to closing, almost did a double-take when Changbin walked into the store.
“Just me today,” Changbin said, and without asking, flipped the lock on the door behind him. It was one of the few quiet moments there’d been all day. “Here alone? Great. I’m here for a different reason. If you’re free tonight, the prince would like to have dinner with you.”
Minho blinked at Changbin as though he’d said he’d like Minho to shoot off into space in a rocket made of cheese.
“What?”
“Dinner. With Chan. He’s coming along in a different car. He has reservations for a private room, but he’d like you to join him.”
Dinner. With the crown prince. Dinner with the crown prince. Dinner. With Prince Chan, the crown prince. Minho looked down at himself. There was a smudge on his pants from polishing a ring earlier. He had an extra shirt in the back, but not pants.
“Uhh, this is unexpected.”
“Sometimes safer that way, for the prince. It’s not anything fancy. He’s not expecting you to show up like one of these shiny rings. You look fine. I can take you with me.”
No matter how much his brain screamed no, the logic in him screamed that even if he wanted to, there was nothing in him that could decline. It wasn’t a friend asking him over to play games. It was the whole crown prince of the whole country.
“Let me wrap this up,” Minho said.
“No problem,” Changbin said.
And he didn’t stand and stare as Minho got his POS system set for the night, took what he needed to back to the safe. Got his own belongings, and armed the alarm system. Everything was ready to open smoothly in the morning. Changbin got him straight into the back of a black car, sitting in the back with him. He had the strangest sensation of alarm as they pulled away from the store, and tucked it away. It was ridiculous.
“I’m surprised you’re not with the prince,” Minho said.
Changbin smirked, laughing a little. “I’m part of a team, not on duty 24 hours a day. I could’ve gone with him and sent someone else for you, but he figured you’d feel safer going with someone you’d met before, and not some stranger.”
Thoughtful. At least he was that sort of person. All it would be was dinner. Maybe in thanks. He could survive that.
***
Crown Prince Chan. His Highness, Prince Chan. Bang Chan, prince. Prince Chan. Some of those words tumbled through his brain as he was led in through the kitchen of a restaurant to a little side room to find said prince sitting at a table meant to sit four, and examining a menu. Minho at least got to bow, a little stiffly but it had been there, that time.
Chan first grinned at him, dimples giving Minho a sudden feeling like something had rushed past him, before nodding to Changbin.
“Thanks, Bin.”
Changbin might’ve responded, or might’ve not, but all Minho knew was the door closed behind him and Chan was gesturing across the table.
“Come have a seat. Don’t bother with— Formality,” Chan said, shaking his head.
Oh, sure, they were just two guys grabbing a bite to eat, that was all. Minho sat, carefully making sure his shoes stayed on his side of the table.
“That might be good. I didn’t get much time to research what formality might be. That’s not even an optional class growing up.”
It made Chan smile, anyway.
“Pick whatever you want, it’s covered,” Chan said, when Minho touched the menu sitting in front of him.
The restaurant wasn’t so fancy, didn’t run to expensive dishes. Chan texted the order to Changbin when they’d decided.
Chan peered at his hand and Minho looked down also. Oh. A different ring. He’d been working after hours to purge himself of stress, listening to the TV in the back room as he crafted a pretty ruby ring. Nothing wild and expensive, but sleek and beautiful. It had replaced the ring he’d sold on his finger, a conversation piece. He’d meant to take it off before leaving the store, but he’d clearly been flustered from Changbin’s arrival.
“It’s beautiful,” Chan said, and Minho obliged, moving his hand closer so Chan could see it better. “You made it?”
“I didn’t mine for the silver, but— Yeah. I finished it last night.”
“I’ve never really thought about it. Like someone melts some metal and bam. Tell me about how you made it?”
“The long or the short version?” Minho said.
He opted for somewhere in the middle. He took it off then, handing it to Chan so that Chan could see the detailing. He explained in broad terms, how the silver had been milled down to the thickness he’d wanted, how he’d shaped the setting for the stone, how the prongs were soldered, bent, shaped. There were so many unique things to jewelry making, some techniques he was still learning. There was no end to the learning, either. Some things he saw and immediately wanted to try, adding new tools along the way that helped him do and perfect what he knew.
“How do you see to do all the tiny detail?” Chan asked, amazed, as he looked at the tiny stones set beside the ruby.
“I have a microscope,” Minho said. “Some things are just too small. Keeps me from squinting. You get used to seeing through it.”
Chan blew out a breath, handing the ring back to Minho who immediately slipped it back on. “Wow. Way more than I’d have ever thought. How much do you sell something like that for?”
Not something he usually expounded on, but it was interesting chatting about the base costs of gold and stones, but not selling himself short for the time taken, the imagination used, and supplies. So yes the sale point was higher than a ring manufactured in quantities, but it was also one of a kind. In the midst of that, Changbin came in with a tray of food. A multi-purpose guard.
“It makes me tense when I’m doing the really fine work, and relaxes me at the same time,” Minho said. “But it’s satisfying seeing what I’d thought about become real.”
“Gives me a thought of what I might get my mother for her birthday,” Chan mused.
He could hardly go wrong with a custom ring, if he knew his mother’s taste. The queen, Minho reminded himself.
“You know, I saw the little clip of you responding to a reporter’s question.”
Minho winced. “I know Changbin said not to talk to them—“
“She kind of ambushed you. I probably would’ve done the same thing. I’m surprised the reporter didn’t drop dead from the look you leveled at her, though,” Chan said. “You didn’t look at me like that.”
Minho blinked at him. “Well, it was a stupid question. And I think looking at you like that’s a felony.”
Chan burst into laughter. “If it was the prisons would be full. I know I’ve said a lot of stupid things in my life.”
“Don't ruin my illusion of the perfect crown prince,” Minho teased.
Well, he’d had said crown prince roll his eyes at him. Surely that was some kind of day.
***
He’d managed not to dump his food all over himself or embarrass himself thoroughly, so there was a plus to the evening. Minho had assumed that they would leave in different cars, like they’d arrived, but Changbin ushered Minho around to the other side of the SUV after Chan had safely gotten in. It had a divider almost like a limo, between the front and back. He wondered if it was for privacy, but also he imagined it was for safety, too. No one could see if the prince was in the car, and if the glass was thick enough, another layer of protection. The front passenger’s seat door closed, Changbin, he assumed, before they were in motion.
“I did want to thank you. But there was a different reason I also wanted to talk to you.” Chan paused a few seconds, before sighing. “There’s no easy way of broaching this. Are you dating anyone?”
That was the last question he had been expecting. “No.”
“See, and I know you’re not. I don’t even know why I asked you that. Maybe to see if you’d answer truthfully. I don’t know. After the robbery, you were looked into. Not because we thought you had anything to do with it,” Chan clarified, before Minho could even think it much less say it. “Because of the picture the next day. Which we also knew you had nothing to do with. The buzz online, this random shopkeeper wearing one of the royal family’s rings, saving the crown prince’s life… It was intense. Every new sound bite, story, riles it up again. Some kind of Cinderella story of people imagining I’ll sweep you up on a white horse and carry you into the sunset.”
“Do you have a white horse?” Minho asked.
“No, actually. He’s black. But.” Chan shook his head. “When the buzz online really took off, you were looked into. It’s ironic, I think, that I came into the shop looking to have that ring altered as an engagement ring. The person I thought it wouldn’t suit is someone most quarters expect me to marry.”
“Hwang Hyunjin,” Minho said without thinking, and Chan waved a hand, as though he’d proved Chan’s point. Hwang Hyunjin had been in the news linked to the crown prince several times that Minho had seen by accident, which meant who knew how many more times it had been beyond that. They made a striking couple, Hyunjin almost coolly elegant beside Chan.
“Most of the pressure comes from his family, not mine. We suspect most of the news that circulates comes from that way, also. His family is well respected, deeply linked to the government. And the match is inoffensive to any advisors that have weighed in.”
Minho nodded, accepted the line of thought. Okay, so everyone expected Chan to marry Hyunjin. He had no idea what that had to do with him, or why Chan was talking the most circuitous route ever to get to it.
“I’ve spent quite a lot of time thinking how I could keep the match from happening. Or keep from being bullied into it, I suppose. Or not bullied. Pressured? Obliged? There’s no easy way of doing that without offending a rather large and important family. Especially when one day I’ll have the throne and might need that influence for something I might want to get done. It’d make more sense, I guess, to just give in. I don’t dislike him, you know? We’re friends. But his feelings follow mine, in that… He might like to be consort for the power, the position of it. But I don’t know that he necessarily wants it with me attached to it. It would be a political marriage entirely, and I know people would celebrate it as much as any.”
“Uh-huh,” Minho said. He was still lost. He didn’t know how to be marriage counselor to royalty. He could shape metal, set stones, charm customers. That was it.
“Anyway, that’s a very long way of saying I don’t want it. And I’m stubborn when there’s something I don’t want. I’ve never seen any way of throwing a wrench into it until the day we met. That buzz being so high, staying so high. You’re still getting harassed by reporters. News of dinner tonight will probably come out somewhere, too, though that’s not my intention for it. You’re not dating anyone. You at least usually date men. I’m single, officially. I also date men. They’re all aflutter for you being a commoner who saved my life. The case could be made that I was intrigued, that I wanted to get to know you better. That to thank you I wanted to take you to some official functions, or to some restaurants I like, let you get a taste of that life. And if that buzz stayed high, then… It might not end the obligation to Hyunjin’s family, but might delay it.”
Minho parsed another rush of words. Functions. Dinners. Single. Men.
“You want me to…to date you?”
He hoped it didn’t sound quite as incredulous as he felt. He was fairly certain being incredulous at the crown prince was a felony also, but Chan almost chirruped out an amused laugh.
“In form at least. Just imagine the reaction if you were to come with me to an official function wearing the ring I brought to you. The Internet would talk of nothing else for a week. It’d buy goodwill, since you’re one of the people. Hyunjin is the next thing the country has to royalty, so the effect isn’t the same. I wanted this dinner first, before I asked you, though, to see if it would even work. If we can’t talk and get along in private, there’s no point in trying to in public. I couldn’t have lured you into it unknowingly, because you’d need to know.”
“Don’t expect too much, but still put on the right kind of show,” Minho said.
“Yeah. Yeah. And if it got too much, or got to a point where we wanted to end it, then we could put out a statement that it was ending. And even that would buy me time because I couldn’t just hop right in and play happy boyfriend to someone else right away. But all of the upsides are for me, unless you like fancy food and formal parties. You’d have more public scrutiny, more focus by the press. Possibly some element of danger if someone thought you were taking their spot.”
“More interest in me means more interest in the business and more sales,” Minho said, considering that. Even one meeting with the prince had done that. As long as he didn’t offend the entire nation, there was a prospect of that continuing.
Chan chuckled. “Yeah, I guess there is that. You don’t have to answer now. It wouldn’t be indefinite. A month or two at most, probably. Maybe one date per week. At a restaurant, no private room like tonight. Let people see. And then there’s a reception in about a week. A smallish party, and dinner. In three weeks, my mother’s birthday party.”
