Chapter Text
The garden was quieter today.
The wind moved more gently, brushing past the columns and vines like a hush.
The statues still leaned in solemn poses, broken and beautiful, and the sun held low over the city, draping the rooftops in gold.
Jeonghan sat at the edge of the fountain.
He dipped a finger into the water and watched the ripples, slow and soft, bloom outward.
Everything felt… delicate, even him.
He hadn’t spoken yet, not since arriving.
Jiyong had appeared an hour before, lounging on the stone railing with a book he never really read. He didn’t ask Jeonghan anything, didn’t press.
He just… waited.
Hongjoong came later, the smell of smoke and sandalwood trailing behind him. His sleeves were rolled up, hands stained with dirt from a newly potted vine by the archway.
He, too, said nothing.
It was Jeonghan who broke the silence, not with a declaration. not with a warning but a question.
A single, aching question.
“Do you remember the first time someone held you?”
Both men turned to look at him.
Jeonghan didn’t meet their eyes. His gaze remained on the ripples, now fading.
“I’ve never been,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Not really. Not… just to be held.”
Hongjoong didn’t speak. Jiyong didn’t either.
So Jeonghan kept going, slowly. As if every word chipped away at a truth he hadn’t meant to admit.
“They teach us not to long for things we were not built for. Contact is for healing. For ritual. For sacrifice.” His voice cracked. “Not for comfort.”
Jiyong’s hand closed the book gently as Hongjoong moved to sit on the other side of the fountain, facing him.
Jeonghan finally looked up.
“It’s stupid, right?” he said, almost laughing. “I’m a judge. I’ve walked through fire, watched empires fall. And now I can’t stop wondering what it would feel like to be...”
He cut himself off but they already knew and neither laughed.
Not at all.
“Come here,” Hongjoong said softly, patting the bench beside him.
Jeonghan hesitated.
He didn’t want to be touched because they felt sorry for him. He didn’t want to be cradled like something fragile, something halfway broken.
“I don’t know how.” he admitted, voice small.
Jiyong stood from his perch.
“You don’t need to know. You just have to let it happen.”
He stepped into Hongjoong’s arms first, because they were open because they were steady.
The demon prince didn’t move too fast. He didn’t press too tightly. He just circled his arms around Jeonghan’s waist and drew him close with care, like someone cradling an ember; something that could burn, but had chosen instead to warm.
Jeonghan shivered not from fear, but from the sensation.
Of being enclosed.
Of being wanted.
He let his forehead fall against Hongjoong’s shoulder. Closed his eyes. Felt the steady beat of another heart that didn’t belong to Heaven or sin or any commandment he'd memorized.
Just a heart.
Just him.
“I’ve imagined this.” Hongjoong whispered into his hair. “But the real thing… is unbearable in the best way.”
Jeonghan laughed, breathless and a little stunned.
“You’re not supposed to be this gentle.”
“You’re not supposed to be this soft.” Hongjoong replied, voice low. “But we’re both learning new things.”
It was Jiyong who pulled him next, and unlike the way Hongjoong held his body, Jiyong held his face.
He didn’t draw Jeonghan in with his arms. He just cupped his cheeks, thumbs ghosting over the edge of his jaw, brushing away strands of hair that had fallen from his braid.
Jiyong’s eyes burned with something old. Something broken open.
“Do you know how long I’ve looked at the stars,” he said, “and thought: I’ve never seen anything more cruel?”
Jeonghan blinked.
“But you… standing here, asking to be touched, asking to be known...”
His voice cracked.
“You make the stars look kind again.”
Jeonghan let him pull him close, let himself fold into the taller man’s chest, and felt fingers in his hair, on his spine, over the edges of what had once been wings.
And then, he was held again.
Differently but just as tenderly.
Jiyong rested his chin atop Jeonghan’s head and closed his eyes.
“You’re real.” He whispered.
Jeonghan barely managed to breathe, “So are you.”
They didn’t rush him.
They didn’t ask for more.
Didn’t slide their hands lower.
Didn’t move the touch into something else.
It remained what he’d asked for.
Just a hug.
Just the ache of arms around him.
Just safety and want and something new.
And when Jeonghan stepped back, when he looked at them with red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks... neither of them said a word.
Because they could see it, that some wall inside him had finally cracked, and the light pouring through wasn’t holy.
It was his.
Later, they sat together again. All three. The sun had long since dipped behind the skyline.
The rooftop felt like sanctuary, like home.
Jeonghan leaned back against the bench, caught between them, head resting on Hongjoong’s shoulder while Jiyong traced lazy patterns along the edge of his sleeve.
“I think I want this again.” Jeonghan murmured.
“You can have it.” Jiyong said.
“Anytime.” Hongjoong added.
Jeonghan smiled and whispered, “Thank you.”
Not to them as monsters.
Not to them as myths.
But as men.
Who had waited.
Who had listened.
Who had held him not to claim, but to cherish.
And maybe, just maybe…
That’s what love was.
The quiet kind.
The kind with no thunder.
The kind that feels like arms.