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hanibalistic · 4 years

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FOR MY LOVE, SINCERELY, FOR YOU. | BANG CHAN, LEE MINHO, SEO CHANGBIN, HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff, little angst, romance undertone, platonic relationship, royalty au

synopsis | you are a royal baker doubling as a love-letter mentor for the prince who is trying to court the neighbour princess, while his princely cousin slowly falls in love with you.

word count | 32k+

warning | violence (one scene), this is an unfinished piece so if you get attached then beware of unanswered plotline (this is a joke but just in case)

tag | @fluffyskzclub

note | this was an unfinished piece abandoned in 2020, a rather big project i had. i am posting it here because i am unlikely to finish it anytime sooner (for one, i find it hard to replicate the writing style i utilized for this piece), but it felt like an injustice to let this piece dust away alone.

The smell of cream puffs wafted before your sensitive nose. You took a few sniffs, letting the luscious smell of sugar linger, then you smiled in satisfaction at the plate of dessert displayed before you on the kitchen table.

It was a big day for your dessert baking career. You were about to grant a full round table of royalty your newest recipe for the first time after so long of not being allowed to follow your own baking recipe in the palace kitchen.

After being appointed as a new palace baker amongst many other older cooks, with the promise that your father would receive top quality medical treatment back in your hometown, all you have baked were measly desserts made by following the head chef's recipe.

It all started with those little bake days you did at your mother’s flower shop, where you would prepare limited tray of one random dessert, a tasty little extra for the frequent customers and those who spend over a certain amount of money at the shop. Your mother didn’t like it the first time you did it, but considering how much your desserts have always helped boost the shop’s sales, she allowed you to hold these bake days occasionally.

You had baked your signature lemon tarts one morning, the crusty layer of bread circling around the gleaming, lemon filling, paired with a small tent of whip cream and a raspberry on top. It caught the king’s attention.

You were unsure how that had happened but just about two days after the bake day, the court messenger dropped by and asked you to attend a meeting with the king, and the king had asked you to enter the palace kitchen so the royal family could enjoy your dessert every day.

However, unfortunately for the royal family, none of them have ever tasted your dessert before because of how strict the head chefs were about you utilizing your own cook book. No matter how many times you have attempted to sneak your own spin in those atrociously boring, mediocre steps of his, someone was always there to call you out on your ‘wrongdoings.’

It was beyond infuriating to know that the palace kitchen has more ingredients and more baking utensils than anywhere else in the kingdom, yet somehow, you were not allowed to bake according to your own cookbook because apparently, you were too young and too inexperienced to have your own desserts be presented to royalty.

Mind them old folks in the kitchen, but the sole reason why you were here, and the sole reason why the king was willing to bargain for your cooperation, was because he really, really, really loved the lemon tarts you baked for your mother’s flower shop.

You wish you could tell the head chefs about it, but there was no way for you not to come off as conceited, and you doubted the adults would listen a mere teenager like you, so you stayed silent.

But then the Lord shone through the clouds and gave you this opportunity to shine tonight! You have concocted a plan soon after you were told that you and another cook—Changbin, you remembered—would be in charge of making the dessert for this grand event.

The neighbor royal families would be visiting for dinner so they could discuss the courtship of one of the princesses, meaning you would’t just be making dessert for one royal family but several others as well! And oh lord, the audacity of the pastry chef when he told you to follow the strawberry cake recipe weeks before the actual day, you really had to laugh.

There was nothing wrong with a plain strawberry cake. Simplicity can be best at times, but not with the recipe he gave you, never. Besides, you have already got another idea in mind about what dessert you could make: your newest recipe, crafted after you decided to take a bite of the dry rose petals in the royal garden—rosewater cream puffs!

Your rosewater cream puffs; made with soft and crispy bread baked with delight and care, pumped full of rich and fluffy cream fillings you crafted with sun-drowned water, ones you mixed together with the rose petals you picked from the forest nearby.

Now, of course, you would have never been able to bake your own dessert with the entire kitchen staff watching your back almost every step of the way. However, since they have appointed another chef with you this time so they could focus on their own dishes instead of worrying about you pulling weird stunts, you needn’t be as alert as you used to.

Besides, the angels were totally on your side when they have appointed Changbin out of every other chef in the kitchen. He may seem intimidating but, believe it or not, he was actually quite the gentleman.

At least, from what you have experienced, was that he doesn’t bark at children like the others have done with you. Granted, you haven’t been the most obedient one, but even then, Changbin had been extremely patient with your rebellious retorts and dreamy rambles. And when you told him how you’ve got it all handled, he believed you and went ahead to help out the old gardening lady with the crops and livestock.

"Now, lastly," you said as you grabbed the clean sifter next to you. You hung it on the edge of the table before you pulled at the corner of baking paper. You tugged it up and carefully poured the content into the sifter. “Some powered sugar and we are good to go!”

You would be serving eighteen cream puffs exactly for the eighteen royalties eating above you in the dining room, but aside from that, you have also made extras in anticipation of them asking for more. It was a habit—people have always asked for more of your desserts, they can never just have one piece.

However, if it turned out that your rosewater cream puffs were not of their liking, which could be possible due to this being an experimental recipe, then you would at least have extras left for when you need to make some changes later. Would you have hoped to ask for some constructive criticisms? Yes, but you doubted you’d be off the hook long enough to ask the royalties for it.

You were moving onto your fifth cream puff when the door to the baking room creaked open. Your arms froze for a second in alert, wondering who could possibly be behind you. Could it be the head chefs asking you for the progress? Could it be the maid already asking for the tray of dessert to be delivered?

Either way, they end in your eventual demise, because not only were you not finished yet, you didn’t make the strawberry cake the pastry chef asked you to.

“Hey, [Name], how’s the cake going?” Changbin asked, taking off his gloves and hanging them on the handle bar nailed behind the wooden door.

You breathed out a sigh of relief at his voice, your eyes closing and your heart slowing down to a resonable pace. Then you glanced down at the tray of cream puff before you, your brows furrowing with a curse after you did so. The sudden pause caused a tad of the powered sugar to go slightly off track; it would likely be unnoticeable to the royalties, but to you it was one hell of a problem.

Your lack of response worried Changbin. He raised a brow at you as he tied the apron around his waist, his fingers fumbling clumsily with tying the ribbon behind his back. Shifting his gaze to the wooden table, his brows gradually furrowed the more he took into account the ingredients gathered on top.

Milk, eggs, butter, sugar, flour. The normal things. Whisks, wooden bowls, spatulas, a… a sift? Dry rose petals, a bowl of pink-colored water, macaroon sheet template—oh no.

“[Name], please tell me you made the strawberry cake like you were asked to–“ Changbin paused before the table, his eyes casting down at the little cream puffs with pastel pink fillings oozing out of the crusty bread tops, and he immediately gasped in horror. “Oh my god, you didn’t! You–kid, I swear! Chef Park is going to be furious about this!”

“I know,” you replied without much care, making your way to your sixth cream puffs carefully with the powered sugar in your hands. “Which is why I plan to hide it from him.”

“That isn’t the point, [Name],” Changbin exclaimed with curled fists. He stood awkwardly beside you, watching as you finished up with the tray with a content smile before turning to look at him. Gosh, he felt like he was talking to a brick wall; anyone who has tried to convince you to do as the head chefs say always feels like they are talking to a brick wall.

“What is the point?” You asked, dusting your hands off and wiping them on your apron without breaking eye contact with him. Then your attention left him so you could transfer the cream puffs to a steel plate.

“These are going into the king’s mouth, you know that right?” He said. “Not just our king, but other kingdoms’ as well. The only reason why you are instructed to use the house recipe is because–“

“Because none of you trust my ability to bake something good on my own,” you cut him off with a disappointed glare, one that made Changbin feel a sudden tumble of his heart. “Everyone here always think I’m going to mess up, that I am going to accidentally poison the king–“

“Hey, hey, hey!” Changbin raised his index finger in the air, his eyes were wide in alert as soon as you spilled those dangerous words. He looked around the baking room carefully before turning back to you with wide eyes. “I taught you before, none of those sayings inside the palace! You don’t want to get misunderstood and thrown in the dungeon, do you?”

“No,” you said, frowning as you turned to him then. “But my point still stands. None of you trust me to be a good baker and I really don’t like that.”

Changbin heaved a sigh. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the newbies that joined the kitchen staff, he had been too busy taking care of the royal farm that he barely went into the kitchen unless it was his shift to cook dinner. Heck, he didn’t even know you existed until he found you by the farm entrance with chef Park standing angrily next to you.

He could still remember that day. You had said something insulting to chef Park and he decided to take you out of the kitchen as punishment. You ended up having to take care of the farm with him for a full week, and oh, heavens, were you one grumpy kid.

But you did change for the better after he took you to the orchard for some fruit picking, you were smelling and knocking the fruits like you knew what you were doing. And perhaps you did know what you were doing, he just never stopped to see if you did.

“I’m sure nobody thinks that. I know I don’t think that,” he said after a moment of silence. “We just don’t want you to mess up in here. You’re making food, [Name]. If any of them so much is get a stomachache then you’re done for.”

You arched your brows faintly in agreement. You hadn’t really considered that. Being a mere kitchen staff in the palace, and not an important one too, makes you very susceptible to the king’s irresponsible anger and his absolute power. You could die by the royalty’s hand with just a snap without ever getting a chance to fight for yourself.

But it wasn’t like you were baking poison! The maids have told you all you needed to know about this damn family’s tastebuds and allergies as soon as you arrived, and you have got them all memorized already. You wouldn’t make such a trivial mistake!

“Excuse me! I’m here to collect the cake!”

Changbin met your eyes briefly. You could see the panic raising in those browns when you smiled mischievously at him. Then, before he could stop you, you turned to the table and grabbed a hold of the steel, dome plate cover. You cupped it over the cream puffs before holding it up carefully and approaching the maid standing by the door.

When she gave you a weird look, her judgemental gaze eyeing the plate, you gave her a playful wink and smiled. “The appearance is a surprise. Let’s spice up the dinner a little for the royals, huh?”

You took a side-step when you felt Changbin approaching. His chest bumped against your head as you perfectly blocked his path, and you could feel the heavy sigh he let out as he held up his arms in hopes to still stop the maid from leaving the baking room. You rolled your eyes then, annoyed at his stubbornness.

“Look, Changbin,” you said as you turned around, “There is no strawberry cake here. And even though you don’t specialize in dessert, I’m sure you know you can’t make a good one under ten minutes, so why not just let the cream puffs go?”

He glanced down at you, his eyes ablaze with both exasperation and horror. Oh, whatever he should do now? If the pastry chef found out he didn’t monitor you after being told to, and you actually broke out of the house recipe and made something on your own for the dinner, both of you would surely be in big trouble! Not to mention he had no idea if the cream puffs were even edible at all!

Sure, they smelt nice when he entered the room. The aroma of the roses strong and eloquent, plus the light sprinkle of sugary scent mixing together with it just made it a whole lot better. But just because it smelt nice does not mean it would taste the same.

“We’re not gonna get into trouble,” you muttered after seeing his expression, the guilty finally hitting you as you watched Changbin pinch the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “Well… maybe not with the royal family, but I think chef Park might get a little mad.”

“You don’t say?” He rolled his eyes and let his arm drop to his side. Glancing away from you, he looked towards the table and widened his eyes at the extra cream puffs sitting on top of a wooden tray. A thought popped in his head and he held out his hand, his palm opened. “Let me try one.”

“Wh–what?” You looked at him, his words not processing through.

“I said let me try one,” he repeated, his hand moving in a beckoning motion urgently. “You already sent the cream puffs up, there is no point in me stopping the maid now, so might as well see if we’re only getting an earful or if we’re going to get a death sentence.”

“They’re not going to die eating my desserts,” you retorted with a glare, not liking the way he phrased his thoughts.

Changbin heaved another sigh as he glanced away. You kept missing the point, it seemed; the problem didn’t lie in your dessert being good or bad, it was the fact that he didn’t know and he needed to try. But coming from somebody who kept having their skills undermined by others, it would make sense for that to be your initial response.

“Can I please have one of your cream puffs, [Name]?” He asked again, more politely this time.

You stared at him for a while longer, your lips pursing as the guilt that previously surfaced in your chest magnified with the defeated look on his face.

Changbin had always looked so tired. His eyes are often sharp, but never without a tinge of unexplained wistfulness behind them that made them softer to look at. His arms are strong and scarred; some of the stories he told you about and some he kept hidden with a vague smile. His hands are rough and calloused from all the years of picking vegetables and rubbing metals, but they don’t lack tenderness when he pats your head at the end of the day.

He took care of you the most out of anybody else in the palace, albeit only meeting you a couple of weeks after you’ve suffered the wrath of the head chefs. And you have genuinely taken a liking to him because he has treated you well, therefore when times come when you’d realize you hadn’t exactly returned the favor to him, you would always feel bad.

“Okay.” You gave him a curt nod before turning around to the table. You grabbed a small wooden plate from the corner and set it before you. Taking one of the extra creme puffs, you placed it on the plate before taking the sifter and lightly patting the powered sugar on top.

You couldn’t stop it, though. You couldn’t stop being a brat in front of him, stubborn and rebellious, because you knew Changbin wouldn’t actually get mad at you for anything. And he just kept taking it, all your spontaneous antics and your informal retorts.

He just takes them, with a lot of patience and understanding, as a parent would their child.

The burning in your chest was overwhelming. Ahh, you haven’t been able to act bratty in front of your dad in a long while now. Ever since he has fallen ill, you’ve only tried your best to take care of him. No more tantrums could be thrown and no more active jokes you could play on him anymore because of his weak heart.

There wasn’t anything terrible about that, for sure. You were more than happy to help nurse your father, but sometimes your childish mind just wanted to be spoiled by a father figure. Pretty sure everybody does once in a while.

You slammed the sifter on the table, startling Changbin. Forcing a smile onto your face, you handed him the plate carefully. “Here, try it and tell me if you like it!” You said quickly, holding down the sudden wave of tears that was threatening the flow out. “Remember be honest!”

“When have I not been honest with you?” Changbin flipped your forehead with a frown just before he was about to take a giant bite of the cream puff.

As you rubbed the spot with your hand and reached over to give his arm a harsh slap, he stumbled back with a faint laugh before grabbing ahold of the cream puff again. He held it before his mouth, the sweet smell of roses attacking his nose immediately, prompting him to take a bite of it. When he finally did, the powered sugar and the cream filling stained on his lips, his eyes widened in shock.