His mother. What a sweet way of saying Minho would be expected to go to the birthday party of the queen.
“I’d make sure you had clothes appropriate for it, so there’d be no expense to you, and a car would take you to and from events.”
“You’ve thought of almost everything,” Minho murmured.
“Everything except whether you’ll accept,” Chan said.
“But I’d be of service to my country.”
Or maybe only to his prince. It wasn’t in him to say or not say whether Hyunjin was a good or bad choice for consort, whether he was helping put something off that ought to have happened or not. He supposed it was flattering that Chan had even considered him an option to act as a roadblock to it. He’d been dropped in Chan’s lap as a solution to a conundrum much as the robbers had dropped in on the store. Unexpected. But something Chan clearly expected to take full advantage of. A strategic move in a game of who would win at organizing Chan’s private life.
“It’d need to be kept quiet, and only between us,” Chan said. “You, me. Changbin, if you hadn’t noticed, is a little more than just a guard. He’s also a good friend. He’d need to know as well. To everyone else it would be just like it looks.”
“One less person to pretend around,” Minho said.
“Exactly.”
“How do I let you know when I make up my mind?”
“Ah.” Telepathy, apparently. Chan hadn’t seemed to think of that, grabbing a piece of paper out of one of the side pockets and a pen and carefully printing a phone number on it. “Just text… okay, or no, I guess. Doesn’t have to be elaborate. We can go from there.”
“Any repercussions if I say no?”
“No. I’ll be in debt to you if you say yes, but no. I wouldn’t force anyone to do this. It’s a lot, and I’m not pretending it won’t be. But you have a thriving business. You seem to have good friends. Handsome, eligible. Definitely ready for the ball.”
Minho scoffed at him. Oh no, another felony? He guessed Cinderella had met the prince before the ball in some of the stories. At least he wouldn’t embarrass himself dancing, if there was ever dancing. A month or two. It’d be hassle, but also an experience.
Not many people could say they’d dated the prince. Even as pretend.
***
Minho had a bit of a feeling when a call came in from a blocked number. Most of the time, scammers, he’d have let it go to voicemail. Instead, he braced himself, tapped the screen.
“Hello?”
If he was very lucky it would be an assistant, or maybe Changbin, calling to do whatever scheduling was necessary.
“Hey, it’s Chan. I was hoping we could schedule a time to get together. Are you free to talk now?”
A small whine took place in his ears as he addressed the part where Chan had opened the call with hey.
“Um. Yes. Now’s fine. When are you thinking?”
“Well, there are two things I’m thinking. If you’re free Friday night, I’d like to take you out for dinner. But, the big one is, there’s a reception I mentioned to you that’s for a retiring ambassador the Wednesday following that I’d like you to attend.”
“An—“ What? “Ambassador?”
He’d seen pictures of those receptions like everyone else. Maybe not for someone retiring, though. All he knew was that people dressed up.
“Yeah. It’s actually a fairly small thing. Not like a head of state, and not so fancy.”
What was fairly small to a prince? 10? 50? 500?
“I’ll take your word on that,” Minho said. “But yes, I’m free Friday night. And Wednesday, though I imagine that’ll be a bit more of a production. I have part time help in the store, so I could leave to go whenever you think is best.”
Chan hummed. “Plan to have the store covered that afternoon at least. We’ll smooth out the timing, have someone come to get you. Friday, though.. Seven? Eight?”
“Seven would be fine,” Minho said.
“Seven, then. I’m going to text you a number of a man who will come to you to get measurements and whatever else he needs to get a wardrobe started. An outfit for Friday to start, but a suit for Wednesday. You can call him to set up a good time for you, ideally so he has time to get that started. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Minho said. Free clothes, at a minor inconvenience to him, provided by the royal family.
“Fantastic. You don’t have to keep it a state secret, but at least for now keep it to a minimum of people knowing about us meeting up. If you have any questions, or anything, just reach out to me or to Changbin. As soon as I confirm which restaurant we’ll be going to, I’ll text you that as well. Any aversions? Anything you’d prefer more than something else?”
“Not…Not that I can think of,” Minho got out.
Chan chuckled, a warm sound. “Okay, well, if it doesn’t suit you once you see the menu online, let either of us know that, too. I’ll let you get back to your evening, though. I’ll see you Friday.”
“Yes, um. Thank you. I’ll see you then.”
Minho just held the phone in his hand for a while after they’d hung up. It wasn’t a crush asking him out. It wasn’t even a stranger. That felt weird to say, because while Chan was relatively unknown, Minho knew vastly more about Chan’s life than Chan did about his. Even if most of it was superficial and over the news over the corresponding years of their lives. His mother had been fond of saying how the prince had grown up so well, how pleasant he looked meeting with children, or advocating for causes. How handsome and bright he seemed.
He let out a laugh that seemed half giggle, half shriek. He was going to have to tell his mother. Oh, it was real suddenly, not some imaginary fantasy he’d half been unsure was happening. And she wouldn’t know it wasn’t real. She’d think that her son was actually, truly being courted by the crown prince. To her at least he’d have to play it down. For everyone’s sake.
He expected the shout, and got it.
“It’s possible we won’t even like each other,” Minho warned. “And he hasn’t made any promises. I’m sure it’s because he wants to show his gratitude, not because he wants to make me the next consort.”
“He could do that by inviting you as a guest, though,” his mother mused. “It sounds like the first dinner is a date.”
“To make sure I won’t eat like I’m from a zoo in public,” Minho said, which at least made his mother laugh anyway. “It’s flattering, no matter what it is, or how long it is. And scary. You always liked him.”
“He always seemed like a sweet boy. I like to hope I raised you with good manners. I know you’ll do your best. Do you think it will be on the news?”
Minho’s eyebrows rose. “About me going to dinner with him? In the tabloids maybe. If you’re lucky you might get a glimpse of me in the background somewhere at the retirement dinner. I don’t know if I’m that big of a deal.”
“I don’t know about that, honey. People were and still are talking. This won’t quiet that down. If he really intends to date you— Would he come to the house?”
The panic in her voice made him laugh.
“Mom, no one’s going to come over without warning. That’s— If that ever happened that’d be way down the line. Way, way down the line. All he knows about me is my name and where I work.”
“And that you fit into a royal ring— Okay, okay. I’ll hold back my expectations. But it’s been a while since you’ve been on a date.”
Minho’s face melted into disgust. “Thanks, Mom. I’d forgotten.”
He wasn’t sure that the conversation made him feel calmer, exactly. More that it made it feel improbably real. But real or not, Friday was a day that was upcoming. And he’d have to deal with it one step at a time.
***
A man came into the store when Jeongin would be there to take care of customers and took Minho’s measurements and copious notes of his preferences in the back. A tailor? Personal shopper? He wasn’t entirely sure. He felt like he was being grilled by a doctor. What kind of— What kind of socks did he like? Crew socks? Ankle socks? No socks? What he did know was Chan was keeping to his word of Minho not having to supply his own clothes. The afternoon before the date, someone dropped off a garment bag and shoe box. When the store was empty for more than a half second, he and Jeongin both fled into the back room and rooted through the bag. Dark gray slacks, a blue shirt that had a subtle sheen in the light.
“Is that silk?” Jeongin asked, incredulously.
A glance at the tag said yes. The shoes were nice, too, not too fancy or shiny. But not cheap, either. There was no tie, only a fancy belt. Sleek, but not too formal. There was a card attached to one of the hangers.
I figured you had the jewelry situation under control. Hope you like these. I’ll see you tonight - Chan
“You’d better put that in a frame,” Jeongin advised.
He very likely would. If he didn’t keep it, then he knew his mother might. She might put it by her bedside and kiss it goodnight, for all he knew. It was all tucked back so he could take it home with him ahead of the date. They closed the store up at six on the dot, which gave Minho an hour to get ready. He thought it was plenty of time in the two block walk and elevator up to his apartment. He showered quickly, not washing his hair, but considered his jewelry choices as he dried off.
He chose pieces he had either bought or made to keep to wear. Nothing that he would sell, unless someone offered some exorbitant amount he couldn’t refuse for them. Wearing pieces he meant to sell around the store was one thing. Wearing them to what was from the outside supposed to be somewhat of a date, even a friendly one, seemed exploitative. He chose a necklace after he put the shirt on, one that fit into the open collar, a signet ring on one finger, one more plain on another. Two bracelets on one wrist. Subtle studs in his ears.
He might not have worn so many different pieces had he not looked up pictures of Hyunjin on outings with Chan. He’d worn earrings, all varieties of jewelry. An official function was different. He suspected someone would have been doing his hair instead, and advising him on those things. But he wasn’t going to meet the king and queen, just have a quiet meal. And had they intended for him to blend into the background, they wouldn’t have put him in silk. He dressed it up how he was comfortable, and that was the important part.
He stared at himself from various angles in the mirror, and declared it was as good as it was going to get. The makeup wasn’t going to get him noticed in the club, but it was enhancement enough. Enough that he liked it. His hair cooperated, a tiny dab of scent.
All he really had to do was not have his hands sweat through the very nice wool slacks.
His phone dinged. ETA five minutes.
Changbin. Efficient. He exhaled. Chan had shown himself to not be overly pretentious. And while he might’ve had nerves for any other first date, he knew it was far from typical. There would be eyes on them from the moment they entered the restaurant. Eyes on Chan, and eyes on him. With his ID and a credit card in his pocket, he took the elevator down. As though on cue, a town car pulled up in front on the street.
He exhaled, and walked to it.
“Wow, look at you. The prince was going to get out to greet you but some meanie told him to wait,” Changbin said as he came around the front of the car. “Here you are, sir.”
It had a bit of tease, that flourish. Changbin clearly knew he wasn’t in the habit of getting escorted into town cars, where princes sat waiting to meet him. Chan let him get buckled in before Minho even dared to look up at him. He looked sleek in black, silver watch at his wrist. There was a faint curve to his mouth as Minho considered if ducking into the car counted as a bow. The urge to bust out with something like greetings, Your Highness, it is I, your subject from planet Earth almost made him laugh. Instead, Chan cut him off at the pass.
“You look great,” Chan said. “I’m glad— Thank you. For joining me tonight.”
“Of course,” Minho said. “Thanks for inviting me. My mom is prepared to adopt you. She’ll kick me out if she has to. She’s the only one I told, otherwise I would’ve been disowned for real.”
Chan’s laughter filled the back of the car. “Parents get special privileges,” he agreed.
“I did my best to hold back her expectations,” Minho said, and sighed. “As much good as that does.”
“My mother was pleased, too,” Chan said. “She found the stories of you very charming. And she’s right. Not just anyone could take something on like this. You took that reporter’s badgering well. You’re smart. Aesthetically someone I’d think of dating. It’s like you were made for this.”
That was the weirdest way he’d ever heard that put.
“I hope you can still say that after we eat. I told my mom you were going to evaluate me to see if I was fit to take in front of anyone other than restaurant patrons.”
Chan laughed at that, too. Though, he thought. “Do you have any concerns? The dinners aren’t that fussy. No ten types of silverware, and all that. I know there’s someone out there who teaches…” His mind blanked for a moment.
