His Chains, My Crown || Minsung

The demon kingdom never truly slept, but the morning brought a different stillness, cold, heavy, expectant.

Golden light filtered through the tall obsidian windows of Minho’s chambers, muted by the enchanted glass that refused to let the sun touch too much. The room remained dim, shrouded in shadows, and quiet... except for the slow rise and fall of Jisung’s breathing.

He stirred.

Not with the grace expected of a celestial prince, but with a groan and a stretch, one leg kicking the silk sheets off his body.

His eyes fluttered open, lashes heavy, lips parted with a yawn.

Then he remembered where he was.

His gaze swept the room slowly. The bed. The mess. The lack of a demon husband anywhere in sight.

“Didn't come back, huh...” he mumbled to himself, voice still husky from sleep. “Coward.”

He sat up, wincing slightly as soreness bloomed along his body, reminders of the night before. But instead of shame, or pain, or regret… Jisung smiled.

Minho hadn't been gentle. Not once. But he'd stayed. Touched him like he mattered. And that meant something. It had to.

Jisung swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching with all the lazy confidence of someone who knew he shouldn’t be here, but didn’t care.

He padded barefoot across the room toward the tall mirror.

His reflection was... a mess. His hair tousled, faint, barely seen, bruises along his neck and shoulder, a bite mark he traced with gentle fingers. He rolled his eyes at it, chuckling under his breath.

“Possessive prick.” he muttered.

The door remained closed. No servants. No guards. Minho had made sure no one disturbed them.

And that, that made Jisung’s heart ache in the worst way.

Not for pity.

For proof.

Minho was trying. In his way. His cruel, twisted way.

Jisung walked over to the desk by the window, found a piece of parchment, and scribbled something down with a quill. When he finished, he folded the note, pressed his lips to it, and left it on Minho’s pillow.

"Next time, don’t run. Or at least kiss me goodbye.
-Your favorite celestial inconvenience."

He smiled to himself, turned, and without waiting for permission, or guards, he walked out of the King’s chambers like he owned them.

Because he did.

~~~~~<3

Minho appeared in the room minutes later, stepping through shadows like smoke. He paused the moment he sensed the empty bed.

The warmth was still there. The scent. The mark Jisung left on the air like defiance.

He walked to the bed. Stared at the imprint of the celestial’s body on the sheets.

And then he saw the note.

Minho picked it up, read it once, slowly. His lips curled, not into a smile, but something close. Something darker. Tighter.

He folded the note and slid it into the pocket of his cloak.

No words. No reaction.

But he didn't burn it.