The cream filling was rich in its rosy taste, but it wasn’t so sweet that it would make your teeth sick. The sugar also managed to blend in very well with the naked taste of the crusty bread instead of overshadowing it, the two creating a well-crafted symphony on top of his tongue.

“Oh, heavens–“ he paused to lick the cream off his lips, his brows furrowed as a moan of satisfaction left his lips while the cream melted instantly in his mouth. He glanced up at you then, his eyes simmering with surprise and, visibly, proudness. “Kid, did you make this by yourself?”

A glimmer of hope punched through your lungs at his response and you nodded, your hands curling into each other before your chest. “Yeah, I made those,” you said. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it–please, I love it!” He exclaimed, sucking off the remaining cream on his fingers. “This is delicious, wow. Much, much better than a plain strawberry cake, I reckon.”

“I knew it!” You clapped your hands together in excitement, thrilled to see that Changbin has taken a liking to your baking. “Oh, I’m glad you liked it.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole table upstairs likes it too,” he commented with a short laugh as he set the wooden plate down on the table. He rubbed his hands on his pants, not bothering to grab a towel hung all the way at the back of the baking room. Looking at you, he tiled his head and asked, “Where did you learn to make that?”

“By myself!” You replied triumphantly. “It is years and years of experimenting with different ingredients! I did try a few different approaches with these rosewater cream, though. It is so easy for the filling to get too sweet if I so much as ground the petals the wrong way.”

Changbin leaned against the edge of the table, watching as you started to ramble on and on about your experience with creating this recipe. A proudness was born within his chest, spreading through his body with a rush as he watched you discuss what you had been trying to tell others was your ultimate passion.

It was a shame that nobody ever listened simply because you were too young, perhaps things would change after tonight.

“Hey, [Name],” he cut you off with a soft call, his hand reaching out for your head and giving you a few light pats. “Good job on the cream puffs.”

Your eyes widened a little, your voice falling mute at the tip of your tongue as you tried to think of something to say. You haven’t gotten a compliment on your baking in a while, not to mention this came a little too sudden for you to comprehend it fully. You just knew you were happy to hear it, especially from Changbin as well.

Before you could regain your voice and show him some gratitude, the door to the baking room burst open. You turned to look as Changbin spun around to look behind him. You grimaced at the newcomer, stepping back slightly at the bulging vein present on his forehead.

Oh, chef Park was definitely angry about the dessert not being what he asked for. Judging by the look on his vein, and also that angry vein on his forehead, you were going to be in big trouble.

“What the hell were you thinking, [Name]?” He shoved past Changbin without giving him another glance, strutting straight towards you with an accusing finger. “You little brat, you can’t do one thing right, can you? I gave you a recipe, I told you to follow it, and you go ahead and serve… cream puffs? You serve them cream puffs?”

You stepped back when he got too close, your brows furrowing in discomfort as your heart raced in fear. As much as you hated to admit, chef Park’s authority scared you a little because of how much of a threat he could be. He could make your time in the palace a living hell, and there is no guarantee that you’d ever get out of here. You could be stuck with him until the day he dies!

“What’s wrong with cream puffs?” You asked daringly despite being afraid. It seemed that your annoyance was overriding fright in your chest.

“There is nothing wrong with cream puffs, what is wrong is that I don’t know how you made them,” he pointed out. “God, who knows what kind of atrocity you made? You better be the one to take the blame because I am not having my career be destroyed by a fucking seventeen-year-old!”

You scoffed out a laugh, your eyes rolling to the side condescendingly before you turned back to look at him. “You’re one to talk, chef Park,” you retorted, curling your hands at your side. “Serving a strawberry cake is too plain for this occasion. Not to mention your recipe is boring–“

You gasped when you felt a hand swipe across your cheek. Your hand instinctively went up to cover the spot where you got slapped, your eyes wide with shocked tears as you turned back to look at the man in front of you. He didn’t seem fazed, he seemed rather neutral about it, like he had planned to do that all along, and it made you want to wipe that shit-eating smirk off his face.

“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Changbin stormed over to your side before you could properly react, a hand grabbing on the chef’s shoulder and shoving him backward. “[Name]’s just a kid, can’t you act a little civil with them?”

“Jesus, Changbin, don’t be so soft,” chef Park said, rolling his eyes. “They’re old enough to know they shouldn’t disrespect elders.”

“And you’re old enough to know that violence doesn’t solve anything,” Changbin pressed on, his voice almost coming out as a growl as he held himself back from punching the man right in the jaw. “With all due respect, chef, but you need to grow the hell up.”

The man relaxed a little then, his eyes squinting as he stared at Changbin in contemplation. Your heart jumped at his calculative gaze, now more scared for him than you were scared for yourself. Changbin didn’t have to do that, he should have just stayed quiet at the back and let you take all of it alone. Now you’ve got him mixed in the mess you made too.

“Changbin, need I remind you my position is a head above yours?” Chef Park said, his tone more obnoxious and patronizing than anything you have ever heard. Not even the king spoke to you like this when he was bargaining for you to stay as a baker in the palace, how was it his turn to speak like that?

Changbin glared at him, his tongue tied and his head unsure of what he could say. He knew if he says anything more, he would be done. His stay in the palace would most likely be over with just a single report from the chef, and all the years of him earning his trust would go to waste.

Perhaps he should have thought through this twice before he acted out, but seeing you get slapped across the face so unreasonably had stirred a fire within him. He was angry, genuinely angry, for the first time in a long time, and he didn’t care what would happen to him. He just knew if that fucker thinks he can lay his hands on you then he’s got anther thing coming at him.

This altercation was, thankfully, interrupted with a timid knock on the door. Chef Park looked behind his shoulders in annoyance before he spun and headed for the door. You watched his back, your lips finally loosening up and quirking down because of how upset you were. And, upon this distraction, Changbin immediately turned around to check up you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, the back of his hand delicately running down your red cheek.

You nodded as you moved away slightly, your eyes squeezing together in faint irritation.

Reaching up to grab his hand, you held onto his pinky and ring finger before letting your arm fall to your side. Your eyes were squinted when you faced ahead, your lips pursed into a forced smile as you said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Changbin looked at you, his eyes shifting across your features and landing on your red cheek. Looking at it made him sad, and the story behind made his anger fume, but even then he listened to you. With a small nod of agreement, he looked away from you and at the opened door where chef Park stood talking to a maid.

He acted strangely, you found out. The second the door was opened, his face dropped and a smile immediately made its way to his face. A fake smile, you could tell, because that man has probably never genuinely smiled once in his life. He was talking lightly, his eyes shifting at the maid and behind her rapidly as if he was seeing a ghost.

After a moment, he finally took a gentle step back and gestured towards you. You shivered—what was it now? Have the guards came to arrest you for poisoning a whole table of royalties? Have you made the worst dessert to ever be created in mankind that the king felt the need to come down to the kitchen himself, just so he could criticize you?

It was none of those, apparently. Waltzing into the room were three people, two boys and one girl.

The girl wore an expensive ball gown dress, the light pink mesh material sewed of blossom petals on top as they flowed over the thick fabric underneath. Her top was off-shoulders, exposing her pretty bone structure adorned by a piece of bright jewel necklace.

If those weren’t indication enough that she was the princess being courted for, then the tiara decorating her pretty little head would be.

Standing behind her was two boys. You knew one of them, he was the prince—your prince, as a matter of fact. Lee Minho; with big, glimmering eyes and a well-defined nose, and with lips that curl into the greatest cherry smile that never failed to woo another’s heart. He was an undeniably gorgeous man, you’d say.

You have only seen him when you were lurking in the shadows with trays and buckets. You didn’t care for him much.

Standing next to him was someone you’ve met once before, as in an actual encounter where a conversation was held. That was Hwang Hyunjin, Minho’s close cousin who always came to visit as if he didn’t have his own extravagant garden to run around in. And whenever he came over to stay, he would usually stay for a whole month before his departure.

You two met under an unforeseen situation. It was exceptionally bright that morning, the sun blazing a heated trail on the flowers in the royal garden. The flying insects all came around to rest among the bushes, hiding away in the flower buds and collecting pollens. It was a sunny morning that day, and Hyunjin decided he could go for a walk alone before the scheduled horse-riding session with Minho.

You were told to collect some fruits in the orchard so the baking team could make the desired dessert for the evening, a step you assumed would be the only one you’d be asked to take part in because you had pissed off chef Park once again.

But, instead of heading straight to the orchard as you were told to, you took a sharp turn outside the back entrance of the kitchen and headed straight for the royal garden with your vine basket. You were trying out a new recipe during that time, the blackberry lavender cake.

It wasn’t anything special, per se, so you were hoping you could add your own spin to it and see if you could make one that could be easily differentiated amongst all the other ones. That was one of the importance of making desserts: always make sure you incorporate your own style in the taste, let people know they’re eating your food.

You had planned to find some fully-bloomed lavender in the garden first, then you would head to the orchard and find yourself some blackberries. After you’ve collected what you needed, you would set out and get whatever the chef asked you to get.

You didn’t even know Hyunjin was in the garden before you heard him yell from faraway. When you approached close enough, you almost burst into laughter at how he was panicking over a butterfly flying around his perimeter. His arms had flailed about the air, not wanting to hurt the butterfly but still wanting to keep it as far away as possible.

It didn’t register to you that he was a prince at first, even with his velvet suit and jewel-filled fingers. All you knew was that he was a stranger yelling at the top of his lungs, in early morning, because he was afraid of a damn butterfly.

Without thinking much, you had approached him from behind and touched him with your hands, steadying his movements as you carefully lured the butterfly over with your finger. It landed peacefully on top, its wings halting to a slow stop. Hyunjin had moved away from by then, and when he finally looked at you with a clearer sight, he immediacy swooned (inside his heart, obviously).

How could he not? A butterfly was sitting on top of your finger, the breeze was blowing gently against your hair, and the sun was shining down your eyes with its satisfying lights—you were completely engulfed by the beauty of nature, the delight of a new morning, and he thought he has never seen anybody more beautiful.

“It is just a butterfly, Your Highness,” you had told him, with a gentle smile that showed a hint of playfulness in them as you set the creature free. You held your vine basket close to your waist and spoke, “There is no need to act with haste.”

With that, you left him both bewildered and bewitched at the heels of your feet. All he could really do was stare at your back as you left, his infatuation a foreign feeling he didn’t understand. He has seen so many princes and princess in royal balls before, all dolled up and styled with glitter, but none of them has ever struck his liking as much as you did.

And you had managed that with such a simple attire under a dirty apron, a head of messy hair, and an unbothered demeanour.

Hyunjin could remember you vividly, even as he stood behind his friends in the small baking room where it was dimmer and confined. He hasn’t really stopped thinking about you after that morning, and he hoped that you remembered him as well, even if he was just the weird boy you met in the garden once.

“Good evening, chefs,” the princess spoke first, taking a small step towards you and Changbin with her silk gloved hands clapped together before her chest.

Almost immediately, despite the bafflement Changbin was feeling, he dipped his head and bowed with a polite greeting. Glancing to the side where you stood, his brows furrowed when he saw that you haven’t moved an inch, and he quickly reached his hand up to press against the back of your head and made you bow with him.

“Get yourself together, Princess Rose is here,” he whispered to you quietly, hoping to god nobody could make out what he was saying.

You hummed faintly, pleasantly surprised that her name matched with the dessert you made. Then, with a reassuring glare, Changbin finally allowed you to stand back up straight by loosening his grip against your head. You dusted your hands off on your apron as you flashed Changbin a faint glare, then you smiled at the three royalties standing before you.

It was a rare sight you dreaded to see, simply because how much of a hassle it could be to meet royalties.

You habitually waited for the princess to speak first.

“I was just upstairs eating a full and delicious meal prepared by the amazing cooks in this kitchen,” she said, giving Changbin a nod of acknowledgement as a slow smile crept up her face,“but, what I am very surprised by was the cream puffs served at the end of dinner! And I just had to come down here personally and ask for the baker behind those cream puffs!”

You stared at her. Well, she said all of those, but she still hasn’t asked you for your name yet. She only said she needed to ask, she hasn’t actually asked yet, therefore you wasn’t sure if you should reveal yourself or wait a little while for her to finally break the question out to you.

Her eyes scanned past Changbin to you, and they brightened. Walking forward, her curls bouncing against her shoulders in the lightness of her steps, she smiled at you and asked, “Did you make those cream puffs?”

“Yes, I did, Your Highness,” you said, her sheer excitement spreading to you and causing you to relax. You gently let your guard down, your shoulders slumping as your hands met each other in front of your tummy.

“Oh! How wonderful!” She beamed at you, “I absolutely loved the cream puffs, were they made with roses?”

“Rose petals, yes!” You replied, almost as enthusiastic as she was now that you were prompted to talk about your dessert. Many people have lent you compliments before, but none has ever stopped to ask you more about them. This was certainly a first. “I ground the petals up and mixed them in with water before adding them to the dry ingredients, it gives the cream filling that rosy taste to it!”

“Wow, that sounds like hard work!” She nodded in approval, her brows raising and her eyes widening to give you a look of affirmation.

You blinked your eyes rapidly. Oh? That was quite an unexpected reaction. Not so much what she said, though. People have told you the same things before; about how difficult it must be to come up with your own baking style, and to actually gather the ingredients so you could start making a dessert.

It was the way she said it. It sounded something more like a validation than a judgement. It wasn’t “oh god, I will never be able to do this,” instead it was more of a “oh, it is so cool that you can do this!”

And it was hard work! You had to ground the petals for a certain amount of time and with a precisely calculated amount of strength. Your arms were already aching a minute into having to hold the wooden bowl at a forty five degree angle, all the while mashing out the rose juices with the rounded tip at the back of a spoon.

To hear another act so nicely toward your passion was, needless to say, refreshing. Besides, you would see the painful way chef Parker was scrunching his face at the back, wanting so badly to deflect Princess Rose’s words but unable to for many different reasons.

You have never met her before, but if Prince Minho does end up wedding her and she marries into this kingdom, you have not a single problem accepting her as your queen.

“You surely flatter me,” you said as you dipped your head at her politely, a proud smile adorning your lips. “But all the hellish process is all worth it if it meant earning your lovely approval, Your Highness.”

Changbin held back a snort, his head lowering in hopes to hide an eye-roll. What pretentious words you were spilling out of your mouth! You have never spoken to him that way before, he was sure you have never spoken to any other palace staff that way before despite most of them being well older than you.

If you could just add a hint of respect in the way you normally act, you would be so popular among everybody.

Minho’s eyes had been focused on the curls of Princess Rose’s hair the entire time, something about the way they waved made his heart flutter. He was that much infatuated with the girl he was supposed to compete the affection for among five other capable candidates. But for a moment, he allowed himself to remove his attention from her and instead, onto you.