“Etiquette?” Minho suggested. “I’ve been doing some reading on it. Titles and things.”
“That’s smart. The ambassador dinner is a good one to start with, then,” Chan said. “If you feel like anything’s missing after that, we can arrange something.”
“Thanks,” Minho said.
“And for today… I don’t have a crown on. Just two people getting to know each other and having a nice dinner,” Chan said.
“As you say, Your Highness,” Minho said.
Chan could tell when he was being clowned, which was a positive sign. But Minho blew out a breath as they pulled up to the restaurant.
“After Changbin makes sure everything is secure, I’ll come around to your side of the car. I won’t help you, unless you want me to, but it’ll just let us walk in as more of a united front.”
“Sounds good. I think I can manage.”
As soon as Chan was out of the car, Minho used a tissue, mopping up his palms, before his door opened. Someone was saying, “Move it back, will you?” as Minho rose out of the car.
His corneas were seared with a camera flash as Chan seemed to think twice, taking Minho’s wrist and guiding him until Minho’s hand was clutching Chan’s forearm.
“Let’s go,” Changbin said.
Someone else held off the reporters, and Minho ignored the questions tossed at them as Chan led them to the restaurant door. He got a whiff of Chan’s cologne as they entered in. Something. Vanilla. Subtle. He wondered if the press being there was deliberate, or if they’d been following somehow. Or some other thing entirely. A leak, someone passing information from the restaurant. If there wasn’t documentation, however, then Chan couldn’t use it to his advantage. He’d kept his head up, not trying to hide. And as they were guided to their table, he was glad the evening had been warm enough to go out without a jacket. He could imagine them standing there, wherever, Chan helping him out of a jacket, or later back into it. Too much to think about in one night. He wondered if he imagined the hush lifting around them as they got fully seated. Chan treated him like his date, gesturing that he should sit before Chan sat as well.
When asked what wine was wanted, Minho demurred to Chan’s preference. There wasn’t anything he disliked so much. He wasn’t going to just order the same thing as Chan to eat, but he wasn’t going to get the most expensive item, either. He was pretty sure he caught someone taking a picture with their phone as they looked at their menus. No flash at least.
“You’ve been here before?” Minho asked.
“A few times,” Chan said. “Though just with friends. That’s why I knew I wanted to bring you here. Plus it’s pretty easy to secure, and there’s not as much gawking.”
“Do you mean you want to be able to enjoy a private life?” Minho asked, and was pleased when Chan’s dimples played out.
“It does make life a little more interesting, yeah. I think I’ll get the steak.”
They sipped wine after their orders were taken, tried the appetizer that Chan had opted to order and offered for Minho to share.
“You told me about how you make some of your jewelry, but not how you got where you are now, with your own place. If you don’t mind?” Chan asked. “I mean, I’d tell you how I got to be a prince, but… Some of the backstory to that even I don’t want to know.”
That nearly had Minho snorting. But the story was easy enough to tell, with the obligatory warning to stop him if it got boring. How there had been an elective art class in high school that had featured jewelry making, though with much less difficulty than he was doing then. It had sparked an interest, as he’d had little idea of what he planned to do with himself after graduation besides get into a university and study who knew what. He’d gotten a job in a local jewelry store after that that specialized in repairs, and was taken on as an apprentice.
“I got my foot in, took jewelry design classes, started to get certified. It takes a couple of years to get all the experience you need in, more if you’re not doing it full time. You don’t just show up one day and declare you’ve done it. I also learned as much as I could with a minor in gemology, and actually graduated with a degree in business administration. All the rest of it was just sort of centered around that. Another degree in jewelry design. It’s not strictly necessary, but at the time I wanted to know everything. Prove I knew everything. Once I was certified, I’d worked at three or four stores by then doing basic design, making custom pieces. I always knew I wanted to have my own place, though. My taste isn’t everyone’s, but it’s a bit like a museum. Not everyone’s going to like everything, but they’ll hopefully find one thing they like enough to take home with them.”
“For the cost of your light bill.”
“Something like that,” Minho laughed. “You see predatory stuff out there, too. Badly made, badly designed jewelry. Plated stuff that’s passed off as the real thing. Bad quality stones. All of it. Even if they’re buying lab-made stones, which can be expensive too, they shouldn’t be falling out of their mounts in a month. That’s just shi— Poor craftsmanship.”
He hauled back his curse word, as Chan’s lips trembled in laughter.
“So you want to be a store people can trust.”
“Yeah. Some people are buying as investment, or for a special event, or just because. And it shouldn’t matter if it’s cubic zirconia or a rock from the moon, it should be something they could be proud of. And I wanted multiple price points. Not everyone can just drop a ton of money on a 2 carat diamond ring. Some only do high end, some only do things that turn fingers green. I like high end well enough, but green fingers not so much.”
“Have you ever talked someone out of a bad purchase?”
At least ten stories immediately popped into his head. “Well. There’s one store across town that’s pretty well known among the reputable to be… a little shady. And this guy came in wanting an engagement ring. Turns out he’d gone to the shady place and got a quote and was shopping around to see if anyone would match it, like he was pitching a car dealership against each other. Like we didn’t know why he’d been underquoted. So I explained what all was wrong with the ring he was looking at. He bought a ring from me for not much more, and ended up sending me an e-mail later saying a buddy had bought from the shady place and literally had the ring fall apart one day while his wife was cleaning it. Like the casting was flawed, soldering, all of it. Some people don’t listen and do whatever they want, but it’s nice when someone takes something good away from it.”
“Education, and not just sales and creation,” Chan said.
“Exactly,” Minho said.
“You can really see how much you love it. I really like hearing someone talk about something they enjoy. Even if I don’t know anything much about it, when you can tell, it’s really something.”
It helped that Chan was a good listener. It naturally ebbed and flowed as they ate, interspersed with talk of the food, the restaurant, other restaurants. Chan would think of another question based on whatever Minho had already said, and they’d tangent off of that. Chan was pleasant to the waiter who took care of their table, flustered her once with a smile that she hid well until turning to Minho who knew exactly how she felt. He was afraid his face didn’t quite reach sympathy but they exchanged a knowing glance anyway.
If Chan noticed he wisely didn’t say anything. When Minho declined dessert, that set in motion the wheels of leaving. There was no option to make an offer to pay, he knew better. And Chan murmured to stay close, that they’d get in on the same side of the car that time. There was still press there, but further back, as they were ushered to the car. Minho slid in first, followed by Chan, and they both exhaled in unison as the door closed.
“Does— Do you get used to that?” Minho asked.
“To a point. If it’s just me, I don’t much mind. Everyone around me is trained to handle it, also. But it’d be nice if they didn’t make you never want to leave your front door again.”
Concern for Minho, then. Chan only really relaxed once the car was in motion again.
“Remember when we talked about custom rings and I mentioned one for my mother? I wonder… Would there be a good time to talk more about that? I didn’t want to in the restaurant.”
“Any day after closing would probably be best. That way you can look around the store, and— Not have to worry about robbers.”
“Things take time, I know, so— Do you have time tomorrow night?”
“Store closes at six. I can stay after.”
“That should work. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s fine. Thank you for dinner. I had a good time, and you were right, the restaurant was very good.”
“Good, I’m glad,” Chan said. There was that awkward space between what they knew they were doing, and what they weren’t. They were not on an actual date. Some of the pleasantries were pleasantries in themselves, and not because some greater impression needed to be made. “I think… I think we accomplished what we set out to do.”
“That’s good,” Minho said. “I hope it works beyond that.”
Chan nodded. And for a moment, reached out, rubbing the sleeve of Minho’s shirt between two fingers.
“That really does look nice.”
Minho was glad for the relative dark, as his ears began to burn. “Whoever picked it out did a good job.”
It certainly hadn’t been him.
“Have a good night, and thanks again,” Chan said, when they’d parked in front of the apartment building.
“You’re welcome, and— Yeah. Thanks. Have a good night, too.”
The words stumbled out, and he exited the car.
“I don’t think any press will have laid in wait in your building,” Changbin said, following Minho in through the door. “But I’ll sleep better tonight if I know you got in safely.”
Minho figured arguing would take as long as just letting Changbin do what he wanted to.
“Did you get to eat?” Minho asked, as they rode up in the elevator.
“I ate before. They do have good food there, though. Looked like you both had a nice time.”
“He’s easy to talk to,” Minho said, surprised both by the fact that yes, he’d had a nice time, and that what he’d said was true also.
“You wouldn’t know he’d popped out of the womb with a crown on sometimes,” Changbin agreed. The elevator dinged its arrival, and Changbin held the door as Minho made his way a few doors down and got his own door unlocked. They waved, and Minho let himself in. He let out another sigh as the door locked behind him. His apartment. Same space as always. The man he saw in the bathroom mirror was the same one he’d been when he’d left. He still looked fine. Nothing in his teeth. He’d eaten with Chan once before, sure, but it hadn’t felt like that night. If it looked to the press and the diners around them like a date, it was because it had felt very close to one, too.
“Operation single prince, phase one,” he muttered, as he took off his rings. That was all it was. Whether Chan liked the shirt or not had been immaterial. That it felt nice couldn’t be denied, though. He’d just repeat to himself what he’d told his mom. Chan was showing his gratitude, and getting something in return.
***
Pictures of the date had gone viral, just as Chan had predicted. Pictures of his surprise at the first flash, pictures after Chan had taken his hand, pictures of his hand on Chan’s arm. Minho looked like he was looking through them, almost, like he was the guard. Next to the severe black of Chan’s outfit, and in the light of the camera flashes, Minho’s silk shirt almost seemed to shimmer. He’d gotten high compliments from his mother, some perplexed reactions from his friends, and laughter from Jeongin who’d at least known what everything would look like. He was bemused at one title “Prince Chan and the Shopkeeper.” It was charming. Truly a modern day fairy tale.
Jeongin, though curious, left Minho to close the store alone. Another day, maybe, he could meet Chan, if Chan so chose. It was and wasn’t odd to him how different he felt waiting for Chan that night versus either other time they’d met on purpose. He knew how client consultations went, even very choosy, demanding clients. And while Chan was a prince, he’d yet to make himself out to be particularly choosy. Not even particularly demanding, though the way he’d gone about getting Minho into his scheme of putting off marriage to someone he had no interest in had been at the very least advocating for it. As princes learned to do, he assumed. Sometimes things needed to be done, and people needed to be won over. Whether it was a commoner or a king.
So it came to be that Crown Prince Chan entered his store, fully shuttered and locked after Chan and Changbin entered. They had been prompt, fifteen minutes after the hour as Minho had suggested in case there had been latecomers who lingered. Whether Chan ended up purchasing something from him or not, he intended to be helpful.
“What’s her favorite stone? Birthstone? Color?” Minho asked, as Chan moved to a case to peer in.
“Red,” Chan said.
“So, garnet, ruby. There are other stones, too, that are beautiful even if they’re not typical or even expensive.”
He gave Chan a walking tour of the displays, pointing out different designs, different stones, different arrangements.
“I have some loose stones in the back, ready to be set. It’s not limited to just what’s in the cases. I can show you?”