He has never seen you around before, unsurprisingly. But he didn’t know the palace recruited kitchen staff as young as you. He couldn’t pinpoint your exact age but he could tell you hadn’t lived a day past nineteen, with your acne skin but youthful features, your badly kept but a headful of hair, and your small but invigorating body frame.

You weren’t pretty, but you were youthful. Looking at you made him feel nostalgic, it made him long for the days of his younger years when he didn’t have the pressure of the throne weighted on his shoulders. Now he’s got even more stress because of the courting selection process, his mind filled with concerns about his love not being reciprocated and having Princess Rose be engaged to another.

How Minho wished he could go back when things were less complicated, when he was free to do anything he so pleased. He should have learned how to bake a cake, but that activity have always been looked down upon by royals. He doesn’t bake cakes, he only eats them.

“I was hoping you would have some extra cream puffs left to spare, chef!” Princess Rose asked, her brows furrowing slightly as she tilted her head. “The plates were all licked clean because of how good they are, and I wasn’t able to get an extra. I was hoping someone would spare one for me.”

You raised a brow at the way Minho tensed up behind her. There were three things you noticed from that single movement.

One, Minho messed up his first test in the courting process by not giving up his own cream puff. But, judging by what she told you, nobody else did either, so that should not cause too much damage to his romantic health bar yet.

Two, Hyunjin wasn’t paying attention this whole time. His eyes were dazed but focused somehow, and you were unsure what he was focused on because as soon as you tried to catch his eyes, he looked away with a clearing of his throat. His plump lips pursed together as he eyed Minho, who looked at him with mild concern, before he dared to return his gaze on you.

He did it discreetly that time, not so much straightforwardly staring at you, and he could only slowly ease back into the longing stare when he found that your attention had reverted to Princess Rose again.

Three, Minho cared more about Princess Rose than Hyunjin did. That could just be a false assumption, though, from the way Hyunjin did’t react at all to her words while Minho did such a dramatic flinch.

Whatever it was, you hoped all the best for Minho. Both because you were quite fond of the princess and because you’d love for her to find true love.

Smiling, you gave her a nod and stepped aside to gesture toward the table. The ingredients were still presented on the table, but you knew she had overlooked all the utensils and sped her eyes straight to the tray of rosy pink cream puffs.

“How many of them would you like, Your Highness?” You asked, moving closer to the edge of the table and grabbing the sifter in your hand, prepared to add the powered sugar to the remaining cream puffs.

“Let’s see…” she hummed, her body moving swiftly in anticipation but you could tell from the way she was curling her firsts that she was still trying to maintain her image, “I would like three more, please!”

“Not a problem, Your Highness.” You flashed her a smile before your eyes looked behind her shoulders at the two princes. You raised your brows, your head tilting to the side as you threw caution to the wind for a brief moment to speak casually. “And the two princes standing behind Her Highness? Would you two like some extra cream puffs too?”

Startled at your sudden question, Minho nodded with his eyes darting around your vicinity. He did remember liking it, perhaps not as expressively as most of the others did, but he did adore the rosy taste of the filling. It was sweet, a very darling contrast to the actual meal he had.

“Yes, I would like one, please,” he requested, his voice smaller than it needed to be with you.

Hyunjin, unlike his cousin, was quick to jump on the enthusiastic train after Minho’s voice dropped. He clenched his hands together behind his back, his eyes lighting up at the chance to speak to you again, and when he spoke, his voice was unsettlingly formal and an octave lower than usual.

“I would like to have the rest of the cream puffs, please,” Hyunjin said, giving you a charming smile.

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes widening awkwardly at the way he seemed like he was anticipating something from you. But since you had no idea what he was thinking of, you only gave him a quick nod and returned to work on the cream puffs.

During the meantime, Minho took the chance to nudge his cousin in the ribs so to catch his attention. When Hyunjin glanced to the side at him, he flashed him a playful glare and a gradually blossoming smile. It was a wordless way for him to ask Hyunjin what in the fresh hell was that sudden attitude change he did to you?

Hyunjin shrugged, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “What?”

“You’re acting weird,” Minho replied lowly. “Why are you suddenly talking like an adult?”

“I am? Heavens, I did not notice, truly,” Hyunjin said, placing a hand over his heart. “I have always talked like this.”

“Stop lying, I have known you for years,” Minho hissed out. “You have never used that voice before unless you are trying to appeal to somebody!”

Changbin moved his body so his back faced the three royalties. Pretending to look over you pouring powered sugar on the dessert, he finally allowed himself a moment of rest and rolled his eyes freely. Did the two princes just assume everyone in the room was deaf or did they overestimate their ability to whisper?

He, and you, and possibly Princess Rose and chef Park, could hear their conversation clearly anyway. There was no need to whisper like that. It made them look stupid.

“Sorry to interrupt your lively discussion, Your Highnesses, but here are the cream puffs you asked for,” you said as you turned to them, your hands full with the cream puffs.

You gave the single one, supported by a baking parchment paper, to Minho first. Then you handed Princess Rose a smaller wooden tray of cream puffs, smiling faintly when she gleamed at the dessert in her hands. Lastly, you turned to Hyunjin and handed him the remaining of the cream puffs on a rectangular tray. He smiled at you, you politely returned it.

“Thank you so much!” Princess Rose beamed, holding the tray in her little hands like it was one of her many tiaras. She looked up at you, her eyes sparkling in a way that made you sweat; it was too cheerful and too jumpy for you. “Ah, I am so glad that you chose to make this. And of course, credits to chef Park for appointing you this position, I wouldn’t have had the chance to taste this if he hadn’t.”

You caught your lower lip between your teeth, your cheeks jutting out uncontrollably when chef Park was forced to give the joyful princess a smile, seemingly all in agreement to what she said. He must be furious, having his opinion denied by a royalty in such an energetic way after he just slapped you for defying him.

It wasn’t the best revenge, but it was good enough and amusing to watch from the side.

When you caught Changbin’s eyes, you found that he was trying his best to hold in a bright smile. His eyes widened at you and his head tilted to gesture towards the awkward man by the door, fumbling to keep up with the chatty princess. You could only giggle under your breath, pulling a face before allowing a smile to fully appear on your face.

Hyunjin clenched the edge of the tray unconsciously, his eyes once again lingered on your grin. He couldn’t hear your laugh, it must have been feathery light, and for once he despised the outdated rule of servants not being able to act freely around royalties. He wanted to hear it, he wanted to hear you laugh.

How were you doing this to him? His heart a pitter-pattering mess as he looked at your mundane features, not at all like himself or the princess in this room, yet his cheeks flush at the mere sight of you ever sine that morning in the garden. It seemed to have gotten worse now that he learned how good of a baker you are.

Delicious food and a naturally endearing face? Oh god, how could Hyunjin ever handle this.

“Hyunjin? Let’s go, mother might be wondering where we are.”

The boy snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Minho, his eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to a new face. When he did, all he could find was Minho smirking at him with a somewhat understanding look before turning to look at your direction.

He followed his eyes, your frame coming into sight then. You weren’t paying much attention to them anymore since they didn’t ask you for anything else. Instead, you had turned to clean up with table with Changbin’s help, lecturing him to gather certain utensils and dumping them at the sink. Removing his eyes from you, he looked at Minho again and he frowned.

“What?” He asked, shrugging.

Minho stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had caught onto the wrong idea. He swore that Hyunjin was staring at you, in the way Princess Rose was looking at those cream puffs and in the way he used to look at her—filled with infatuation and longing curiosity. It was a terrible crush.

Hyunjin could be denying it, but he could also be assuming things wrong. He couldn’t tell for now, so instead of pushing into the matter, he only patted Hyunjin on the shoulder and turned away to find Princess Rose. He left Hyunjin standing there, confused and frustrated at his own confusion, wondering what Minho meant with that knowing smirk of his.

With his mind filled, Hyunjin tilted his head to the side with mumbles escaping his lips. He spun around after sparking you one last glance, opting to reach for the rosewater cream puffs and popping one into his mouth. The sugary taste engulfed him in a loose but warm hug, and he felt giddy all over knowing that you were behind these sweet little puffs.

The baking room was reduced to silence again after the three royalties left, the only sounds that resonated in the room was from the water faucet and the cashing of baking utensils. You and Changbin have both shut your mouths as well, realizing that chef Park was the only authority still standing around.

His posture was rigid, and it wasn’t solely because his bones were getting older and older by day. He was proven wrong straight to your face, immediately after he belittled you so harshly that the staffs outside could have surely heard him. He knew he wouldn’t tell a soul about what Princess Rose said tonight to save face, but in a way he’s already been humiliated enough.

The last person he didn’t want knowing that the princes and princess liked those cream puffs was you, and you had been present through the entire event.

You wiped your wet hands on the towel, drying your skin roughly before looking back up at chef Park. Your eyes were dull, bored even, but the way you smiled showed triumph, and he hated it. That shit-eating expression of yours could go straight to Hell if he could control it.

Damn brat, just because the princess liked your dessert now you suddenly think you’re all that, huh?

“You better not be expecting a compliment,” chef Park spoke first, glaring at you. “Like it or not, the main problem doesn’t lie in whether the dessert is good. It is the fact that you can’t follow instructions.”

What a liar. He barely mentioned one thing about you not following his recipe. It was all about your baking being terrible and him losing his career. Seeing that your cream puffs were fine and that you actually do have skills lined up your sleeves, he suddenly turned a blind eye to it and switched the topic he was mad about.

Chef Park couldn’t hide that obvious grunge he held against you for the life of it. He would find something to get mad at you for no matter what, and frankly, it has made your days in the palace a living hell. If it wasn’t for the good companions you’ve met around this place, and your daily mischief where you would bake instead of finishing tasks, you’d be miserable.

“You won’t be cooking for the next week, take that as a light punishment for breaking my rules,” he huffed with an eye-roll, holding a hand up when you glared at him and tried to talk back. “You won’t get out of it, [Name]. I’ll only extend the days the more you try to talk yourself out of it.”

You pursed your lips together and stayed silent, your nails digging into the heel of your palm as you forced your words to fall dead at your tongue.

He was right; since he has the authority over you, no matter how much you try to appeal to the situation, you wouldn’t succeed. He hates you, plain and simple, and if he wanted you out of the kitchen, he’ll do it. The only thing he couldn’t actually do was get you kicked out of the palace entirely.

That would be up to the palace butler, and lord, did chef Park hated that thorough bastard. Chan probably wouldn’t kick you out for the world considering his keen senses on detecting a false or angry report. He could see straight past chef Park’s bullshit with just a snap of his fingers,

Besides, Chan have always had soft spots for the younger palace staffs, even more for you since you were the youngest one. Acting like he was your blood brother, that nosy fucker. Let him find out what chef Park did to your pretty little face and he would be done for, which was the sole reason why he got you out of the kitchen and into maid duty.

If you stay outside the palace, you stay away from the butler. You didn’t know Chan has that kind of authority amongst the staffs yet, but he wasn’t planning on running that risk of you blabbering about what happened.

“Have fun doing laundry, [Name],” chef Park said with malice laced all over his voice, then he pushed open the door and left.

Your shoulders slumped when he was gone, your eyes as sharp as kitchen knifes watching him leave. You wanted to explode, you wanted to scream at him for giving you another week out of the kitchen again. Another week of cleaning bedsheets and folding expensive clothes, another week of doing chores alone because you still haven’t made any maid friends, another week of sneaking into the kitchen at night just to bake something easy because you missed it so much.

You hated life here, you should have never agreed to coming here. You should have pulled the age card, telling the king that you wanted a few more years at home before entering the palace, that would have probably been a good enough reason to shoot him down. But coming here means medical treatment for your father. And even if you could say no to the king, you could not deny his wealth.

“He kicked me out again!” You whined as you turned around to look at Changbin, your feet stomping against the floor childishly. There were almost tears in your eyes, but you didn’t feel like crying so you simply started to throw a tantrum. “What is his problem with me? I swear, he never liked me! He’s only been against me since day one!”

“You did tell him his recipe is boring, multiple times too,” Changbin pointed out as he placed the last clean bowl on the kitchen counter before moving away from the sink. He dried his hands on the apron, his brows furrowing slightly as you frowned at him in disapproval.

“That’s because it is!” You exclaimed a retort.

“You do realize he became the pastry chef for a reason, right?” He reasoned, “How can he get to where he is with boring recipes.”

You opened your mouth, trying to find the right words to retort but slowly coming to the conclusion that Changbin was absolutely correct, and you have been extremely biased in your opinions. While you didn’t really think his recipes are boring, just very general steps for good ingredients, you only kept saying so because you hated him and he was being unfair to you.

You didn’t mean it half the time, but those words probably still hurt his dignity.

“Are you on my side or his, Changbin?” You asked lowly, squinting your eyes at him with a grimace.

Changbin laughed. He approached you and placed a hand on top of your head. His smile was graceful but lacking a lot in sincerity this time. It was meant to be more playful than heartfelt, you knew, a smile that told you not to take him seriously from this point on because he was joking around.

“I’m obviously on your side,” he muttered with not an ounce of strength in his voice, causing you to kick his ankles lightly. He laughed, loudly this time with his voice full. “No, seriously, kid. I am.”

You looked up at him, your chest habitually warm as he patted your head. It was a silent form of praise, you learned that from your mother constantly doing it to you when you were much younger. Now that she couldn’t be with you as much anymore, Changbin took it upon himself to give you the parental encouragements you needed as a youngster. And on rare occasion when you do see Chan, he’d ruffle your hair up as well.

Now that you think more clearly about it, without the previous anger blinding your emotions, perhaps you didn’t hate the palace life all that much. If everyone could be just like Changbin and Chan then this place would be paradise on Earth. But, as you learned, your average person could not be as capable as Chan nor as friendly as Changbin, and that was really unfortunate.

“I know,” you said, nodding at him.

“You just can’t say thank you to people for once, can you?” Changbin asked, removing his hand from your head after shoving the side of it slightly.

“I will when you’ve done something good.” You shrugged with a smile.

“What-“ he huffed, his lips quirking up into an incredulous smile as his eyes widened in a faint glare. “When have I ever done wrong by you, huh?”

“If I tell you then there is no point,” you hummed as you turned around, leaving his side for the hanger nailed to the wall by the door. You untied the knot behind you, releasing it with a swift pull, then you looped the apron out of your neck and hung it back on the knob. “When you did something wrong, sometimes it’s better to realize it yourself.”

“That’s not good communication,” Changbin mumbled under his breath, following your action. He looked at you then, his eyes rolling back for a moment as he shook his head at you, completely defeated by you. “But sure, I will apologize when I find out what I did wrong.”

You only grinned, the childish gleam in your eyes haunting him as he bid you goodnight and urged you to head to bed early. Then he left the baking room, his voice booming from outside as he called for someone in the main kitchen. Your grin dropped quickly, eyes blinking as you shifted your weight and pressed a hand to your cheek in the midst of your mindless thoughts.

Sometimes you just stare into space because you could, because your feelings need a permanent image to gather itself together for the better. One need not to always be thinking about something, sometimes your eyes settle and your mind simply register the colors, the object, never the meaning, and that would be enough thinking already.

But your mind bounced out of the headless state today when your eyes caught sight of a peculiar piece of paper stuck on the edge of the table corner, hidden underneath the counter shelf with only its tip peaking out. Your brows furrowed at the wavering object and you moved towards it slowly.

Leaning down, you pulled the piece of paper out from underneath. It was a thick parchment paper, with faint red linings printed on it that matched the redness of the wax seal stamped in the middle of the envelope. The symbol of the king’s crown was intricate and detailed, you stared at it carefully in hopes to have it memorized, wondering if you could ever redraw it using frostings.

You looked up after you finished admiring the wax seal. This could not have been a letter written by any kitchen staff. The royal seal is only available to royalties, therefore one of the three that just came by the room must have dropped it without knowing.

Curiously, you flipped the envelope around in hopes to find who the letter was addressed to. Dusting off the dirty stuck to the paper, your eyes finally registered the name written prettily on top of the paper, with a spot of spilled black ink next to the cursive name.

To Princess Rose, with love.

A love letter, but from who?

You hummed at it as you flipped it around again, your eyes fixed on the wax seal in the middle. You could always just stick it back if you peel it off, or you could just lie about the wax seal falling off after you tried to get rid of the dirt underneath the counter table. That way you could not only find out who wrote the letter, but you could also read the content.

Your fingers hovered over the red seal for a short moment, then you carefully peeled it off.

Hyunjin had finally returned into the palace from the garden. Right after wrapping up dinner time with the rest of the royal families and seeing them off in their gold carriages, he took the tray of rosewater cream puffs from a maid and headed straight for the garden.

He wanted to enjoy the dessert at the stone pavilion that stood tall behind the water fountain, surrounded by wall shrubs with white flowers growing along it. The peace and quiet covering that corner of the garden had always calmed his mind, and the moonlight cascading on the rolling water flowed as freely as his mind could as it filled itself with the thought of you.

Those cream puffs were as amazing as he remembered first trying it, and he seemed to like it even more now that he knew you were the one who made them. How unfathomable, he had no idea your hands could wove ingredients into such magnificence. As if you weren’t appealing enough already, catching his eyes and stealing his attention. Now you have caught your way to his tummy as well.

Hyunjin was able to finish the cream puffs quickly, much fortunately because not a second later he had heard the sound of Princess Rose giggling down the path to the pavilion. He almost groaned at her voice, his brows furrowing in exhaustion just from hearing it. If it wasn’t for the sugar in his mouth, he possibly would have cursed out loud.

It wasn’t that he hated Princess Rose, absolutely not. She was a very nice lady; she was pretty, very positive, has an elegant upbringing, and needless to mention, an actual royalty. He could see all her good sides and he understood why most princes would be attracted to her, including Minho, but sadly, he just wasn’t one of them.

No matter how many times he had to pretend he was okay with joining the court selection, no matter how much his parents were anticipating his victory in this romantic race, he just could not bring himself to feel anything special for her. And it has been so difficult for him to pretend to be in love with her when he already has his crush on you occupying his mind on a daily, so difficult that he’d be happy to never see the princess again.

Turning his head, he wiped the powered sugar off his lips and proceeded to dust his hand off on his pants. He got ready to face the princess, prepared to strike up a conversation and offer to walk her back into the palace (hopefully, or else he’d have to walk her around the garden and he really did not want to do that) when Minho came out of the shadowy corner with her.

They were chatting happily. Minho’s posture was relaxed but Hyunjin knew his fingers were twitching rigidly behind his back, while Princess Rose was being simply herself, a beaming girl excited to drown under the moonlight with a beautiful man.

Hyunjin breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight, knowing that those two were probably out to have some alone time with each other and Minho would definitely not welcome him to join. He discreetly tried to waltz his way out of their path, sneaking into shadows and hiding behind stone columns wrapped around in vines, and he only relaxed after he reentered the palace.

His mind lingered at the sight back in the garden for a moment, his lips quirking up funnily when it hit him that Minho was making a move in trying to appeal to her more. Oh, he surely hoped his cousin wins her hand in marriage. Minho has been in love with Princess Rose since their childhood days, an affection she was far too oblivious to sense even within close quarters.

Surely, this courting period would jolt her right out of it. Those love letters Minho would be writing to her would be one of a kind.

“Oh–good evening, Your Highness.”

Gasps! Hyunjin could recognize that voice anywhere, it was practically engraved in his brain.

Turning slowly to you, who he saw out of his peripheral vision, the muscles under that velvet blazer tensed up and his lips widened into a suspiciously big smile. His eyes darted around for a moment, finding out that he hadn’t stumbled into the kitchen but instead you had come out of the palace library.

Thank god, he hasn’t lost his mind completely yet. Mindlessly bringing himself to the kitchen would totally prove that. But judging by his increasing heart beat, he was probably close to reaching that point now.

“Good evening… uhh, chef!” He greeted back, waving absentmindedly.

“Did you just return from the garden, Your Highness?” You asked then, clutching your hands behind your back where the lost letter was held. When he gave you a questioning look, you reached on hand up to your head and tapped at it. You whispered, almost a hiss, “There is a leaf stuck in you hair.”

“Oh! Oh, right, of course!” He quickly reached his hands up to pick at his locks, hoping to find the leaf you were talking about. When his fingers couldn’t grasp anything dry, because the leaf has already fallen out with his exaggerated movements, he opted to ruffle his brown locks altogether.

Your smile dropped slightly at his choice of action. It was sudden, but it was just like the way he had swatted at that butterfly that day. A little clumsy and overall, hilarious to watch. But since you weren’t supposed to laugh at royalties, you had to keep your lips sealed up and put on a bland face in order to not break down in giggles in front of him.

Hyunjin, sadly, had taken your neutral expression too seriously and started to panic a little. What did that mean? Why did you stop smiling at him? Was he acting weird? Yes, he was acting weird! He must be acting weird! That’s not good! Oh no, Hyunjin, pull yourself together!

He quickly cleared his throat as he pulled at the hem of his blazer and stood up straight, his shoes meeting each others’ heel. His smile didn’t fade, it only became more charming than skeptical, and his dimple showed from the way his lips quirked. It was like he did a personality turn in a mere one second, and suddenly he felt like an actual prince again.

“Sorry about that. I just finished your cream puffs and I think I might be having a sugar rush,” he said, a casual huff in his voice.

“Oh,” you laughed out then, clapping your hands together soundlessly, “I see. Well, it’s never too bad to get that kind of rush once in a while, they aren’t too harmful.”

“Your sweets are too delicious to be harmful, chef,” he replied, almost flirtatiously if you weren’t so dense to believe that he would never try to flirt with you. But even then, you giggled at his words simply because he kept calling you by a title you haven’t received yet but hoped to in the future, and that made his heart all excited and happy.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness,” you said with a polite dip of your head.

“Yeah, of course, you deserve it! They’re really good!” He gave you several enthusiastic nods of approval, his eyes widening in emphasis that he meant his words more than he has ever meant anything else in his life.

And you could only thank him again, much more meekly this time due to the sudden step he made towards you. He smelt of sweat, possibly from the heat outside the garden and how he had to wear such thick fabrics under that weather, but you could hardly concentrate on that when he body stood so close and he was all up in your face about it.

Hyunjin was such a pretty man. You couldn’t believe you have never stopped to appreciate his features in your own time, even if you two have only met each other thrice by now. The whispers and coos shared between the palace maids, starting from the swoons from the younger ones to the motherly praises of the older ones, weren’t just here for show, you realized.

His eyes were surely a brilliant shad of brown, reminding you of the perfect brownies you have once baked for the neighbours’ kids. Looking into them reminded you of their innocent giggles, it made your heart swell in nostalgia.

And his prettily plump lips made his smile magnificently bright, shaping his face perfectly like colouful frosting fitting perfectly into the surface of a cotton cake. It feels satisfying to watch and such a serotonin boost, much like that vanilla cotton cake you baked for your father’s birthday.

You smiled even more fondly at him then, remembering the warmth of your hometown and letting your heart lean into the longing. It only made you smile; sometimes sadness displays itself in the form of a smile, you thought that meant you are slowly embracing the fact that you’re getting over it.

After allowing himself a moment to watch you in silence, because it seemed you were also doing the same, Hyunjin finally broke the moment by faking a cough. When he caught your attention, he pointed behind you at the big double doors and asked, “You came from the library?”

“Oh, yes, I was just inside to borrow something from the butler,” you said, smiling.

“Ah… is it Chan?” Hyunjin asked.

“Yeah. I assume you two have already met each other, Your Highness?”

“Yes, he has worked in this palace for a long time,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. “He just used to watch over me and Minho when we would go outside to play. If you ask him about me, he’ll probably tell you how insufferable I am.”

“Well, I am sure you used to be as charming as you are right now, Your Highness,” you said humbly, causing his eyes to soften. He sure hopes he’s charming enough to linger in your head.

“Oh, actually, I do have a small question to ask you, Your Highness!” You abruptly said after a moment of silence, almost preparing to take your leave when you remembered the letter in your hands.

Hyunjin blinked in confusion, waiting patiently as you clenched your fingers softly around the envelope before finally moving your hand back to the front so he could see the letter. He furrowed his brows at the red seal, recognizing it as the royal seal and only getting more confused as to why you have it in your hands.

“I found this on the kitchen floor, I was wondering if you dropped it when you came by?” You asked, handing the re-sealed letter to him before timidly shrinking back on your spot.

Hyunjin looked at the envelope, his brows furrowing more as he wracked his brain to think. Seeing the words ‘To Princess Rose, with love.’ was able to snap him out of his thoughts quickly as he snapped his fingers with a yell of realization. You jumped, your eyes widening as he turned his head to look to the side.

He looked anxious now, his fingers fluttering against each other in mild panic and stomping his feet gently against the ground. This was what Minho talked to him about, the love letter! He was supposed to hand out his first letter to the Princess Rose so when she leaves, he could keep sending her love letters until the courting period ends and she has to pick her husband.

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath before turning to you. “Thank you for picking this up, I’ll return this to Minho so don’t worry about it!”

“Oh, I wasn’t really–“

“Goodbye, I hope we can see each other again soon!” He gave you not another second to finish your sentence and immediately sped off to the direction where he came from. But before he could go too far, he stopped with a few stumbles and turned back around to ask loudly, “Chef! I forgot to ask for your name!”

Your face heated. What did he need to be so loud for, it was such a trivial problem! Oh, even though nobody was around to witness this, it somehow felt embarrassing! Hopefully, Chan couldn’t hear him from inside the library, it’d be weird to have to explain to him that the prince suddenly just asked for you name when they never do.

“It’s [Na]–“

“What? I can’t hear you!” He leaned forward, turning his head to the side to show his ear.

You pursed your lips together in faint annoyance before you took a step closer to him and said firmly, “It’s [Name]!”

Hyunjin flashed you a smile, his head nodding. “Okay,” he said, “I hope to see you later, [Name]!”

You clutched your hands together, feeling your red face still permanent even after Hyunjin turned around the corner and left like the wind. Gosh, why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? He was never in your mind before, and you weren’t about to be so shallow to develop a crush on him simply because of his gorgeous face, were you?

You shook your head with a light curse, reminding yourself that Hyunjin was a prince and you were just a palace baker, and you spun on your heels to leave before Chan could open the library door to ask about the commotion.

Minho was panicking. The second he reached his hand in his pocket and realized the emptiness of it, he started to panic.

He had the whole night planned out in front of him weeks before Princess Rose even arrived to the kingdom for a night’s stay. He had spent days and nights roaming about in the palace library, flipping open one too many romance books and hoping to find the right words to ink down on the love letter he would give to her tonight.

First the dinner, the garden, then he would give her the first love letter within the next ten love letters he would write over the course of a full month.

But he couldn’t find the letter in his pocket. The letter he so desperately stuffed inside his tiny pants pocket before leaving his room to welcome the carriage, the letter he had been worrying so hard about for the whole night, the letter he kept wishing had not gone wrinkled in the confine space was gone, vanished, evaporated in air particles he could no longer see nor touch.

And god, was he humiliated to have to keep Princess Rose waiting while he awkwardly laugh to fill the delay.

Seeing the way he kept fumbling with himself, the princess tilted her head to the side and furrowed her pretty brows. She gave Minho a few more seconds to search himself before she opened her mouth to ask, “Are you okay, Minho? You look ghastly.”

“I’m fine, Rosie. Don’t worry,” he laughed, scratching the back of his head as his movements halted to a stop. His cheeks were red, but it was hard to see with his back turned on the moon. “I am just… I’m just finding something.”

“Oh? What is it? Maybe I can help you look for it,” she got off the stone bench and approached him, her eyes gazing around at the floor carefully.

“It’s not–it’s probably not on the ground?” Minho grimaced as he looked around the ground, hoping that he hadn’t dropped his precious letter on the floor and let the wind swipe it up in the air.

“What is it, though?” Rosie pressed on, leaning forward to stare up at Minho. “I can help you find it. It seems important to you.”

“It is,” he sighed, a faintly annoyed look gracing over his angry brows before he softened a little upon her face.

Pursing his lips together, he realized there wouldn’t be any harm in asking for her help. This could be a treasure hunting game of some kind; tell her about the love letter he wrote, ask her to find it with him, and the reward would be her receiving the love letter. It could be quite fun searching through the garden, the moon and the night sky already helped with setting the mood enough to not make this feel like a mundane chore.

The only regret Minho has was not playing it cool and pretending he had this plan all along. He knew Rosie didn’t much mind it, she never really did mind his occasional clumsiness much, but swerving out of his original plan really irked him.

“Actually, yeah, I would love your help,” he said, looking at her. “I think I dropped a–“

“Love letter delivery!”

Like a lightbulb going on, alarm bells rung in Minho’s ear briefly upon Hyunjin’s panting but cheerful voice. He whipped his head to the side, his eyes widened in bewilderment as he watched Hyunjin halt to a tiring stop. Sitting right between his fingers was the envelope he had been hoping to see.