Chan followed him into the back, and Minho considered. There were a number of different stones that qualified. Not just the traditionally known precious or semi-precious stones. He excluded tiny stones, because if Chan decided on a larger one, they could accent them as needed. He chose four, hand hesitating over each as he considered. Each had their charms, their differences. He only noticed as he placed them out that Changbin hadn’t followed them into the workroom.
“This is a really pretty red spinel,” Minho said. “They come in other colors. Black. Pink. Almost all gemstones have some variety in them, depending on their composition. This one is tourmaline. Garnet, ruby.”
“I like the shape of this one,” Chan said, tapping in front of a red, oval stone.
“That’s a nice one. Does she like rings that stand up off the finger, or lie flatter?”
“Definitely flatter. I’ve seen her try and fight gloves and pockets before. Coat sleeves.”
Minho grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil, contemplating. “With an oval stone… Shoulders make a ring stand up higher, so that’s not it. If you want a center stone with stones circling it, it would be a halo. A bezel setting is pretty for a stone like that oval one, because it doesn’t have the prongs that would otherwise snag things. And you could still have accent stones to the sides if you wanted, maybe little triangles. It’s more of a vintage style.”
“You’re speaking her language,” Chan said, putting his finger on the paper where Minho had sketched a design. “I like that, that last one. The bezel.”
“What metal? Rose gold is favored by some since it has that pinkish hue to compliment the red. But it looks pretty in yellow gold, or platinum. White gold, even. You don’t have to decide right now,” Minho said, laughing when Chan took on a look like he’d just pointed a weapon at him. “I don’t know if cost is an issue. Does she tend to wear a lot of any one color? Gold? Yellow gold, or silver?”
“Her wedding set is yellow gold,” Chan said, and seemed to be more on even footing again. “I like the thought of it being a little different. Maybe the rose gold like you said?”
After seeing a few similar examples with different stones and configurations, Chan nodded. “That’s it. That’s— Let’s do that. This ring here. Can you get it done by her birthday?”
It took a second for it to register that Chan meant it, that they hadn’t been walking down some imaginary path, creating a fantasy.
“If we get a stone, yes. Of course. I can work up a cost for you—“
Chan held up a hand. “Don’t— If you need something upfront, like for the stone, let me know. Otherwise, don’t worry.”
How would it be to have money at his disposal where one could purchase a custom ring without worrying about its price? Even for a milestone birthday gift.
“That’s putting a lot of trust in me from the top down.”
“You’ve explained well,” Chan said. “And given me price examples. You could hardly cheat me too badly. And it’s something unique, something only she’ll have that’s like that. You deserve payment for your time and skill, too.”
“You’ll want a better stone than this,” Minho said, touching the oval stone. “The clarity on this is nice for a middle-tier ring, but there are better at a higher price point. That’ll be the biggest expense. I can find one that will suit a flatter bezel, though it might reduce the actual carats of the stone. But with a higher quality, clarity, it’ll be better suited for her, and the long term value of the ring as well. I’ll go and take a look Monday, see what they have in stock, or if we need to order options in.”
“When you find one, call Changbin, and he’ll get you set so we can arrange payment for it.”
Minho nodded. “That’ll work.”
He watched, curious, as Chan drew a box out of his pocket. A familiar box.
“You were saying how it needed cleaned?” Chan said. “Not that I mean to make you work even more after hours than you already have. You can do it after you open, or—”
For the second time, Minho drew out the green-stoned ring. Not to put on his finger by accident that time. “No better time than now. It won’t take very long, if you have the time? Let me take a closer look at it.”
Given that it belonged to the royal family, and its age, he assumed the stones to be real, and that turned out to be the case as he examined it. If he’d had any nerves, they would have fled then as his whole focus went to the ring itself, not on the man behind him. The center stone was emerald, a beautiful shade, with inclusions as natural emeralds usually had. The stones set around it were diamonds as he’d also thought. Well set, all of them still solid in the ring. Just the little scratches on the gold that he’d seen which were probably from normal wear over the years.
“Emeralds are very hard, but brittle, and can be treated with oil for tiny imperfections,” Minho said, walking over to the counter instead. “Makes some of them look better. So some of the ways you’d normally clean jewelry like steam or vibration won’t work. You really don’t want to be soaking them, using too hot of water, the wrong soap—“
He got out a little bowl, a cleaning solution he used for just that purpose and a soft brush. The ring wasn’t so especially dirty, but the results were noticeable to the eye as he cleaned. He rattled out some more facts about cleaning rings, as though Chan truly cared or would be needing that information himself. It helped him focus, as he didn’t usually have an audience doing little jobs like that. Once the ring had been rinsed off, he dried it with what was actually just a cheap hair dryer. Whatever worked. And then polished it. Chan watched, but didn’t ask questions as Minho finished the process. The scratches faded, surfaces brilliant and gleaming again as his fingertips went dark with the polish. He inspected it one last time, and offered it back to Chan.
“Wow,” was all Chan could say at first. “It doesn’t look as old as it did.”
That was the best compliment. He smirked as he settled back against his work table, still sitting on his stool.
“That’s the importance of maintenance. A lot of rings are made well, but they’re not indestructible. Some stones are lost over time because they haven’t been looked at to be sure they’re still safe. Nothing needs to be done to that now. It’s ready to wear.”
Chan tucked it back into the box, pocketing it.
“Thank you. It never really thought about what goes on behind the scenes like this. What do I owe you for the cleaning?”
“No charge today,” Minho said.
The ring Chan would be paying for was well worth the cost of a ring cleaning.
“Then, the next time I’ll see you will be Wednesday,” Chan said.
And if he meant to soothe Minho’s heart, he failed. So much further out of his element than right then.
“Oh yes, Wednesday.” Breezy.
Chan saw through it. “I should be with or near you the whole time. I’ll get to show you a little more of my side of things. It’s just all interesting,” Chan said, looking around the shop. He touched a rack of hammers and mallets, looked at pliers hanging in a line. “Magic.”
Dealing with people was magic, too. So he’d see how Chan worked his kind of magic far too soon.
***
The next few days were busy. Not only working in the store, but getting called in for a fitting for the suit he’d wear for the Wednesday reception. And going to his stone supplier to find the most ideal oval stone to set for the queen’s birthday gift. And true to his word, when Minho had decided on the stone, it had taken one call to Changbin and handing over his phone to the proprietor, before the payment had been handled. It was insured before Minho set a foot outside, tucked carefully inside of his jacket as he took a taxi. He only relaxed, really, when he was in the shop. He traced the outside of the stone onto paper, and locked it into a safe. He’d been making the ring in his head since they’d talked, and had spent hours in the shop after closing working with the gold, shaping the ring itself. Chan had gotten him information of the size to make it, which certainly helped. He had to free his mind from thinking who the ring was for as he tapped the gold around the tapered mandrel to smooth it into the shape he wanted. It was bigger than the size of the ring would be, because he would cut it at the top, split it, shape it so that it cradled the bezel-set red stone between it. That way it would sit even and low, hugging smooth against the finger. He wanted it to look elegant, vintage, but not old. And it wasn’t a romantic gift, but one full of love. If anything, he tried to channel that.
And though in some instances he might have stayed up all night working, he slept as well as he could Tuesday night with the knowledge that Wednesday was coming whether he liked it or not. Minho had his phone, his charger, his wallet, a packet of jewelry for the stylist to choose from, and himself when a car was sent to pick him up. No Changbin that time. He was glad he was alone in the back of the car as his eyes widened as they approached the palace. Oh right. The palace. It would happen at the palace. Where the king and queen lived. But he was not taken into the main entrance, which eased his anxiety somewhat. Inside, it seemed like he was led through a maze to a room where he could wait. A room specifically for him, as he saw the suit he’d just been fitted for hanging there. There were drinks set out, snacks. A vanity table he assumed would be for him to have someone do his hair and makeup. A further investigation showed a bathroom, complete with shower. A place to wash up at least, as he’d washed his hair that morning. He let out a quiet breath, sipped from a bottled drink and relaxed in one of the chairs. He’d been sitting there, scrolling anxiously on his phone when a knock tapped on the door, and then a head poked around it when it opened.
“You made it,” Changbin said, grinning. “You okay? Chan got caught up, so he’s running a bit behind.”
“That’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t have to worry about being late,” Minho said, grinning a little.
“There’s a little binder there with the most important guests tonight. You won’t be greeting them on your own, but so you know faces maybe if you want. No need otherwise,” Changbin said. “I had them make you a copy of Chan’s. He likes to look it over in case there’s someone there he doesn’t know so well.”
Minho had seen the binder, but hadn’t known what it was for. “Oh, okay. What time should I be ready for…”
He waved around him at the suit and vanity.
“Should be right after Chan, to my knowledge. Probably do your face and hair, first. I’m going to guess around five. I’ll try and text you a fifteen minute warning. No promises.”
“That’s fine. Thanks,” Minho said.
Changbin half saluted, and closed the door behind himself. He picked up the binder, blessedly light, and took it back to his seat. Still, the number of names and faces swam. Some he knew just by existing in the world of multimedia. There were a couple of anecdotes that accompanied each profile. Kids, if they were in school, pets, positions, all of that kind of thing. Details for Chan to squirrel away and ask about. He’d have worried he’d ask someone with a dog if their kids were graduating soon himself. But a prince was different.
Minho consoled and frightened himself that if that night would be a small reception, the queen’s birthday could be a circus. He half was glad that that night would almost serve as a dress rehearsal. Part of him wanted to be waiting in his workroom to put that energy into crafting the queen’s ring, or some other creation. Part of him just wanted to close his eyes and phase out. Another quiet tap about half an hour later had him sitting straighter, and that time it was Chan. Not poking his head around, but letting himself in, dropping into a chair across from Minho and taking his idea and closing his eyes. He looked all shined up, a clearly designer outfit that didn’t seem quite his style, heavy makeup, the works.
“I can’t stay. If I’m lucky I have ten minutes before I get pulled back. How are you?”
Chan’s eyes opened again all of a sudden on the question, almost startling him.
“Doing fine. Just relaxing. Which it sounds like you should be doing.”
“At least I’ll get to sit down during dinner,” Chan said, and laughed. A little wryly, Minho thought. “Excited? Nervous?”
“A bit of everything,” Minho said.
“I see Changbin got you the binder. Fun, huh?”
“How do you keep the details straight?” Minho asked.
“Years of experience. Plus Changbin to whisper things to me if I forget, when we’re walking to another group. He has a little cheat sheet. So you can imagine me being all sotto voce, like wait, how many kids does this one have?”
It was cute. It made Chan feel…a little more human.
“So he has to know almost as much as you.”
“To his chagrin,” Chan agreed. And sighed, at a tap on the door. He sent would-be beguiling puppy dog eyes as Changbin poked his head around and stared at him. “I have to get ready still.”
Changbin, unfazed by the wheedling tone or the look, just shrugged like he didn’t make the rules. “They said one more session.”
“Magazine pictures,” Chan muttered at Minho. “Someone will be back eventually.”