“Love letter?” Princess Rose turned to the side so she could face Hyunjin fully. She walked near the boy and reached her hand out, demanding the letter to be delivered as he so loudly announced a moment ago.

Hyunjin looked at her, his jaw dropped slightly in reluctance. His eyes gazed past the princess and at Minho, asking for permission. When Minho rolled his eyes and gave him a casual shrug, he learned two thing: (1) it does not matter what Hyunjin does, because either way Minho thought he ruined the mood for him anyway and (2) yes, please give Princess Rose the letter so this humiliation event could stop.

“Here you go, princess,” Hyunjin said lowly as he placed the letter in her hand before bowing, with a hand over his heart and the other behind his back, the one he saw Chan doing to the king’s friends before. “I shall take my leave now. May you have a pleasant night, princess.”

Minho scoffed as Hyunjin swiftly turned around and walked away. He bet that boy immediately started running with his arms flailing about the second he turned the corner and just headed straight back into the palace, and he was over here acting all coy and gentle in front of Rosie.

His attention reverted to Rosie when she turned around with her brows raised in question, the love letter clutched tightly in her hand. There was a very faint blush on her cheeks, but Minho could’t tell if it was just the makeup or the shyness that was causing it. Even when she approached closer to him, the dark night seemed to have draped a veil over her face and he could not tell clearly.

“You wrote me a love letter,” Rosie mused, waving it about in the air as an amused smile spread across her face.

“Yes, I did,” Minho replied in a grunt, putting his hands on his hips, “I am supposed to be courting you this month, right?”

“True,” she said, carefully tearing the wax seal open and removing the letter from the envelope, “but you are the only contestant to hand me a love letter so bonus points for you.”

“I thought the bonus point should already be added from me being your childhood best friend,” he joked, his tone holding a hint of mischief in it.

“Correction, childhood friend,” she said as she walked over to the bench and sat down. She placed the envelope to her side and held the thin letter in her hands. “You’ve lost your title as best friend, that belongs to a princess now.”

“Ouch, my feelings are hurt, Rosie,” he said playfully, putting a hand on his heart and feigning to be in pain.

Rosie lifted her gown and kicked Minho’s feet, not hard enough to make him stumble but hard enough to sting with her heel. She only smiled when Minho threw her a glare, and she returned to the letter in her hands. As she unfolded the paper, she spoke casually, “If I like the letter then I’ll add you more bonus point then.”

Minho kicked the rocks at his feet as he waited. His eyes nervously looked around the garden, embracing the scenery around him as he took in everything he has never paid much attention to. The carefully trimmed bushes, the wavering flowers, the reliable trees, and the clear path along the garden—the staffs sure take a good care of this place, he never took notice, and he would surely forget soon when another conversation strikes up with Rosie.

How beautiful the royal garden was has never been the kind of trivial things he has to let his mind linger on. Pretty things as such are like candy; he takes it in, and he forgets it until he gets another glimpse again, and never once does he take into account how the beauty comes to be because all he has to do is drown himself in it.

The silence was engulfing him whole, not in a comforting way as his own room would, but anxiously. The sound of silk curtains waving by his room’s window turning into the thunderstorm raining down in his chest, lighting strikes zapping down and just barely burning his lungs to create this exhilarating feeling inside of him.

He was trying so hard to read her face, to see what she thought about the letter, to know if she liked it. But Rosie kept a straight race the entirety of her reading the letter, and the initial reaction she gave Minho was a bland expression. There was no smile, her eyes were empty, and her brows seemed neither happy nor angry.

Minho’s heart jumped as his mind raced to recall the days of him writing the letter. Has sleep-deprivation caught onto his brain and started spilling words for him? Or was his writing so purely bad that even Rosie couldn’t bring herself to pretend to appreciate it?

He couldn’t speak when she suddenly stood up and walked near him. With wide eyes, Minho watched as Rosie raised her fist in the air before she landed a knock on his shoulder. Her hand stayed there, her fist slowly spreading out so her hand covered his chest, and she glanced down on the floor.

“You… you…” she muttered under her breath before looking up, with her rosy cheeks and shy smile, “you get extra bonus points.”

Minho took a second to huff out a relieved sigh, and it was both from how adorable he thought Rosie looked acting like that and from the fact that she liked the love letter he wrote. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat lining up his forehead and wiping it away, then he finally smiled down at the princess.

“You liked it?”

“Liked it? Heavens, Minho, I loved it!” She exclaimed, her hands leaving his chest and going to clutch the letter. She looked down at it once again, a smile blossoming on her face as she re-read the words before sighing dreamily, her hand pressing the letter to her chest. “I mean, I had no idea you could write like this!”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I did look for a lot of references.”

“Oh, but even then!” She said, looking down at the letter, “how my eyes rivals that of the depths of the ocean, how they contain all the secrets you wish patiently for me to reveal about myself–Minho, that is very romantic!”

Oh that was, indeed, a very pretty sentence and it absolutely did reveal his deepest affection for Rosie, but just hold on a minute.

Minho’s hand dropped to his side as his brows slowly furrowed, his mind paused to think again, recalling his time spent sitting at a desk with the quill pen in his hand. And he thought about it long and hard only to come to a terrible conclusion: he did not write a single thing about ocean in the letter.

“I’m sorry, what ocean?” He asked, leaning forward slightly in hopes to look at the letter.

Rosie smiled cluelessly at him and she repeated, “My eyes? The part where you said my eyes rivals that of the depths of the ocean?”

“Oh, that…” Minho giggled nervously.

He wrote no such thing.

Minho watched with a grimace as the white carriage moved away from the palace front yard where he stood, along with a few palace staff and Chan standing just to his side.

It was finally time for Princess Rose to leave for her kingdom in order to create a fair ground for all the other contestants in the courting period. Minho would definitely be visiting her sometime during the month, knowing fairly well the other princes will do so too, but he’s also got the love letters he would be sending her way over the course of the month. Therefore, he shouldn’t do too bad on it.

The only problem he has right now was to find out who switched his letter out with something else, and his first suspect was none other than Hwang Hyunjin.

“Chan!” Minho called immediately after the carriage was out of sight. He turned abruptly to the side where Chan stood, annoyance surfacing to his face and causing the rest of the palace staffs to quickly scurry away from the front yard.

Chan breathed in deeply at the prince’s voice, already sensing that there would be some sort of trouble happening under the palace roof today. For a second he looked at the fading carriage with longing, wanting nothing more than to jump on the wagon and ride back home where he could sleep until sunset. Taking care of palace duties could really take a toll on him sometimes, as capable as he is.

But well, too bad that he got picked because he had an honest face and the previous butler trusted him the most. He would be stuck here until he could find himself a suitable replacement for this position.

Chan put on a soft smile as he turned to look at Minho, and he asked, “How may I be of service today, Your Highness?”

Minho furrowed his brows, his grimace deepening at his friend’s formal tone. “Cut the crap, jeez,” he waved his hands dismissively, “you sound disgusting.”

“That, I believe, a lot of guests beg to differ,” Chan said jokingly, adding a somewhat seductive wink at the end of his sentence and causing Minho to roll his eyes.

Even though he wasn’t wrong, and that lots of gentlemen and ladies who have walked through the palace doors for balls and parties have openly discussed Chan’s more than gorgeous features and top-tier politeness, he didn’t need to say that. Not to mention that stinking wink he did, ugh, it just makes Minho shiver.

“I’m going to pretend I never heard that but do invite me to your wedding if there will be one,” he said before jumping right back into the original topic. “Do you know where Hyunjin might be?”

“Prince Hyunjin…” Chan hummed as he turned to look at the palace, his eyes squinted as if he could see right through the walls and pinpoint Hyunjin’s exact location.

And perhaps he could. After all, he had taken care of him for years before due to his frequent visits, he might still be able to recall Hyunjin’s never changing morning routine if he tried hard enough. Giving it another thought, mentally listing all the things Hyunjin does in the morning and about how long it takes for him to finish each tasks, Chan finally turned to look at Minho again.

“I could be wrong, but it is likely that he would be on his way to the garden right now,” Chan said. “And since he usually likes to grab a snack for that, he might be near where the kitchen is at the moment.”

“Got it, thanks!” Minho mumbled under his breath as he sped past Chan and ran inside the palace, leaving the butler completely bewildered.

And, just as Chan predicted, Hyunjin was walking along the hallway with his hand holding up a plate of cake. His brows were furrowed and there was a pout on his face that he couldn’t wipe off.

He spent his entire morning in the library. He had laid on the velvet couches, all four of them plastered across the corners of the reading area, with a different book in his hands every other minute.

He never actually paid attention to reading them, he only flipped the books open to read a few lines before he would close it and drop it on the tea tables. His short attention span never quite allowed him the time and space to finish one book entirely.

But he loved the library even then. It is quiet as the garden is, and while it couldn’t refresh his mind like the garden could with the flowery scent and the bright blue sky, the library has always given him a mysterious, candle-lit atmosphere.

He loved the carpet floors and how his footsteps could never be destructive walking around it, and he loved the concept of books lining up the shelf, each one of them a different emotion stained with ink.

The library is so alive to him, filled with people’s quiet minds, waiting for him to discover.

After his hazy morning delight, all spent drowning in pages and admiring certain phrases he found beautiful, he started thinking about you. A gentle thought, one that could waver off easily if he tried, but he never tried because he Hyunjin loved thinking about you.

You and your mellow words, spoken in such a gentle voice, your formality that he genuinely disliked, your passionate hands that could make brilliant desserts. He smiled with the poetry book pressed close to his chest. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was see you, which would be convenient for him since you two were located under the same palace roof now.

He finally got off the soft surfaces and decided to head to the garden so he could admire the flowers and, well, daydream about you again, and he had stopped by the kitchen in hopes to find you there.

He wanted to talk to you again, and perhaps he could humbly ask for a tray of snack from you to enjoy during his long visit to the garden too. But you were nowhere to be found when he arrived, not when he glimpsed into the kitchen and not by the other kitchen staffs who worked inside.

He did get himself a plate of strawberry cake, though, which he was quite in the mood for. But nothing beats being able to eat the dessert you make, and he knew that you didn’t make this cake as chef Park was the one who handed it to him while telling him about how he spent the whole morning making it.

As he made his way across the hall, putting pieces of the cake into his pouty mouth, rapid footsteps were making their way towards him from the other side. When Hyunjin finally registered the noises, he looked up from his plate and stopped when he found Minho racing towards him from the other end of the hall.

His pulled a face at the way Minho was panting by the time he approached him, watching his pathetic face contorting while stabbing the fork into the cake and popping in another piece. Hyunjin’s mouth was full when he spoke, his voice slightly muffled by the small pieces of strawberries and the soft cake in his cheek.

“What are you running for, you idiot?” He asked, a hint of irritation present in his voice as he waved his fork around the air. “See? Now you can’t breathe! You look stupid, and for what reason, Minho? For what?”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin, huffs of breath leaving his lips as his gaze hardened in confusion. “Who put roaches in your cake, Hyunjin?” He asked as he stood up, looking at Hyunjin with a permanent frown as he pushed aside his own problems to ask about his attitude. “You’re so grumpy and for what reason, hmm?”

Hyunjin scoffed, stuffing his cheek with yet another piece of cake before he complained, “Shut up! I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

“Why? Is the cake bad?”

“No, it’s a normal cake, and I’m not going to explain it to you so just leave it,” Hyunjin sighed, his voice much gentler now that he has calmed down from the heat of not being able to see you just then. He poked at the frosting with the fork and eyed Minho carefully, his brows raising in question, urging him to speak.

Minho gathered himself then. He has been thinking about the love letter all night, feeling both furious and defeated because he was torn between being happy that Princess Rose liked the love letter, thus liking him better, and being upset that his feelings weren’t the ones delivered to her but somebody else’s words.

He wasn’t sure if the process mattered more than the result this time.

“Did you write my love letter?” Minho asked, going straight to the point.

Hyunjin stared at him for a long moment, just munching on his cake and looking directly into his eyes with his own hollow and dead ones. And it took Minho a light-hearted shake of his head before he finally spoke in that bored, nonchalant tone of his.

“That’s a stupid question, Minho,” he said with a snicker, “if you said it is your love letter then who else could have written it but you?”

“Hyunjin,” Minho called once, firmly, his fists curled to his side and a sarcastic smile on his face.

Hyunjin laughed, holding his hand out in mock defence as he took a few steps back. Alright, he didn’t register how Minho was being serious but hearing his teeth gritting against each other was a good enough indication. He was still smiling in amusement when he forked up the crumbs of the cake and shoved them in his mouth.

As soon as he dragged the fork away from his lips, he spoke with an incredulous grimace, “Okay, okay! No, no I didn’t write your letter.”

Minho pressed on for a little more, not believing in Hyunjin just yet due to how playful he was being. “Are you sure? Nothing like… how Rosie’s eyes are like the ocean?”

“Eww, god no, that’s cheesy!” Hyunjin gagged, his nose scrunching up in pure disgust.

He couldn’t even begin to think of Princess Rose in a romanic way, let alone write something about her pretty eyes being akin to the ocean when they’re not even blue. That kind of creativity wasn’t reserved for her, it was reserved for you, someone who he was actually fond of.

“Well, she liked it so cheesy or not, it worked,” Minho scoffed as he crossed his arms. “Except I wasn’t the one who wrote it, and if it wasn’t you either then it has got to be the person before you… say, who gave you the letter, Hyunjin?”

“Huh? Uh… [Name] gave me the letter…” Hyunjin’s voice trailed off slowly to a halt as he watched Minho’s expression morph into confusion. He waved his fork in the air and explained, “The one who made those cream puffs yesterday. They said they found it on the kitchen floor, I think they tried to ask Chan about it too since they came out from the library when I saw them.”

Minho tilted his head to the side, his mind racing to piece of puzzles together. It could not have been Chan who helped him write the letter. If he wanted to help then he would have done so weeks ago when he saw Minho turning and flipping pages of multiple romance books in the library. Why would he suddenly rewrite the whole letter for him?

Besides, Chan wouldn’t head inside the kitchen for no reason. His duty laid outside the kitchen, where the main rooms of the palace were located. You definitely picked it up after he dropped it and looked inside because curiosity got the best of you.

What Minho couldn’t understand was why you rewrote his letter? Have you planned to sabotage his undisclosed plan to court Princess Rose?

“[Name]…” Minho muttered under his breath, his chest heaving in frustration as his brows knitted to the middle. Whatever reason it was, you already did what you should not do; your crimes didn’t simply lie in rewriting Minho’s love letter, you obviously tore it open and read it as well. And he has to settle that with you.

Sensing Minho’s displeasure, it took Hyunjin a short moment to realize he might have just snitched you out accidentally, albeit he wasn’t aware of what you did and neither could Minho be sure, it seemed. Placing the fork on the plate and casually dropping the plate on the side table, carefully pushing it into the corner and against the flower vase landed on top.

Hyunjin placed a hand on Minho’s shoulder and laughed awkwardly, trying to deescalate his rising emotions. “I’m sure they didn’t do anything, though. Maybe you wrote something and you just forgot!”

“I’ve been facing that letter for weeks, I’ll never forget it,” Minho mumbled under his breath as he brushed Hyunjin’s hand off and started walking towards the direction of the kitchen.

Hyunjin panicked. Minho seemed genuinely annoyed and he might have just put fuel to the fire by trying to defend you. He had no idea what Minho planned to do if he found out you did tweaked his letter, and he wasn’t sure if he has the power to stop whatever Hell could be descended upon you, so he made another mistake by stopping Minho in his tracks again.

His hands tugged at the older’s collar, stopping him from moving forward. When Minho turned around to throw him a glare, he felt a shiver run down his spine and he immediately let go of his red silk shirt.

“They’re not in the kitchen, I dropped by and they weren’t there so no point heading to the kitchen!” Hyunjin said nervously, clapping his hands together and rubbing his smooth skin.

Minho furrowed his brows. Fake smile, anxious eyes, and fidgety hands—he wasn’t lying, Minho knew. Hyunjin have always been the better liar of the two, he wouldn’t break a sweat if he had to lie to an entire crowd about some bullshit idea. Bluffing was his thing. If he was acting like this then he was just nervous and nothing else.

Unless Minho was wrong, of course. Since this situation matters you, and Minho suspected that Hyunjin has developed an enigmatic affection towards you (one that he needs to talk to him about because oh, no, a prince with a kitchen staff? The atrocity of that was immaculate), it could be possible that Hyunjin has thrown all caution to the wind and started to lose his head a little.

How disappointing. It wasn’t like Minho was going to do anything cruel to you. Did Hyunjin actually think he’d send you to the chamber over some stupid love letter? Hurtful, atrocious, obscene. Hyunjin has no faith in his tolerance at all even after all these years of him enduring his bullshit.

“Well, I still have to find them somehow,” Minho muttered under his breath as he dusted his hands and continued to walk forward. “I need an explanation to why they rewrote my love letter!”

“No need to do that because I wrote it! I was the one who wrote it for you!” Hyunjin quickly said, catching up with Minho. But judging by the way Minho only kept walking, he knew his hasty lies were left both unheard and revealed.

There was a moment of silent as the two walked towards the kitchen, Minho leading at the front while Hyunjin followed closely behind. Glancing behind his shoulder, Minho found the younger prince to still be fidgeting with the hem of his clothes, his eyes nervously looking around the walls and down at the pattered carpet, and a defeated sigh escaped his lips.

He wondered if Hyunjin noticed it himself; the way he stares at you, and the way his mind get all hazy whenever your name is mentioned, and how his movements always turn so abrupt and sudden when you are within presence. Minho wondered if Hyunjin realizes how his crush on you was only progressing when he should be suppressing it.

A relationship like that wouldn’t work, a prince and a kitchen staff.

Even if Hyunjin was willingly to give up his royal status to be with you, which was a problem of itself, you most likely wouldn’t let him do such thing.

It’s a tie bound to break.

You dropped the vine basket on the ground, the squelching of the freshly washed laundry a sound that reminded you of the chore you were supposed to be doing. You looked down at the wet clothes you were supposed to hang on the strings tied to the wooden poles in the backyard, groaned, and sat down on the curb by the bushes.

It has been a tiring day, much more tiring than when you still had kitchen duties, where you'd be asked to anything but bake even though you were appointed as a baker. But cleaning the dishes and gathering fruits in the orchard could still, to some level, be an enjoyable task for you.

Cleaning the dishes lets you at least smell the food in the kitchen, and picking fruits gives you time to think up new recipes. You could still somehow string baking into those kitchen duties you were often asked to do. But scrubbing the royalties’ clothes using a giant tub of soapy water and having to hang them all at the backyard? Not fun at all.

It was just tiring, and it was lonely because you have zero to none maid friends who’d talk to you.

You were the first one to finish washing all the clothes. It could possibly be your carelessness in not making sure if you’ve cleaned the clothes thoroughly, but you believed it was mostly your profound desire to get the hell away from the giant tub of gossiping maids, all with their sleeves rolled up and their mouths blabbering about the latest palace gossip.

Lord, you would actually explode if you have to hear one more person giggle about how Changbin’s arms have been looking extra muscular recently, or how Chan is apparently the hottest man they’ve encountered aside from the two princes, who they try not to speak of too much because they are totally out of their league.

It was a nightmare back there. You wanted to say so many things; if only they knew Changbin talks like a baby and throws mini tantrums when he takes care of the farm animals. If only they knew Chan… uhh, you didn’t know him well enough to find any flaws in that man so you would let that one slip, but one thing you knew for sure was that Chan was definitely not as serious as everyone portrayed him to be.

Taking a giant bite of the bread Changbin snuck out for you when you walked past the kitchen with the dirty laundries, your shoulders slumped again as you relaxed against your knees and looked ahead at the yard. It was much plainer-looking than the royal garden, understandably since the backyard was mainly used to dry food and clothes. Only the palace staffs walks around this area, the royalties usually spend their time somewhere else.

Today seemed to be an exception though. As you munched on your bread, your feet tapping against the grassy ground rhythmically, your train of thoughts was interrupted when you saw two figures approaching. Not two figures in dark, plain clothing, but two figures in clothes made out of velvet and silk.

You squinted your eyes, knowing fairly well that those two weren’t any palace staff. And judging by the way they were speeding towards your direction, and how there were two of them instead of one, the king wasn’t part of the mix. Therefore, those two would be Prince Minho and Prince Hyunjin.

Quickly taking your last bite of the bread, you wrapped the napkins around it again and dropped the remaining piece on top of the wet laundry. You stood up and dusted your clothes before looking up, all just in time to find Minho stopping before you with his brows furrowed in dismay. Standing behind him was Hyunjin, who gave you an apologetic grimace when you two caught eyes.

You pursed your lips in slight confusion, but still you politely placed your hands together and bowed. “Good morning, Your Highness–“

“You switched my letter.”

You couldn’t even begin to get mad at him for cutting you off, not that you could have ever expressed your annoyance to him anyway. The fact that Minho has found you out baffled you, and you didn’t even try to deny it because he probably already knew the truth, which would be the only reason why he searched for you out of every potential candidates.

Perhaps you should have made an even more intricate lie, but you didn’t really think of that last night, especially not with how urgent you had wanted to get rid of the envelope in your hands. Now your carelessness came back to bite you in the ass, how wonderful.

“I did switch your letter, Your Highness,” you admitted, keeping a neutral face to hide your palpitating heart. You have never met Minho in close quarters like this before and you have no idea how unreasonable he could be with the kind of power he has, therefore you needed to make every move with the utmost caution.

Be polite, be fragile, be agreeable. That’s the way to go. If only you took your own advice every time, though.

Minho heaved a sigh, his hands curling into fists as a sudden rage overtook him. Why did you do that? He has never done anything to you before! “How dare you open my letter when it isn’t addressed to you!” He scolded, “Have you no manners?”

“I apologize for doing that, truly, I harbour no ill intention for doing such thing aside from my immense curiosity.” You bowed before standing back up, but you kept your head low as you waited for him to respond.

“There is no point in apologizing, you have already switched out my letter and I already gave yours to Princess Rose. Even though she loved the letter you wrote, I hated that she didn’t get to read mine,” Minho said, relaxing slightly at your timid posture. “If you weren’t trying to sabotage my plan to court Princess Rose then why did you switch out my letter?”

You licked your lower lip. Oh, you were hoping he would just give you a punishment and let the issue go. The fact that Princess Rose liked what you wrote—ha! obviously—in the love letter has probably made Minho significantly less angry than he probably would have if the letter didn’t work out in his favor. But even with his semi-reasonable state, you were unsure how you could break the truth to him.

It might be rather hurtful, especially when you heard from the maids just then how Minho has been stuck in the library flipping books and looking for references for the love letter.

"Why did you rewrite my letter? Tell me this instant.” Minho wasn’t yelling, which made it so much more intimidating.

You huffed out a gentle sigh as you looked up. A bitter taste lingered in your mouth as you shrugged, your eyes kindly refusing to look into Minho’s while your head turned to the side slightly.

“It’s…” you started, your voice trailing off to a hush before you continued, “Your love letter was really bad… Your Highness…”

Hyunjin, who had been listening from behind, took a step forward upon your reply. There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were sparking with amusement when he learned closer to you. He clamped a hand on Minho’s shoulder and gripped it tightly to prevent from being shoved off, then he asked, “What did you say?”

You cleared your throat and repeated, your eyes darting between Minho and Hyunjin, “I said Prince Minho’s love letter was… really… uhh… bad.”

“No way! How so?” Minho quickly asked, his voice showing a hint of childish complaint in it. His lips jutted out in a pout, showing that he was genuinely upset that you thought his letter was bad. And that was coming from someone who wrote a love letter Princess Rose really loved. “I spent so long on it, though! How is it bad? I even searched through books and looked for references!”

Oh god, now that you thought back to it, you didn’t know where you should begin. From what you could remember, there was simultaneously not that many flaws and so many flaws in this love letter.

Reading it was a roller-coaster ride that went straight down, a journey of you spiralling more and more into despair when you realized all the elite education Minho has received was for nothing, because the love letter he wrote was almost abominable. Unless Princess Rose’s standards were extremely low, that letter would probably not bring him to the final round of this courting race.

Looking at Minho, your brows furrowed slightly at the grim anticipation on his face. Did he really expect you to talk him through the mistakes he has made in his letter? Could he not see that you’ve got a task at hand? Just because he could hold you off from doing it doesn’t mean he has to, the consequences of wasting your time wouldn’t be for him to take.

“I would explain everything to you but I have actual chores to do, Your Highness” you said as you leaned down to pick up the vine basket, “so I apologize, but I am going to have to ask for permission to leave.”

“Woah, no way,” Minho scoffed as he held up his hand. His brows were still furrowed in disbelief, but you could sense that a part of him was also curious to why you thought the way you did about his love letter. And maybe, just maybe, deep down there was a part of him that feared his lack of writing skills.

“I have full ability to exempt you from a day’s work, and I will do that if you agree to explain to me which part of my letter sucked.”

You clutched the edge of your basket. Somehow your eyes flipped from looking at Minho to Hyunjin, and your chest relaxed a little when his warm gaze stared right back at you, a gentle smile spread across his face.

He had his hand on Minho’s shoulder, gripping it tightly as if to prevent his cousin from doing anything rash. And he didn’t have to be here during this confrontation but he was, not just because he was looking for some fun on a boring afternoon but because he wanted to make sure Minho wouldn’t act out.

Everything Hyunjin did were discreet, but he was looking out for you nonetheless.

You only gave him the faintest nod before you turned back to Minho, and you raised a brow. “Do I even have a choice, Your Highness?”

“No,” Minho said. “But I am still going to ask you politely.”

You heaved a sigh and nodded. “Fine. But, instead of exempting me from today’s work, I would like to ask for another favor if I could, Your Highness.”

Minho frowned, finding it annoying that you were trying to bargain in a situation where you have done something wrong. “What is it?”

“Chef Park has kicked me out of the kitchen to do maid chores for a whole week under unreasonable circumstances and personal grudge,” you muttered the last part under your breath, keeping an eye-roll to yourself. “I would like you to ask him to put me back in the kitchen, without revealing that I asked you to.”

“Huh…” Minho blinked unexpectedly. He turned to share an equally confused look with Hyunjin, just now realizing that you were, indeed, not fulfilling your role as a baker but instead, was doing a maid’s job. Looking back at you, he hummed.

Whether there was a serious reason why you were kicked out, one he couldn’t fathom with the delicious cream puffs you made yesterday, he didn’t care. His love letter problem was infinitely more important right now.

“I will do that.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you said, bowing with a bright smile hidden in your action. When you looked back up, your expression bounced back to a neutral politeness, and you sighed. “It won’t take all day, there isn’t too much explaining to do, really.”

Minho frowned. He did not believe you. You wouldn’t have changed the entire letter for him if there really wasn’t much problems to explain, there were obviously a lot of things wrong for you to go to such drastic length to re-write it for him.

And boy, he was determined to find out what went wrong.

You brought the two princes into the palace, entering through the main gate instead of the mini door at the side where the palace servants usually go in and out through.

The palace was separated into two parts, one much larger than the other, with the larger part being the grounds that the royalties mostly stayed on. The smaller part of the palace was located at the back corner of the structure, housing the bedrooms and bathrooms for the lower palace servants who were unable to leave home for the night.

There were several doors leading into the that particular part of the palace, and they were all built in remote corners that only the servants could navigate to. You were unsure if any royalties have ever accidentally stumbled upon one of those little doors that cut down the red carpets laid out on the floor, but you were certain that none of them has ever tried to look for nor enter those doors.

Minho has lived under this roof ever since he was born. He thought his younger self had roamed through all the secret passageways there were in his home, but he has never once arrived at this corner of the palace where you just led him to.

It was all paintings and flower vases one second, then as you turned a sharp corner, suddenly the walls became dull and the floor boards turned up with wooden scratch marks. It felt like a foreign place to him. The way the palace was structured really made it feel as if the dorm wing didn’t exist, and it didn’t exist to him until just now.

You pushed open the wooden door and revealed a long hallway of closed doors. There were tiny torch holders lining up between each door, empty and waiting for the night’s arrival. Minho and Hyunjin shared a curious look with each other, both have never been around his part of the palace before, and together they followed you down the path.

They have never noticed how loud their footsteps were before. For so long, the noises they make were drowned out by thick carpets and vibrant grass fields; the sudden loud clicking of their heels were making them feel rather self-conscious, especially when you were walking with such silent grace. Even with a full basket of heavy laundry in your hands, you made no sound as you walked.

“Where are we, exactly?” Minho raised the question as he caught up to walk next to you.

Your steps didn’t halt when you replied, his question not at all surprising to you, “The dorms, these are all our rooms. The staffs who can’t leave for home because it’s too far away stays in the palace.”

“Oh…I should have figured…” Minho muttered under his breath, looking around at the small doors you three walked past. Then he looked back at you, his brows raised. “Why are we here?”