Minho just watched, amused, as he disappeared out the door with Changbin. No wonder he’d looked a little overly done-up. It hadn’t looked like dinner reception attire, not compared to the suit hanging behind him. He got his fifteen minute warning, though, wandering into the bathroom to wash up a little. He was prepared when a woman came bustling in with a kit, and he got directed to the vanity as she did a very little bit to his face. Just enough to make him not wash out in pictures, he imagined, or gleam in the light. His hair was next.
“You’ll want to have it cut before the reception for the queen,” she suggested. And left a card with him so he could make an appointment.
He didn’t look all that much different than before she’d come in, but a little sleeker. He got dressed from the bottom up, coming back out of the bathroom in the suit pants and shirt, and she made sure the tie was correct before looking through his jewelry and choosing a ring for both hands. She left a drape for him that he should put around his neck in case he needed to drink anything before the party started. A bib, she could have just called it. All he’d have to do after that was put the jacket on, and he was ready. But he didn’t do that yet, instead letting himself stay aired out. There was a little safe in the room that he was able to set for the remainder of his belongings. And then he waited. And waited. And waited. Knee jiggling as he read on his phone and watched the time.
There wasn’t even a knock that time, Changbin just busting in with Chan on his heels.
“Hurry up and wait,” Changbin said, cheerfully, as Minho stood to put his phone in the safe and close it. It was close enough to the time, and unless they left him behind, he wouldn’t need the notifications. He grabbed the jacket, slipping into it as Chan checked his hair in the vanity again.
“Everything happens all the time,” Chan said, turning back as Minho was finishing the buttons. “Oh, I like that suit.”
It fit nicely, as money would dictate. He did like it, also. It fit, not too slim, but not too boxy. The tie was a sedate blue with faint gold markings. It felt a bit like when his mother would dress him up to get ready to go to a wedding when he was younger. He pasted on a silly face, and Chan laughed.
“Ready?”
“As I ever will be,” Minho agreed.
***
He had not bowed to Chan even once since he’d arrived, Minho realized as they were led toward the ballroom where the dinner would be held. It became obvious as others did when greeting him, even perfunctory nods of the head. They were not the first ones there, far from it, though he also suspected they were not the last, either. Every name, face, and detail that he’d looked at fled away from his brain as he looked at a sea of chatting faces. A small gathering, Chan had said. Small enough. He followed Chan’s cues, staying close and by his side, smiling politely when Chan introduced him. His capacity for small talk was going to have to be much deeper and wider, he realized. He needed an entire ocean-sized pool of it. He couldn’t whip back some quip in return to the 70th inane question about how he was enjoying the party. Two glasses of champagne were personally overseen into their hands by Changbin, though Chan barely touched his. Minho sipped judiciously, not wanting to get tipsy before they made it to the food.
He’d never seen Chan in a suit in person before that night. It occurred to him that Chan might’ve looked like anyone else, but he didn’t. He still exuded crown prince aura even in a suit and tie, and it was helped by the insignia and whatnot he wore. He stood out, just smiling and greeting people. There was a brief and terrifying span of time when Minho had been left to his own devices, Changbin pulling Chan away and all but lasering Minho with his eyes to keep him in place. So he continued to talk to Mr. And Mrs. Whoever who apparently were in some sort of real estate. And then it had been some other couple who found what Minho did “charming.” Which made him feel like he was raising chickens in his back yard and spinning wool for the market somehow. Probably meant in the direction of good will. Probably. Everyone was a different level of fancy, which was beyond his understanding. Diamonds glittered that were more than a year’s rent on his shop. Designer gowns, expensive shoes. Those that didn’t yell opulence still had an understated fanciness to them. Friends the ambassador had made along his career, other government officials, extended family of the palace, oligarchs, and who knew what. He hadn’t seen Hyunjin, but he suspected even if he was not there, some member of his family was. For being a monarchy, the levers that moved the government went far beyond the scope of a king on the throne. And that was what Chan would be inheriting.
He’d pasted his smile back in place when he caught sight of Chan being escorted back in his direction, and they had a bubble of privacy for at least that small amount of time.
“Sorry. I— Sorry. They’re about to call for us to start being seated for dinner.”
And that was the case. They were seated together at a round table, and waiters carefully weaved among them all, bringing several courses, whisking away dishes, providing drinks. His half-finished glass of champagne had been spirited away before he’d been seated, and there was a bit more raucous atmosphere than the fine dining restaurant Chan had taken him to just days earlier. There were spouts of laughter, a few speakers as they ate, some mostly pleasant conversation from around the table itself. Most of Chan’s attention was taken up by the man to his right, who’d apparently held in quite a lot that he needed to discuss. Even listening to it from past Chan had Minho wanting to sigh.
“They hold their value very well,” Minho told the woman to his left as she seemed to be enjoying discussing her very lovely emerald and diamond bracelet with him. It looked at the very least very well made, and discussing jewelry was never going to be boring to him. So he had no complaints there.
As the dinner portion faded, and the ceremony itself was over - Chan had gone up to the front for that, but Minho had only had to watch then, not speak - all that was left was more socializing. He couldn’t say for the majority of time that he was bored. Some of it was even interesting. The rest was somewhere in between with a tendency towards tedious.
“Doing all right?” Chan asked.
“I feel like a cheap lawn ornament getting stuck by accident in a museum display,” Minho said, and at the concerned glint in Chan’s eyes, Minho shook his head. “No, the clothes are fine. Everyone’s been fine. It’s interior, not exterior.”
Oh, there’d been those few, subtle, possibly catty remarks. He was, after all, the help coming to dine among the nobility. But overall he thought it had gone fairly well. He hadn’t dumped food or drink over himself or anyone else, and the woman put beside him had been knowledgeable enough about jewelry and interested enough to chat about it that he had been pretty sure her being put beside him had been on purpose. The jewelry she had worn had been much flashier than most of the pieces he had ever made, and much more expensive as well. He’d have liked to have looked at it closer, instead of just complimenting her on it, but that would have been rude.
“Most of the people here were born to this, married into it, or bought their way in,” Chan murmured. “They didn’t do anything special. If anything, they’re the ones in the display by accident.”
Minho glanced at him, but Chan’s head had turned, smiling at the man who approached them to greet Chan.
***
By the time they edged out of the room, when it apparently became polite to do so, Minho wanted to fling his tie across the room and drink something that didn’t taste like it’d come out of a cask from 400 years earlier. But when he was preparing to do just that, Chan was smoothing down his hair and guzzling a drink. One roll of the neck later he sighed, and smiled at Minho.
“You made it! Want to run away now?”
Minho laughed, probably ignoring all proper etiquette as he took a seat while Chan was still standing.
“It wasn’t that bad…in the moment. I might need a week to process that before I figure my final answer, though.”
“I’d offer to ride home with you, but I have a private reception I have to go to,” Chan said, and sighed. “Luckily for you, not something you need to join in on.”
Minho stared at the clock on the wall. “So late?”
“The levers never stop. Changbin, you had…?”
“A car is on the way,” Changbin confirmed. “I’ll be going with Chan, but the driver will come here directly to get you.”
“Okay,” Minho said. He understood why Chan was bracing himself for another round of socializing. “This is where I say good luck and thank you for having me.”
Chan’s lips quirked. “It was fun having someone nearby who hadn’t been to a few dozen of these. Kept my brain from flying off. Since that was so long and went so late, maybe we ought to take a few days before meeting up again. Maybe not something so formal. Lunch? Maybe Monday or Tuesday?”
Minho tried to remember his schedule. “I’ll have to check but one of those days should work.”
Chan looked to Changbin. “He can stand to see my face again after tonight. I must’ve done okay.”
“He can hear you,” Changbin replied.
Minho did his best to hide the roll of his eyes.
“Get some rest,” Chan said, that time to Minho.
But Minho did stand before Chan left, out of respect if nothing else. “I’d say the same. I hope you get to.”
“Soon,” Chan said, though with not much conviction.
Changbin sent back a wave after he followed Chan out of the room, and Minho retrieved his belongings from the safe. He wanted to crawl into bed and lie flat and never move again. And he’d have to be up to open the store in the morning. Coffee, he decided. He followed the driver to the car, absently watched the city pass by on the way to the apartment. The driver stayed at the curb until Minho was safely inside, and Minho flung his tie across the room when he’d gotten locked into his apartment. After a shower and with the drink he’d wanted, he relaxed. And idly wondered if Chan had yet gotten to do the same.
***
Minho had gotten a few pieces of mail sent to the store since the first date. Some complimentary, some a little wistful, some wishing him luck. He wasn’t sure how people had that much time to write to a total stranger to wish them well in dating the crown prince. Them being endeared by him helping the prince during the robbery notwithstanding. But after the ambassador’s retirement dinner, he got the first negative letter. If it could be called that.
Leave the prince alone.
Well, if only they knew he was only there at the prince’s request. He hadn’t wormed his way in on purpose. He put it out of his head, adding it to the stack of “fan mail” and ignoring it. His mother had sent him every picture he’d even partially ended up in. Some were quite complimentary in their accompanying text, other had observations or suggestions for improvement like, You have lovely posture or You look a little bored here.
She didn’t take his retort of, Maybe I should walk around with this expression instead??, and the accompanying picture of him pulling a face like he’d just smelled something terrible, as a viable suggestion.
Not even Chan looked ravaged by delight in every single shot, so he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do. His time travel machine was broken down at the moment, so he couldn’t go back in time and change that millisecond of expression. Still, she seemed to be delighted in gossiping with her friends about it, so it amused him more than anything. There wasn’t any appreciable uptick in business after the dinner, but it still stayed steady. And he used that time, and Jeongin’s availability, to work both during and after work on the queen’s ring. It was a much faster turnaround than he would have promised anyone else without a premium rush payment, however because Chan had declined to see any mockups more than the sketches, Minho wanted that extra time afterward in case he would have to scrap his work, or make any changes. He’d had customers who said they “trusted him” before who ended up wanting further alterations done, and while he was loath to argue with a prince, he instead made the ring as true to what they discussed as possible.
He took the most time setting the center stone, the showpiece. Not a huge stone, it would still command attention. And the color, the clarity of it, were all amazing. The nicest stone he’d worked with in a while. After setting that, he shaped and smoothed the band, created the settings for the small triangle of diamonds that would adorn either side of the bezel. Smooth, polish, shape, file, solder, clean, shape, smooth, polish.
When it was done, he could hardly believe it, staring at it in the back room and just turning it over and around, looking for imperfections that he wanted to fix. Not any one thing could be absolutely perfect, and he didn’t want to pick so much that he created a problem instead of fixing one, but— It was beautiful. It was something, after he let it sit overnight and went back to stare at it in the morning, that he wouldn’t be in any way ashamed to present. Even Jeongin approved, before Minho locked it back into the safe.
Lunch, as promised, turned out to be a more low key affair. Since Minho went straight from work, he wore his normal work clothes to it. Chan wore a similar level of formality, as he’d clearly seen Minho in the store before. They ate on a private terrace, taking advantage of fall sun, and Minho tried to ignore the part where there were press and cameras huddled across the street.
“Any lingering effects from the dinner?” Chan asked.
“Not that I know of. Everyone who saw the pictures thought it looked really fancy and cool. And it was, just… more riding on it than your average party. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, or you. Not that anyone would have blamed you.”
Chan hummed, acknowledging that. “Oh, sure, they’d have said at least he tried to do a nice thing.”
It no longer felt like a felony offense to level Chan a look, not when Chan seemed so amused by it. Maybe it was nice, in a way, to be treated “normally.” Not with deference and near reverence. He’d take that away from it, no matter what happened. It was a pleasant meal, anyway, with Chan regaling of the after-party talks which had just been people sitting around chatting over drinks apparently. Chan had apparently been lucky not to just fall asleep as it had stretched beyond midnight. But they didn’t linger, getting back to the car after they finished eating. Chan living up to his promise that it wouldn’t take much time out of Minho’s day.
“Leading up to the ball, it’s going to be…busy,” Chan said, which Minho took as an understatement. “So this might be the last time we have to meet up. The announcement will go out that you’ll be my guest, probably in the next day or two, so… Just be prepared for the onslaught.”
“I can manage that,” Minho said. “Speaking of the ball, do you have time to stop by the store to look at the ring? We can go in the back entrance.”
Chan polled his guard of the day, and got the all-clear for that.
“Is it done?” Chan asked eagerly.
“Maybe. I want you to see it, to be sure,” Minho said.
He let them in the back door, giving Jeongin a text as a heads-up. And he pulled the black velvet ring box from the safe, offering it to Chan. Chan just looked at him for a beat, like he was preparing himself, before he flipped up the top of the lid. Chan was quiet a moment, turning the box in various directions, making the stones sparkle and the setting gleam. Ruby circled by gold, set between two, curving arms of the ring’s shank and cradled there, with diamond trios beside the center stone. It almost seemed like Chan was afraid to touch it, the glow of red, sparkle of white, and the warmth of the gold.
“It’s beautiful. More beautiful than anything I could’ve ever imagined. That’s amazing how you can do that when it was just loose stones and metal? It seems…unreal.”
“Struggling to shape it the way you see in your head makes it feel too real,” Minho said, laughing a little wryly. He waggled an envelope in his hand. “The packet has the pricing, all the provenance for insurance purposes. Everything you need from me.”
“She’s going to be dazzled by it. I’m dazzled by it,” Chan said, half acknowledging Minho’s dose of reality. “I can take it with me?”
“Of course. I wanted it to be done as soon as possible in case there was anything you wanted changed.”
Chan leaned away a little, like Minho would try to snatch the ring back. “No, just this— This is wonderful. And someone will get the payment to you right away,” Chan said.
Minho’s investment in it, minus time, hadn’t been so much. The cost of the gold, mostly. Still, he wasn’t going to say no to being reimbursed. It pleased him, maybe a little too much, the glee and admiration on Chan’s face. Like he was already imagining his mother’s reaction to it. And Minho hadn’t had to imagine Chan’s reaction. That had always been one of his favorite parts of making custom jewelry. There had been a few times where edits had needed to be made, but he was careful to be sure no one’s face fell in disappointment. Chan’s certainly hadn’t.
“Thank you,” Chan said, and truly meant it.
When Chan left with the ring, Minho was glad the store was still open. When it was quiet for a bit, Jeongin found him cleaning a customer’s wedding rings.
“How’d he like it?” Jeongin asked.
“He liked it.” And scoffed when Jeongin poked him. “He really liked it. But, that’s him. I don’t know if he has more taste than’s on his tongue, so who knows if she’ll like it.”
“If she has more taste she will. Um. Her Majesty will? This is weird,” Jeongin said.
“I don’t think they arrest informality in private,” Minho mused.
But it was weird. Someone with a title like that would even look at something he’d made. Someone who’d have that title was carrying it with him.
“I don’t think we’ll have any more interesting customers,” Minho said.
“There’ve been more demanding ones.”
Oh yeah, they could talk about that all day.
***
The day of the queen’s birthday ball went much like the ambassador’s dinner had. A car picked Minho up at the store, and because there were going to be many more guests that night than the previous event, Minho was upgraded, or downgraded he wasn’t sure which, from a private dressing room to a shared one. The upgraded part was that the room he was sharing was the prince’s. He had an interior, private bedroom that was connected, but the room Minho was seated in was basically a sitting room off of that. It had its own bathroom, basically for guests, he guessed. Though from what he knew, Chan also kept some kind of condo downtown that he was known to stay at. The lifestyles of the rich and royal. Not that Chan lived off the government money. From what he knew, Chan’s mother had brought some considerable wealth into the marriage, so he assumed that was what Chan had the benefit of beyond what he was afforded as crown prince. He didn’t scream opulence, but he didn’t walk around looking like your average mid-20’s adult, either.
Chan floated in and out a couple of times, and Minho waved away his regret at not being able to keep Minho company. There was nothing to be done for it, and he didn’t need his hand held every moment. There’d been some sporadic texts since their last date, interesting as though Chan wanted the connection between the week and a half or so of absence. It’d been cute, mostly, random shots out the window of a car, a picture of a menu, belatedly wondering whether there was anything Minho didn’t like to eat. It was a weird limbo kind of place between not really dating, and not really friends. Tentatively more the latter than anything. Chan had seemed suitably impressed when Minho had reciprocated with a picture of an in-progress ring on his bench.
Though Chan had also written back, You’re still working?? like the hypocrite he was, as sure, Minho was working after the store was closed, but Chan was absolutely still working also.
Mostly he’d put the ball out of his mind, beyond the last fitting for his tuxedo. Again, all he had to do was show up. Changbin hadn’t even bothered giving him a book that afternoon with names and pictures in it. Too many people. Really soothed his anxieties, that one. Minho could recognize the queen, and that seemed to be all that was important.
Makeup was a little more aggressive that night, as there would be photos with the press his stylist said. He just let her do what she wanted. When she was done, there was a slight emphasis to his eyes, but not so much anyone would have been able to point out he wore so much makeup. He pursed his lips for the tint she applied, before declaring him good. As with the last time, she decided which of his rings he would wear, helping him with his cufflinks, and stayed nearly until he was in everything but the tuxedo jacket. He was glad he had an expert to tie the white bow tie. He’d need ten more years to be proficient.
But nothing prepared him for Chan’s outfit. For some reason in his little pea brain, he’d expected Chan would be decked out in a tuxedo also. Instead, he only belatedly remembered that at formal state events, public or private as it was that night, apparently Chan wore formal, military dress. As crown prince, he had the obligation, perhaps, of wearing them. Different than the fine, black suit that he’d worn at the dinner party before, the jacket of the uniform was a brilliant red, epaulets gold and black. All the same signifiers and medals he’d worn before adorned the jacket that night, too. He looked like a beacon. If anyone took their eyes off of him to look at anyone else, it’d be nearly unrealistic. His hair was smoothed and Minho half suspected if he’d touched it, it wouldn’t have moved.
And yet, Chan looked a little grumpy, sighing as he straightened the jacket a little.
“It’s warm,” Chan said, answering Minho’s question before it could be asked.
“It’s very…” Minho had lost the word he was going for as Chan looked at him, faced him fully. Chan’s eyebrows rose, waiting for Minho’s judgment. “Eye-catching.”
Chan clearly took it as a compliment Minho had been mostly intending it to be, as he preened a little. Though, he acknowledged the downside to it also.
“It’s very hard to blend into the crowd like this,” Chan admitted. “If someone wants to speak to me, they won’t have any trouble finding me. But this is what my mother requested… Anyway. You’ll get to see quite a lot of me in it."
Cheeky. Minho merely smiled a little at him. “That sounds fine. Like you said, I could hardly miss it.”
He looked like a prince out of a fairy tale, only missing maybe a sash or something. Oh no, there someone was with a sash, securing it beneath an epaulet and letting it drape perfectly to one hip.
“What?” Chan asked, when they were alone again, having caught Minho’s look.
“I’m just glad my tux isn’t brown. I’d look like the cardinal’s wife.”
He could feel his stance getting a little more stiff as Chan looked him over appraisingly.
“There’s something to be said for simplicity. But that’s definitely not what you look like,” Chan said. And when Minho raised an eyebrow, Chan grinned. “Yeah. Send someone that look and they’ll be eating out of your hands.”
“Doesn’t sound very hygienic.”
“Depends on what you get out of it.”
The little wink probably should’ve been suave, but it came off a little bit dorky and endearing for all the fanciness of the rest of him.
“Ah, here,” Chan said, and as Minho watched, pulled the emerald ring from their first meeting from his trouser pocket. Freshly cleaned from its visit to the store, it gleamed in the light. “It’s not technically an engagement ring, just a family ring, so no one would really get that impression. Given the fervor from before, I think it’d be nice for you to wear it. It looked nice on you.”
In the pictures from the robbery. Chan held the ring like he intended to put it on Minho’s hand himself. If they didn’t want it to be seen as an engagement ring, then unlike the pictures where he’d worn it on his left hand, he held out his right hand instead. Chan made no argument, putting one hand under Minho’s and sliding the ring onto his fourth finger. It fit there so perfectly that even Chan was amazed, wiggling it a little to test how it sat.
“No chance of that getting lost, then,” Chan marveled. Minho was uncomfortably aware both of Chan being close as well as Chan still holding his hand. “I don’t know if I should tell you this now or later. Probably now, so you’re not surprised when you see it. But I gave my mother the ring just before I came in here. She loved it, as I was sure she would. She’ll be wearing it tonight.”
Minho almost jerked his hand back in surprise, as though Chan had told him it was on his hand instead.
“She is?”
“She took off a different ring that I know she loves just to make sure she had room. That’s how much she liked it, and I’m sure she’ll tell us all about it when it’s our turn to greet her. I’ll be her favorite son for at least a week now.”
Minho snorted. Maybe he wasn’t an expert on the royal family, but he had absolutely seen Chan interacting with his mother. The fondness there was hardly for show. That was one thing he hadn’t been left in the dark about, the protocol for greeting royalty. Royalty that wasn’t his pretend date.
“I’m glad she likes it,” Minho said.
“Did you wonder?”
Chan almost seemed surprised.
“I knew I’d made it as well as I could from what we discussed. From there I could only hope.” Another thought on his mind came up, knowing they would at least be briefly greeting the queen. “You’ll let me know if I do something wrong?”
“I won’t tackle you,” Chan said. “But yeah, I’ll squeeze your arm or whisper, okay?”
Minho thought for a moment, of him making some enormous faux pas and having Chan squash him into the floor like a bug.
“You’ve introduced a new fear into my head,” Minho said.
Chan winced, giggling. “Sorry.”
With one last check by the stylist and a brief suggestion period of what kind of smile to put on for the cameras, they were both ready. Ready being relative as Chan seated Minho’s right hand firmly on his arm. There would be a moment to meet the press before they entered the ballroom, pictures taken. Like some kind of movie premier. But it would allow pictures to be taken before they were ground down by the length of the event, which Minho could tell would stretch out in front of them.
“It won’t take long,” Chan said.