You came to a stop then, spinning on your heels so you faced the door. Pressing the vine basket against the side of your waist, you removed a hand from the edge of the basket and reached for the rusty doorknob. A loud squeak sounded through the hall when you pushed the door open, the weight of it heavy against the wooden floor.

Hyunjin poked his head over Minho’s shoulder so he could take a better look inside the room. He couldn’t get a full view of it yet, but he could see the dust lining up the window pane where the sunlight shone in, illuminating most of the plain room.

“I just need to fetch the letter you wrote, I have kept it with me since yesterday,” you explained as you dropped the basket by the door. “We can talk in my room, but I doubt you would want to be in here so we can find a place of your liking, Your Highness.”

Hyunjin got even more curious then. This was your room, this was where you sleep every night and wake up every morning. Somehow he wanted to know what it looked like, to go more in-depth instead of only looking at the windows staring back at him from across the wall. Would he be able to certain tell-tales about you? Perhaps your clothes, or the blanket you use to keep yourself warm at night?

Even though he knew he couldn’t expect to see anything extravagant in a servant’s room, he wanted to walk inside anyway.

“No, we can talk here. This is fine,” Hyunjin said as he waltzed right inside without further warning. And when he turned around to look behind his shoulders, he threw a small glare at Minho and said, “Right? We can talk here.”

Not quite understanding what he was trying to do, but also not having any preference over where he could get his writing skills criticized, Minho gave a shrug and walked inside the room as well. And just as Hyunjin was doing, his eyes started to scan the insides once he got more access to it.

There was a single bed sitting on the far corner, sticking to the wall. A small table with two big drawers was placed near the bed with a candle holder being the only thing sitting on top. And that seemed to be all there was to that side of the room. Turning to the other side, there was only a closet and a chair right next to it.

The room was small, but it was spacious because of the lack of furniture placed. It was much better than what the two of them have expected for a servants’ room.

“Woah, this room is bigger than I thought it would be,” Hyunjin commented as he turned to you, watching you fish something out of your closet drawer.

“Yes, that should be the case since I share this room with someone else, Your Highness,” you mused as you closed the drawer before standing back up straight and looking at him, the piece of letter clipped between your fingers. Seeing Hyunjin’s raised brows, you gave him a faint laugh. “It would probably be quite a disaster if I have to share an even smaller room with Felix.”

Minho hummed, both in acknowledgement and amusement as he watched Hyunjin tense up next to him. Hyunjin gulped down a knot of dismay, repeating the boyish name under his breath as his eyes shone lightly with a burning heat.

Oh, there must be a lot of question popping into his head at the moment, the word sharing a room and the name Felix not colliding very well for the sake of Hyunjin’s poor, young heart. They have both met the young fellow before due to him being a close acquaintance of Chan, and Felix was undeniably a very charming boy whose only downside seemed to be that he’s a poor servant of the palace.

“Oh–oh, so you share a room with Felix, huh?” Hyunjin laughed out awkwardly, his eyes squinting as they darted towards the single bed. His brows twitched, wondering if you had been laying in bed with Felix this entire time. Platonically or romantically, either way he couldn’t bring himself to show enthusiasm over it.

“But… uhh, but there is only one bed?”

“Yeah, there is.” You nodded innocently, your eyes gazing at the messy bed with a grimace. Felix didn’t make the bed again, for the third time this week. You reckoned he must have a lot of work to do.

Hyunjin laughed again, his voice forced and fake. You were far too casual about it than he wanted. Perhaps he was overreacting? You could possibly be taking turns on the bed instead of snuggling up to each other as he dreaded.

When he asked the next question, his voice was squeaky in a way that made Minho snort from behind. “Do–umm, do you guys share the bed or something…?”

You blinked at him, bewildered. You have never thought of that before. Ever since you moved into the bedroom with Felix, he had insisted on letting you sleep on it while he would wrap himself up with the extra blanket and pillow on the floor. But sooner, when you realized the heavy workload Felix had to endure during the day, you proposed the system of taking turns.

It took you a lot of convincing, and a night of you stubbornly staying on the floor, for him to finally agree with the system. He was so persistent on letting you use the bed, his kindness so overwhelming that even if his back was aching from the work, he’d still choose to sleep on the cold, hard floor.

“No, we don’t share the same bed,” you said, shaking your head before you raised a finger at the ceiling, “but that is an interesting approach, Your Highness. Not only can we both sleep on a mattress, we can also huddle for more warmth.”

No, no, no. Hyunjin did not mean to suggest that! He did not mean to suggest using cuddling with Felix as a solution to your problem.

“Surely, Felix wouldn’t mind if I ask.” You smiled, snapping your fingers. “I shall heed your advice, Prince Hyunjin!”

No, don’t listen to him! Oh my lord, what has he done? If you weren’t sleeping with another before then you certainly would now, and within Hyunjin’s striking imagination, the only thing that could happen with you cuddling Felix would be you falling in love with him.

And since you often spend more time with Felix than you do with him, there would be virtually no way for him to ever try to gain your affection back!

“Well, I mean–wouldn’t that… wouldn’t that be a little awkward?” Hyunjin huffed out, “Surely, laying with another in bed, even through friendly means, is pretty intimate, don’t you agree?”

“That is true.” You hummed in thought, nodding your head in agreement before you suddenly bursted into a fit of giggles. “Oh, but Felix is quite a dreamy boy–not as much as you, of course. But I reckon I would not mind it that much if I have to lay in the same bed as him, Your Highness.”

Oh heavens, how could he have done this to himself. Why couldn’t he simply shut up and let the envy dwell in his heart. This was a new level of self-sabotaging, even the devils would need a crash course from him.

“Well, I–“

“Hyunjin!” Minho cut the boy off with a loud slap to his shoulder. He came up from behind, prompting Hyunjin to face him before he threw the younger prince a strong glare.

It has been fun watching Hyunjin mess his non-existent romantic life up, it was probably the most entertaining thing he has seen all week aside from his encounter with Princess Rose, but for the sake of not letting Hyunjin embarrass himself even more, Minho had chosen to lend a helping hand.

Besides, he wasn’t here to talk about you and your sleeping habit.

Looking back at you, Minho exhaled through his nose and his eyes froze at the letter in your hand for a moment. Then his gaze went dark, the previous anger he felt resurfacing at the reminder that you switched out his letter.

Crossing his arms, he shifted his weight to stand taller, and he spoke, “Well, about the letter?”

“Right, I have it here,” you said, waving it in the air.

Minho quirked his lip for a brief moment. He wanted to snatch it away from your hands, he wanted to read it for himself and see exactly which part of the letter was bad. He swore the way he remembered it was that he had felt very proud of himself when he wrote the letter, and he was truly beyond the moon when he finished it. How could it have been bad if he loved it so much?

You gave a a scan once more, refreshing your memories of all the thoughts you had when you first read it, so you could better explain it to him where he went wrong. A few seconds passed and you finally looked back up at the princes, one looking sulky while the other annoyed, and you couldn’t help but heave a sigh at how your day has come to this weird moment.

All you wanted to do was eat some bread before lunch time. You should have headed to your spot and started clipping up the laundry instead, at least you’d look busy then.

“Here, you should have it back, Your Highness,” you said as he handed Minho the piece of paper. After he took it gently out of your hands, you looked back up at him and said. “And I shall tell you what went wrong.”

The hard part, right.

You didn’t know where you should begin explaining it to him. On a level, he didn’t make too many mistakes. His mistake was collective, it was one mistake he repeatedly made instead of several mistakes he made once each. But that collective mistake was able to render the love letter a shallow piece of art that held almost no significance to a lover.

“Your Highness… a love letter…” you began, your thoughts cogged up in your head and you were trying very hard to find the root of everything you wanted to say to him. You licked your lower lip, your hands flying up to your chest so you could do gestures along the way. “Your love letter isn’t bad in a sense that your writing was terrible, it is bad because it read as a shallow comparison.”

The letter had consisted of Minho comparing Princess Rose to an array of things. Starting with her hair, to her eyes, to her lips, then her overall demeanour. But that was all there was to the letter, just him making drastic comparison that amounted to nothing much but a compilation of pretty objects being put together in a single passage.

“There isn’t anything wrong with the way you chose to write the letter, but there is something wrong with the way you decided that all you needed to do was create comparison,” you said. “A love letter is not a school assignment to test how many vocabularies you know, or to test how good you are at creating similes, Your Highness.”

Minho took in your words intently, his mind processing each words and the connotation behind them with utmost concentration. You made sense to him, everything that you said made sense and did not seem like you were simply trying to make up something to scold him for. He did make a lot of comparison in the letter, but he didn’t realize how that could be bad until you told him just now.

Clutching the paper in his hand, he clicked his tongue and glared down at it. But why was it bad to create a metaphor? To write down some type of simile? What was so bad about comparing your lover’s hair to the softness of silk, or comparing your lover’s laugh to the heaven’s choir?

“So are you saying similes are inherently bad and I should never use it in a love letter?” He asked, genuinely confused.

You sucked in a breath, shaking your head as your eyes squinted in thoughts. “No, I am not saying that.”

“Do you care to elaborate?”

“I was going to–Your Highness…” your voice trailed off quickly when you realized your sudden outburst, but as you eyed up at Minho, it didn’t look like he noticed the disrespectful tone in your voice. He was far too focused on the question at hand, and a part of you admired him for his willingness to take criticism.

“When you write a love letter using comparisons like that, you have to…” you hummed, licking your lower lip as your hand bounced in the air, your thumb and index finger pinched together.

“Similes are… they are completely fine to use. In fact, I used a few in the letter I wrote as well. But that is where the problem lies, Your Highness. You see, anybody can write a good comparison if they just slap a bunch of pretty words together.”

Words like soft, tender, gentle, galaxy, ethereal—language does not lack pretty words like those, and they can be as deceiving as they are romantic. Anybody can use it, anybody can say it. And sometimes when things are repeatedly being used, they lose their significance unless one puts their own spin into it.

“What you really need in a love letter is sentiment! You need something to tie your comparison back to what you feel for the person you are writing to,” you explained, holding your hands out before your chest as if you were holding a heart. “Recall how I described Princess Rose’s eyes. I did not simply compare it to the blues of the ocean, I also mentioned how its depth is the way I wanted to unravel her heart.”

Hyunjin’s mouth hung open slightly as his head cranked upward in a slow realization. He wasn’t able to follow with your conversation, but when you started to explain the elements of a love letter, he reckoned he didn’t need to read Minho’s letter to understand what you were trying to convey.

He understood it, seemingly better than Minho could since Minho still had a rather uncertain expression on his face. Marching forward, he placed his hand behind his back and spoke to break the thoughtful silence, “I get it! When you compared Princess Rose to the ocean, you are also comparing your desire to understand her as deep as the ocean goes!”

“Absolutely correct, Your Highness!” You clapped your hands together and grinned at him, your eyes glimmering with approval that Hyunjin felt a startling tug at his chest. He was smiling secretly to himself then but you couldn’t notice as you turned to Minho, raising a brow as if to ask him if he needed more clarification.

Minho looked at you, his brows still knitted together but it wasn’t due to hatred but more so confusion this time. He tilted his head, his fingers automatically clutching the letter he almost forgot his has in his hands. Then he started to mutter words under his breath, inaudible words you assumed were just him repeating the points you’ve made.

“Okay… what are you saying is…” he gulped, his eyes rolling away to avoid the faint intimidation of your gaze. “I should link everything back to how I feel about Rosie?”

“Yes, Your Highness, that is all,” you said, giving him a firm nod. “When you make a comparison, you want it to stand out among others. It has to mean something to you before it can be considered valuable, or else it is just a jumble of pretty words you can find in a book.”

“And that would be very shallow, Minho,” Hyunjin added, giving Minho’s back an encouraging slap.

Instead of answering, Minho had his letter brought up to his face and his eyes were reading every single line of it. Your explanation, plus Hyunjin’s added example, finally solved the puzzle for him. He was able to grasp the key of sentimentality as of now, an important element he didn’t know a love letter should own.

The only problem lies in whether or not he could successfully utilize the advice.

“Oh… I should rewrite this letter and send it to Princess Rose,” Minho said to himself after he finished re-reading it. He folded it carefully and slipped it inside his pants pocket, making sure he shoved it deep enough that it wouldn’t fall outside this time.

His eyes searched the ground before they looked up at you. He wouldn’t admit that to your face, but you truly helped him big time. Although he was still upset that you had switched his letter out and read through the monstrosity he wrote, he was glad you made the decision not to let him embarrass himself in front of Princess Rose.

With an awkward hand gesture, something akin to a wave but not nearly visible enough to be one, he said, “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem. I wish you all the best in your writing process, Your Highness,” you bowed at him, “If I am not of need anymore, I shall take my leave.”

You stepped away from the princes and headed to the door. You picked up the laundry basket again, the fabrics inside stopped dripping water through the twisted vines. You looped the handle over your forearm and twisted the knob, opening the door in preparation the leave. But before you could take a step, a voice halted you.

You pursed your lips together in annoyance. Whatever was he going to ask? You thought he understood everything already! There was joy in seeing how passionately Minho loved Princess Rose and how much he really wanted to write a good love letter to her, but this was taking up your work time and you haven’t gotten through even one of your laundry basket yet.

Putting on a faint smile, you turned around and asked, “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Would you share with me what you wrote in your letter? I want to use it as reference, to set an example!” Minho asked, his eyes widened in screams of silent pleads.

You heaved a sigh, your chest rising and falling visibly as you turned around slightly to face him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but that I cannot do,” you said. “If I tell you, you will be compelled to copy it. The love letter needs to come from you, Your Highness. Your love should be without outside influence.”

You took your leave much quicker this time around, not hoping to give any of the princes a chance to stop you once more. If they do, you were seriously going to have to ask them for one more favor and exempt you from today’s tasks as a maid. You left the two princes in your room, one bewildered while the other in deep thoughts.

Hyunjin was surprised to find you to have such a romantic mind. The mere fact that you seemed to have such profound opinions in regards to love and intimacy made him fall for you even more than he was already falling. And your perception of love was something he desperately wanted to find out, to go in-depth about and to understand.

Maybe you two would have something in common, or maybe your ideas could rival that of his own. All Hyunjin wanted to do was venture inside your head and understand you from inside out. He always knew he was going to be in love with your mind and today just proved him to be absolutely right.

He wondered if he would have been able to write a good love letter on your standard. It should not be hard to create comparisons of you, he could think of countless things right off the top of his head. But the feelings… it might be hard to express himself through words simply because of how strongly he felt for you.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Hyunjin took a look around the room and his eyes landed back on the single bed in the corner. He frowned then, his affection immediately being replaced with envy and defeat as he recalled your plan to ask Felix about sleeping together.