A kind lie, Minho wondered. They would take no questions, so there was that. But the event staff gave the cue and Chan touched Minho’s hand for a brief moment before they fell into step together and walked out. There was no guesswork to it, told when to stop, where to look. There was a shuffling of cameras and Chan’s head turned toward him a little.
“Good thing they don’t steal our souls,” Chan murmured. “We wouldn’t have much left.”
The joke caught him so off guard that he laughed, turning his head to Chan who’d started to grin from being able to amuse him. He could hear the shutters still working so he got himself back together, pasting his previous smile back on. It was the most “public” portion of the event. There might be ambient pictures taken, but nothing nearly so formal. In a way, it seemed like an hour, but Chan actually was right, as it didn’t take all that long. They were whisked to a completely different area of the room as the queen greeted her guests. That was something Chan wouldn’t take part in, more as a lure to get those crowded to move away and mingle. There was food being set up, but Minho wasn’t hungry. He’d had a snack in the waiting room, not wanting to be either too full or too hungry. He hoped there wouldn’t be a swampy wet spot by Chan’s elbow by the time that Minho let go of his arm. But Chan hadn’t shaken him off. Probably it was good so he didn’t wonder if Minho had just passed out cold beside him. He’d had, he realized, no idea what to expect. He’d half been glad of it or he’d never have slept. Seeing it was different than experiencing it. Some kind of small orchestra, it seemed like, was set up it, playing quiet music. People were talking, eating, experiencing. Everyone dressed up in their best, probably for some of them clothes that had never been worn before like in his case. Not that he’d ever had cause to don white tie clothing before.
The receiving line that they’d missed, given he’d entered with Chan, seemed to be about 12 miles long from the inside.
“Do you ever have to do that?” Minho asked as they moved to a different spot.
“Sometimes. Or if it’s my birthday. But my birthday parties aren’t quite like this. Plus it’s a milestone birthday for her. Though, no one here will tell her that.”
She looked beautiful from what he could see from their distance. But that was when their “work” really began. People, hardly able to miss the red jacket, began to turn them into their own receiving line. Some of the people Chan introduced him to he knew of, others he’d never seen before. And he did try to figure that out, because they’d also met so many people at the dinner that he figured there was some overlap. Some people made that easy by saying it was nice to see him again. He didn’t figure the worst thing in the world was to say it was nice to meet someone he’d already met especially when following Chan’s cues, or that he’d be particularly blamed. Chan remembered some of them, as ah, and you remember Minho. But it was a guarantee, he’d forget most of the people he’d greeted or been introduced to should Chan decide to risk taking him to another function.
Some of them mentioned the ring on the queen’s finger. He knew Chan hadn’t been spreading it around, so either the queen had said something to at least one someone, or had been asked about it. He was complimented on it, sometimes still with that sheen of politeness covering confusion. Why was a craftsman at the ball? Why was the queen’s jeweler on the arm of the prince? The two things were disconnected, he’d have explained if anyone had been rude enough to ask. How thrilling it must be for you. In a way, yes, he supposed it was. There was hardly anyone in the country of higher recognition he could’ve crafted a ring for. Maybe the pseudo royalty of a famous actor or singer. He supposed instead of thrilling, it was an honor. One he’d been compensated for. And he did demure some of that to Chan, as he’d been the instigator for it. It had been his gift. They traded those back and forth, if someone mentioned only Minho or only Chan regarding the ring.
His legs were starting to hurt by the time Chan tugged them into a corner, Changbin bringing drinks and snacks. Minho hadn’t even realized he was hungry until he began to eat. And the liquid soothed his throat.
“You’re doing good,” Chan said, in case Minho was wondering. “Hopefully it’s not too boring.”
“I don’t know if boring is quite the right word. With all this, I don’t know if any of it could be boring.”
The words seemed to soothe Chan’s mind, anyway, as they finished up and made sure none of the food remained on hands, face, or teeth. Back to the guests, Chan bared his teeth like he was going to start snarling, and Minho didn’t quite catch the huff of laughter. But as he took Chan’s arm again, Chan looked at him before they left their little protective bubble.
“Let’s go greet my mom, and get that out of the way before the dancing starts. Just like we talked about.”
Minho could have asked to do it later, he knew that, even as his heartbeat, calm from sitting even that little while, bumped to double time. But Chan was right. It’d get it over with, instead of living in the corner of his mind as something they’d be expected to do.
Bow. Happy birthday, Your Majesty. Tell her it was a lovely party and that he hoped she enjoyed the rest of it. Thank her for having him if she thanked him for coming. Chan steered him in her direction, keeping them both close until her conversation ended with who she was currently speaking to. He couldn’t help but see the ring on her hand, the red glow of it. He couldn’t say it was often that he saw people wearing his jewelry out in the wild. A few pieces he’d done for friends, maybe. To see a ring he’d made on the hand of the queen was something entirely else. Even if she took it off afterwards and never wore it again, she’d worn it that night. Not for him, for Chan, but it still wasn’t going to be something he was going to forget.
When she came up to them, he got through his greeting, his bow, all of it. Only stumbling speaking once, and then pasting a pleasant smile on his face. He’d been vaguely aware of her being present at the dinner they’d attended, but the focus hadn’t been on her. Chan had deliberately not shoved him at his parents that day. Chan’s hand on his back was a comfort as he suspected Chan meant it to be. If only very briefly. There was a crash, a commotion, and they all three looked. Chan sighed.
“I’m sorry. Excuse me, Mother, Minho.”
Minho couldn’t figure out what had happened, and Chan disappeared like the fastest shadow before Minho could even turn to follow. And before he could think to do so for real, the queen was speaking to him again.
“I had a very special gift today,” she said, preening with her hand out and the ring on display. “My son says you helped him design it for me.”
“I showed him options, and he chose from them,” Minho confirmed.
“Wonderful options and wonderful choices, then. Thank you so much for your hard work.”
“You’re welcome. I’m really pleased you like it. I hope it brings a lot of enjoyment.”
“I’ll treasure it. It’s truly a one-of-a-kind heirloom. And believe me, I’ve told more than a few people tonight where it came from when they admired it. There may be more of your work in this room by the next event.”
He would not blush. He would not. “Ah. Thank you.”
Before leaving, she sent him on one last loop as she tapped his right arm and gestured to the heirloom ring. “That suits you.”
He didn’t even get out a word of thanks for that one, taking a careful breath and extricating him from the entourage as she continued moving away from him. The drink he was handed was a bit too sweet, but it was cold, it soothed him as he kept moving off to the side a little further. Finding Chan in the crowd was no problem, as he gleamed in the red jacket, dimples fully on display as he spoke to a couple he seemed genuinely fond of. But he broke away from them, having spotted Minho shortly after.
“I’m so sorry,” Chan said, his voice low and his arm curving behind Minho’s back. “One of the catering staff slipped and— Anyway. They’re fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Hero,” Minho said mildly.
Chan snorted at him. “And abandoner. Need a drink? Something to eat?”
“Just had a drink. Had to after sweating buckets.”
“Worst timing. I didn’t mean to leave you there on your own. But she’s nice, right? She definitely doesn’t eat people for dinner.”
“Very nice. Nice in a way I never expected to ever find out in my lifetime.”
“Her son’s okay too, right?” Chan asked, hopeful it seemed for some sort of compliment..
Minho considered him for a long moment, but never really got a chance to answer as Changbin came up to them.
“Bathroom break?” he asked.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Chan said, but looked to Minho who nodded. Probably his adrenaline would contribute to that before long anyway. They detoured as a group to a set of private bathrooms before returning to the room. Minho didn’t know how Chan did it. All Minho had to do was stand there and look reasonably conscious, but Chan actually had to engage. Oh, sure, people talked to Minho sometimes, too. But he was the accessory, not the main event. The people polite to him were only partially polite to him because of who he was, and majorly because of who Chan was. If they made a bad impression by being rude to his date, then Chan might remember. If he’d been off to circulate on his own, which sounded like hell truly taking over the Earth with as many people as there were, then it might’ve been different.
But the punches of anxiety didn’t stop. They were another fifteen minutes into mingling when Minho looked over at movement to their left, and his breath caught for one long second. Hwang Hyunjin. It was impossible not to remember or recognize that face.
“Your Highness.”
Somehow he was even more handsome up close as he came up out of his bow. The voice was smooth, beautiful. The tuxedo perfectly fitted, but the white shirt underneath had a faint sparkle to it that was attractively opulent. He was tall, stunning, and Minho stared back evenly when Hyunjin’s attention turned to him.
“I’m sorry, we haven’t met yet,” Hyunjin said, before Chan could even get to that part, as he’d done about a hundred times already that evening.
Oh, it was a dick measuring contest, he could see that right enough.
“Lee Minho. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Yes, he’d heard of him, knew who he was by face alone. All he had to go on was Chan’s observation of the situation, that Hyunjin had more interest in being consort and less interest in marrying Chan. Minho was, at least temporarily, a roadblock to that goal. The hand he held out, by only coincidence, bore the family ring. And he could see Hyunjin’s attention caught on it ever so slightly. Something, or pieces of it, that might’ve been his. Not a man in love with Chan, but a man beholden to family. Chan, perhaps wisely, didn’t get in the middle of it.
But as another man joined Hyunjin, Chan greeted him first.
“Felix.”
“Your Highness,” Felix said, and warmly clasped Chan’s arm.
Felix. Felix. Chan’s cousin if Minho remembered correctly, which Chan confirmed moments later as he introduced Minho. Felix’s greeting to Minho had nothing of the reserve that Hyunjin had displayed, instead he was friendly, asking Minho if he was enjoying himself. He wondered if Felix was Hyunjin’s date, then. If he couldn’t have the prize, then he’d have the spoils? But his speculation didn’t last long as Felix turned his head.
“Ah, the dancing is about to start,” Felix said.
Chan reached for Minho’s hand, squeezed it, and Minho followed Chan’s gaze as they watched as Chan’s parents went out to start the dancing for the evening.
“Excuse us,” Chan said.
Hyunjin politely did so, and Felix smiled as Minho bobbed his head, he hoped in a way that was taken as non-offensive. He wasn’t flaunting his place. He hadn’t chosen his place, with Chan’s fingers laced in his as he led Minho out near but not next to his parents. Chan kept his hand and put a hand at his waist. They were waiting as the music began to wind down from the invitation to dance, to the actual music itself. He didn’t gawk around as he saw some people begin to do out of the corner of his eye, just kept his eyes on Chan. Chan’s lips curved a little bit as they swung into the music. If there was one way he knew he would not embarrass Chan, it was that. The errant thought that Hyunjin would have looked stunning by Chan in his red jacket was swatted off. He didn’t know how much that Chan would dance with other people that night, but he suspected unless something very much went wrong, that it wouldn’t be with Hyunjin.
Dancing turned out to be one of the nicer times of the evening. Not having to decorate Chan’s elbow, or engage in conversation except directly with Chan. Chan, probably from years of lessons and practical experience, danced well. Almost effortlessly, really, like he wasn’t really thinking about it. Minho had the lessons, if not actual fancy party experience until that night. He got no complaints from his dancing partner at least.
“Oops,” Chan said, stepping back a bit but mostly pulling Minho close against him.
“Sorry,” he heard a voice giggle from behind him, clearly a little tipsy.
“Almost had a four car collision,” Chan murmured by his ear.
Minho had to muffle his laugh half into Chan’s epaulet. How they could’ve missed Chan in his bright red jacket, he had no idea. And instead of letting him move back, Chan held him there, hand firm against his lower back. Finishing the song like that. Minho thought that might’ve been the end of it, too, except that as soon as the next song began playing, Chan immediately responded.
“Ooh, I like this one. One more?”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Minho said, all grace, and getting himself a snort.
“Why does it feel so wrong to hear you say it like that?” Chan wondered.
Minho wasn’t sure. All he did know was that choosing another song had been fine. It was freeing to his mind as they moved amongst other couples, and Chan seemed incapable of not humming along to the song at odd points.
“Weird how the loudest part of the evening feels the most quiet,” Chan said.
And it seemed like they agreed on that as well. He didn’t know what propriety was, whether they were supposed to dance with other people or not. Chan being familiar in the sea of unrecognizable faces was a comfort. All he really had to do was focus on Chan and the rhythm of the music. As the song began to change into another, Chan sighed, and weaved them expertly through dancing couples.
Changbin had drinks waiting for them as they came to the edge of the ballroom, and Minho sipped his with gratitude. Not like they’d been going at any great speed, but the amount of bodies, the fine cling of fabric, and Chan being close as well, had made things warm.
“I’m surprised no one tried to cut in,” Chan said.
Minho’s eyebrows rose. “Do people cut in on the crown prince?”
“Depends on how badly they want to dance with the person he’s dancing with.”
Chan grinned as he said it, but it made Minho snort and take another drink. As flirting went, it was terrible. Even Changbin seemed to be judging him on it. Even if that were true for some bizarre reason, no one was going to leave a prince in the lurch on the dance floor. If someone had asked to dance with Chan, and Chan had seemed inclined to agree, Minho would have made his way to Changbin without a fuss. If someone had tried to cut in to dance with him, he’d have declined. No one cut in on the prince. He couldn’t even imagine it. He couldn’t imagine anyone cutting in to dance with Chan either, in a way. Though he replayed Hyunjin’s greeting earlier. Had Minho been conveniently absent, he imagined Hyunjin would have been Chan’s date for the evening. Not just for a dance, but for all of it.
“Will you dance with your mother?” Minho asked quietly.
Chan shook his head. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m all yours.”
There was a relief to that, as another stranger came up to them to talk. And some other type of worry.
***
Minho could still feel the ghost of the ring on his finger as he tucked it back into its box. He’d just sat it back down on the table to be tucked into the safe as Chan emerged from the bathroom. The high collar at Chan’s throat had been undone and he was in the process of undoing the sash and the front of the coat.
“If you give me a few minutes to get out of this, I’ll ride with you,” Chan said.
“Sure,” Minho said. He undid the bowtie, took it off as a second thought and tucked it into his pocket, and removed the jacket after that. As the red coat came free of Chan’s arms, the white undershirt he’d worn under it was damp and clinging to his skin. Chan had said it was warm. It was the most form-fitting clothes he’d ever seen on Chan, and he looked respectfully, crossing his ankles and nodding as Chan disappeared back into the bathroom again. When he emerged, it was in a clean, dry, shirt that didn’t show off every muscle he possessed. The sound Chan made was relief.
“Okay, let’s get out of here before I get dragged into something else,” Chan said.
Changbin handed them water bottles as they got in the back of the town car, and as the car purred into motion, there was silence in the back of the car.
“Is this what silence feels like?” Chan whispered.
They were laughing hysterically seconds later, opening the waters. Minho let his neck roll against the cool leather, draping the jacket over his legs.
“That might’ve been more people than I’ve spoken to in my whole life,” Minho said.
“Everyone was delighted by you. I think it really went well. Really well. From what I could tell my mom had a good time, too, so a win all around. Did you have a good time?”
Chan held out a hand so naturally that Minho took it, and barely registered that Chan kept it in his as their hands rested back on the seat between them.
“I did?” Minho said, and it wasn’t entirely a surprise to him. Oh, he was tired, and sore, and completely peopled out. But overall, yeah, he had. “The dinner was like a fancy dinner party on steroids. Tonight was like…something you don’t see outside of a movie.”
“Good,” Chan said, squeezing his hand. “I did, too. I like looking over and seeing your reaction to things.”
He tried to think of what reactions those had been and only could come up with a few.
“I hope they weren’t rude reactions.”
“Oh. No. I mean, I promised I’d whisper to you if you were in danger of doing something off. That still sounds really pompous but I wouldn’t have waited until afterwards to say something when you couldn’t do anything about it.”
“I appreciate that,” Minho said wryly.
“You had the faintly amused, above-it-all look down perfectly,” Chan said, and waved him off when Minho was about to ask what he meant. “I meant between people. You were perfectly pleasant when we were talking to them. I mean it, people liked you.”
“I’m sure they were curious if I was going to spit on the floor or something,” Minho said.
The sound Chan made was a bit rude, but it made Minho grin anyway. Yeah, those muscles were tired, too.
“There’s nothing else like this for a while, anyway,” Chan said, muffling a half yawn. He could imagine Chan just falling asleep on his way back after Minho was dropped off. “I always wanted to go to the grown up parties. Some of them are as dry as dust, but ones like tonight really do feel like some other kind of world. Makes me wish I could just sit in a corner and watch everyone enjoy a little more. Wish we’d gotten a chance to dance some more. Though I might’ve sweated through my coat if we had.”
The grumbly little complaint made Minho chuckle.
“I was glad we didn’t have to split up to dance. Making small talk while standing with you would’ve been different than being trapped with someone for the duration of a song.”
“If it was something like a reception for the head of state, I might’ve danced with them or their spouse,” Chan mused. “But, otherwise, being prince has some privileges. I wouldn’t have restricted you if you’d been dashing out there trying to grab the first partner available.”
Tiredness had them both cackling at the mental image, and Minho sighed as the car came to a halt in front of his building.
“Thank you for going with me,” Chan said, squeezing his hand one more time before letting it go.
“Thanks for taking me,” Minho said, and meant it. “It was an experience I’ll never forget.”
They shared a smile at that, before Changbin was opening the door for him. Because of the profile of the event, Changbin again saw him all the way directly to his door.
“Get some rest,” Changbin said.
“You, too.”
Changbin mimed falling asleep right there in the hallway, and Minho closed the door, locked it behind him. There was the faint hum of the fridge, but his apartment was silent. It was well past midnight, so no ambient sounds from the other apartments either. The glossy shoes were left at the door. He undid the slick buttons of the waistcoat and shirt, stripping out of them, and his undershirt, and then everything else. The heat of the shower was a shock and a relief, scrubbing off the sweat of anxiety and exertion. He looked tired, he realized, as he dried his hair. When he finally creeped into bed, he didn’t even bother looking at his phone. On one hand, his mind was still keyed up. On the other, his body dragged him straight into unconsciousness.
***
The shift after the ball had been noticeable. If he’d had some curiosity aimed in his direction after the robbery, that had been almost subtle in comparison. He began to feel like an animal in the zoo, people wandering by the store, peering in to take a peek. Some came in, but didn’t even get close to purchasing. They just sort of milled and peeked, and shuffled out. The brave asked him about jewelry, some purchasing things. He scheduled Jeongin for more hours to compensate as he changed his procedures for scheduling a consultation for custom work to weed out the thrill seekers who never followed up. But those were small inconveniences.
His mother, he thought, had been as happy as a pig in slop. Though he never would have said that to her face. He didn’t know if he was going to go home one day to find blown up, life-sized pictures of him standing or dancing with Chan just decorating the walls. Because oh, there had been pictures, and that had been what had driven people to the business. The candid pictures by the palace staff, of them talking to people, dancing, existing. And the press pictures from the beginning of the evening. Not quite prom pictures. He didn’t look like he was going to tear anyone’s head off as he stood there with his hand on Chan’s arm, though depending on the outlet, he looked various shades of amused, or bored. And that didn’t even include the zoomed-in pictures of the queen’s ring.
He wasn’t surprised when Jisung tossed down a magazine and a giant tabloid onto the workroom table with the food he’d brought over for lunch. The pictures had been from the press area. And he was glad the press hadn’t been inside at the ball or there would’ve been pictures of him desperately guzzling drinks. All he could think when he saw how polished up they looked in the pictures was that moment of almost choking when Chan had emerged and Minho had seen him in his uniform, epaulets and all.
“You look gorgeous and aloof standing next to him,” Jisung said, holding the magazine picture up. “Like you belong there, but also like a figurine your mom has on a shelf that she won’t let you play with because you might break it. Also…you kind of look like you want to bite the photographers.”
“Maybe that’ll make them back off. Some of them get way too far into our space.”
“Our space, huh? Protecting your prince?”
“Protecting the integrity of my pores. And he’s not—“ Mine. Something they’d agreed not to talk about. “He likes when I’m cranky at reporters apparently.”
He looked skeptically at Jisung as Jisung hummed.
“Does he? What did he say to you while they were taking the pictures? That made you laugh? I swear when they showed that clip on the news everyone in the office simultaneously squealed from the cute.”
Minho blinked, mystified. “All I did was laugh?”
“That’s all for you, maybe. Everyone else was seeing their favorite prince say something to the man who saved his life, who he’s adorably courting, and laughing with him.”
“Saved his life,” Minho scoffed. He couldn’t get used to that. He’d been protecting himself just as much. But something in the way Jisung said it, it made his belly swoop. There wasn’t anything to it, of course, but it felt odd, like Jisung was talking about someone else. “He just made a joke about being glad the photographs couldn’t steal our souls. Just hit me funny.”
“Being able to laugh with a partner’s a good sign of compatibility—“
Jisung yelped when Minho tossed a balled-up napkin at him.
“What do you call him, anyway?”
“Your Highness,” Minho said.
“Seriously? To his face? He makes you do that?”
“No. I don’t— I don’t think we’ve ever had that conversation, actually. He doesn’t stand a lot on ceremony. Like he has said I don’t have to bow when we meet up. So he’d probably be fine with it. I just haven’t tried.”
“Better do it soon or you’ll get a complex. You don’t need a complex with someone you’re making out with.”
They weren’t doing that, either. Maybe he already had a complex, because at the thought of Chan smirking at him, he had to push it out of his mind entirely. But their agreement wasn’t for making out, it was for pretending to be spending time together.
Though the word courting hit him later, well after he’d gotten home. Dating had a whole other shine to it than courting. Courting made it seem like Chan was maneuvering him to be consort. Dating was just getting to know each other. The official statement by the palace had certainly made no mention of “courting” or dating at all. They hadn’t just said he was escorting Minho to several events out of gratitude either. It made him groan a little, even though that assumption was exactly what Chan had been aiming for. They didn’t have to say anything. Just the act of appearing together, in lunches, dinners, events, intimated everything to those who wanted to see it that way. And it seemed like yeah, the public had very much seen it that way. Prince Chan and his would-be commoner boyfriend.
***