God, that couldn’t happen, not on his watch at least.

“Minho–“

“Yeah I know,” Minho cut him off with a dismissive wave.

He saw the way Hyunjin was glaring at the bed. Linking the previous panic Hyunjin had with you wanting to ask Felix about his suggestion, and the fact that Hyunjin got all fussy over Minho being angry at you, it was a no brainer that Hyunjin wanted to ask if there was anything that could be done about the lack of proper beds in this room.

But he wasn’t in the mood to discuss that. The only thing occupying his mind was your lecture, and he kept repeating it in his head so he couldn’t forget what you told him. Sentiment, feelings, love—include those things and don’t be bland, don’t be shallow.

“You know…?” Hyunjin muttered under his breath as he caught up with Minho, who had already left the room and started to walk back from where he came from. Judging by his quick steps, there were a lot of concerns popping into his head and Minho was racing to solve them all at once. “Are you okay?”

“You wanted to ask about the bed, right?” Minho pointed out suddenly, not stopping in his tracks as he continued to walk forward. “I can do something about that, but under one condition.”

“What?” Hyunjin asked quickly then, leaning in close an anticipation. It was anything to put a pause to your potential romantic life that involved him as the side character.

“Write the love letter with me.”

After finishing up with the wet laundries, you went ahead to take off the already dried off ones from a few days ago and headed back into the palace. You spent most of your day changing out mattresses and blankets, going from one empty room to another so you could make sure the palace stayed clean and golden.

Nobody ever uses those rooms, though? At last not within your knowledge! They were mere guest rooms but there has never been any guest who would come by and stay the night, all aside from Hyunjin, and he only occupies one of the many guest rooms in this palace. You genuinely believed there was no point in cleaning them, it wasn’t like the neighbouring duke would pay the kingdom a surprise visit.

When you were finally done with you last guest room, the night has already descended upon the sky and dinner time has long passed. Walking along the hallway where the curtains were already drawn to seal the night, your stomach grumbled as did your throat, and you scurried out to the backyard where you returned the vine basket before heading straight into the kitchen in hopes to find some leftover food to eat.

You turned on the kitchen lights after pushing open the door, your hand patting along the wall to find the small button switch. The light flickered for a moment before it settled and illuminated a small portion of the kitchen. You eyes scanned the empty space, finding the silence welcomed but lonely.

Everyone has probably gone to their room by now. It has been quite a long day due to a lady’s surprise visit (oh, so you have jinxed it). While she didn’t choose to stay for the night, the kitchen staff did need to replan their dinner and cook up something special for the queen’s friend. It all happened within a close timeframe, you heard, which was why you assumed everyone must be burned out after today.

Turning to the main kitchen area, your eyes didn’t notice the body hunched over the kitchen counter until you specifically turned towards the direction. A short squeal escaped your lips when you jumped, your hands flying up to your chest at the sudden impact. You had not expected anybody to still be in the kitchen, let alone an empty and dark one.

It took you a while to recognize the person, but seeing the bulging arms sticking out of the short-sleeved shirt and reliable back that breathed softly in his slumber, you could safely conclude that the person was Changbin. You frowned upon the realization, confused as to why he hasn’t returned to his room yet. If you had to guess, it would be him getting cleaning duties and falling asleep half-way.

But that wouldn’t explain the turned-off lights, unless the rumor about the castle ghost was real, which you heavily doubted.

Moving closer to his side, you faced his back and gave his shoulder a light poke. “Changbin!” You hissed, in a voice so low it wouldn’t wake anybody up in a crisis. When you received no response from him, you continued to poke his shoulder and call out his name, until you got fed up at your stupid method not working and you finally hollered his name out loud.

Changbin snapped his eyes open at the call, his body sitting upright immediately and his back tensing up with alertness. Panic grumbles left his mouth as he looked around the kitchen for expected danger, and when he did a double take on you, he paused quickly and finally relaxed. His shoulders slumped and he pursed his lips together, giving you a soft glare.

You shrugged, sheepishly smiling at him as you waved. “Good evening…?”

“Yes, good evening. Glad to see you’re finally done with the laundry,” he said, sliding off the stool and heading over to the stock shelves at the wall. “Sit down, I’ll cook you something to eat. You gotta be hungry, you haven’t eaten anything since this afternoon.”

He grabbed a two eggs in one hand, holding onto them tightly, then he reached over to the sink counter for a clean bowl before dropping the eggs inside. Putting the bowl next to the stove before looking up to check on you, he found you standing rigidly on your spot, unmoving and just staring at him.

Your eyes were unreadable, much to his surprise. They were always so expressive.

“Are you okay, kid?” He asked then, his voice trailing slowly in a questioning tone. “I’m cooking you egg friend rice, do you not like that or?”

Your eyes traveled past his hands to his face, and you pursed your lips. It was a rare sentiment that suddenly overwhelmed you; nobody has specifically cooked a meal for you in a long time, the last time somebody did that was your mother, but you haven’t been able to see her ever since you moved to the palace. After that, you have only been eating the leftover portion of meals that weren’t sent off to the royalties or were made extra for everybody.

A personal meal. Something about that made your skin prick. It could very likely be that you missed your mom, but a part of you knew it was because you hadn’t expect Changbin to do this. He wasn’t obligated to take care of you like this, to stay up late and make you food, possibly even deal with the dishes when you’re finished and send you off to your room before he’d go back to his own.

“Aren’t you tired?” You asked, frowning at him despite not intending to.

Changbin huffed out a low chuckle as he poured some rice into a bowl before proceeding to wash it by the sink. “Yeah, today was pretty exhausting,” he said.” But what then? Am I supposed to just not cook you dinner?”

You pulled at your fingers, unsure what else to say besides words of gratitude that you were never skilled at expressing, so you didn’t say anything. You shrugged and approached the stool he previous sat on. You got on top, your feet perched on the handle and your shoulders hunched as you waited for him to finish cooking you your dinner.

“So do you plan to tell me what happened today?” He asked as he brought the washed bowl of rice over to the stove.

Without removing his eyes from you, his hand moved to turn the stove on and poured the ingredients he prepared in top. The loud sizzle interrupted your train of thoughts and you tilted your head at him with confusion evident in the widening of your eyes, leaning forward slightly so you could talk to him through the noise.

“What happened today?” You asked.

“Felix came by and told me there is a new bed in your room,” Changbin said, laughing slightly. “According to him, it is said that Prince Minho requested the bed for you too, so what did you do that peaked his interest?”

The pleasant surprise startled you. Your jaw dropped slightly and a breathy laugh escaped your mouth in response to his words. You had almost forgotten about the encounter you had with the two princes today, even the fact that you had asked Minho to get you out of maid duty and back into the kitchen flew from your mind because of how busy you had been trying to tug in the four corners of a bed sheet.

Your brows furrowed in thoughts then, a soft hum sounding at the back of your throat as you recalled the afternoon in your dusty little room. It couldn’t have been Minho who requested an extra bed for you, could it?

From what you remembered, Hyunjin was the one who reacted strongly to you and Felix only having one bed in your shared room. Besides, Minho already agreed to helping you with chef Park’s problem, he wouldn’t do more than what he was asked for. He didn’t have to.

If anyone was going to show you such generosity, it should be Hyunjin.

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes swirling with perplexity.

But he did suggest the idea of you and Felix sleeping on one bed. Perhaps he suddenly decided it wouldn’t be a good idea? And since he doesn’t have as much authority over how this palace wants to treat its servants, he asked Minho to be his spokesperson? Or you could be overanalyzing this; could you not humor the idea that the prince has decided to do two good deeds today?

Changbin was done pouring the egg fried rice into a bowl by the time you were almost done contemplating the true motif behind the extra bed. You were deep in your little world, your chin perched up on the heel of your palm and your eyes glaring at the table like you just stubbed your toe with it. He laughed to himself, wondering why a simple question required such serious thinking as he put the bowl in front of you.

“Hey!” He hushed as he tapped your nose with the hand tip of the spoon. When your eyes finally focused at him, he flashed you an amused smile. “What did you do, kid? You didn’t offend the prince, did you?”

You glared at him as he gestured towards the fried rice before you. Taking the spoon from his hand, you shook your head and stabbed the utensil in the food, mixing it around before shoving a spoonful in your mouth. It was then when you decided to respond to him, “Why would he send me an extra bed if I offended him, Changbin?”

“Hey, I’m just asking!” He flicked your forehead after washing his hands at the sink. “And please, heavens, [Name], eat with your mouth closed.”

The droplets flickered down your faced and you wiped them away with your hand, continuing to eat without muttering another word. Just as Changbin suspected, you were extremely hungry, and watching you stuff too much food in your cheeks was the only joy he experienced today.

He pulled out a stool from underneath the counter and sat down. His heart was clenching at the sight of you, eating freely with rice stuck to the corner of your mouth and spoon shamelessly clanking against the bowl. And he couldn’t tell if he was more remorseful or glad that he was able to be given a second chance as such.

Changbin has never told you his past before and he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you for sometime. He wondered how you would react to it. He wondered how you would react to him having a child outside the palace, one he wasn’t allowed to see because he chose the palace life instead of his past lover.

He regretted his choice, but back then choosing to work in a palace is a much reliable and stable job than anything else in his little town. He was young back then and it didn’t occur to him that there were other options open. The castle was the way for him and he just left.

Now his lover has moved on, his child has never met him before, and he has lost his title as a dad.

A father, yes, but certainly not a dad.

He was afraid you would realize how much he was projecting his guilt and reminiscence on you. Ever since you first got introduced to him, your childish and bratty antics kept growing on him until he found out how he was getting a taste of how it would be like to take care of a kid he never got to raise.

He hasn’t really stopped treating you like kin since then, even though he knew you’re not his child.

It was a battle with himself. For once, he couldn’t accurately guess how you would react to something, and he was scared that you could possibly be repulsed by it, so he kept putting off explaining whenever your curiosity strikes and you ask about his past. But he hoped he’d be able to come forth one day, and properly thank the lord for bringing you to him because he couldn’t imagine how much he’d still dwell in his past.

“Changbin! Stop being weird!” You finally yelled, kicking him under the table as you glared at him in mild concern. He had been staring at you eat, so intently you almost thought he was looking at the castle ghost behind you. “What the hell are you looking at? The air?”

“I was just thinking about something,” he responded in disbelief, surprised at your sudden toe. “Am I not allowed to think anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, you did,” you said, pointing at him with the spoon before bringing it to your bowl and scooping up a spoonful of rice. You stuffed it in your mouth before speaking, his previous scolding completely leaving your brain. “What are you thinking about?”

“How disgusting it is to speak with a mouthful of food.” Changbin smiled pointedly at you, causing you to groan out in annoyance.

And, like he suspected, your spiteful-self immediately started to shove your cheeks full of rice before you started rambling nonsense. He could barely understand your words, your voice completely muffled by the food in your cheeks and with your trying to speak without spilling anything. You looked goofy and ugly, and he could go on.

Your rebellious act came to a quick halt when a piece of rice rolled down your throat unexpectedly. You choked, feeling an itch in your throat that prompted you to cough like you were on your death bed.

Changbin burst into laughter as he watched your face go red. In the midst of you hitting your chest repeatedly, he asked, “Do you want some water?”

You threw the spoon at him, in which he blocked with one arm held up to his face. His laughter only increased while your coughs slowed down to a gentle trail, and he got off the stool so he could pour you a small cup of water. You quickly snatched the cup away from him, dunking down the liquid and sighing dramatically when you were finished.

You slammed the cup down on the table then, your head turning sharply to him as your eyes glazed over with an irritated burn. “I could have died.”

“But you didn’t.” Changbin shrugged. “I told you to eat with your mouth closed.”

“There is no correlation to me choking on food and me eating with my mouth closed,” you retorted as you jumped off the chair and went to grab yourself an extra spoon. “I can still choke on food even if I’m eating properly.”

“Really? Care to show me?”

You dropped the spoon in the bowl and smiled up at him. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You can do that after you finish the food,” he said, pointing at your bowl. “Come on, it shouldn’t be taking you this long to finish eating a small bowl of fried rice.”

“If you wanna go sleep, you can just leave,” you mentioned, giving him a light-hearted shrug to further prove the point that you didn’t really care much for company at the moment.

“And have you use it against me later? No thanks, you’re gonna say I left you alone in the kitchen or something,” he grumbled, leaning his head against his hand and scoffing.

You didn’t say anything this time as you’ve got food in your mouth, and you’d rather not repeat that embarrassing, hazardous incident once more. But you did roll your eyes at him, indirectly telling Changbin that he was being dramatic and that you would never do such a terrible thing.

(Except you would, and he knew that you would.)

The kitchen was rendered silent again. The only sound resonating across each corner was the faint noise of your teeth clicking against the wooden spoon and your occasional chewing noise. Changbin looked at you again, his gentle eyes grazing past your cheeks and your small hands. His mind flew back to his home, but he doesn’t really see the faces he used to see anymore.

Like kin, even though he knew you’re not his child–

He felt fine staying in the palace. And he was fine with taking care of you here.

–well, you were damn well the closest thing he has to one.

Chan could see you racing towards him from faraway. Trailing slowly behind you was Changbin, his hands holding onto two filled water buckets.

He kept his eyes on the mailman despite your speedy approach, his polite smile never fading as he patiently waited for the old man to take out all the letters—the ones addressed to the palace from the citizens—from his big, dirty pouch bag. He was the third of the many town mailman that would come by today with complaints or family letters, and Chan could recognize him well to the the mailman from your town.

He sure hoped there was something of your interest in that god forsaken bag today. More specially a family letter, one which you have been waiting for since the past two months.

“That is all for today. There is quite a lot to go through, I’m afraid.” The mailman’s hoarse voice gave Chan a gentle stung, it reminded him of his old man back home who had passed away without a last goodbye. He didn’t even realize the weight on his hands until he looked down to find his once empty basket to now be filled with envelopes.

“Thankfully, I only sort the letters,” Chan joked lightheartedly as he bowed to the mailman. “Court business is completely out of my field of specialty.”

“Well then, my regards to the crown prince,” the mailman said, dipping his hat with an old and trembling hand. “He is going to have to deal with an entire kingdom soon, and I sure do hope he will become a good king.”

Chan only flashed the mailman a purse-lipped smile. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to insinuate, and he had not the faintest idea whether the king and the palace council were doing a splendid job in running the kingdom. While they seemed to be satisfying the rich and the royal, he could not tell if they were also minding to the average and the poor.

He was only a butler. He has lived in the palace and enjoyed as much luxury his job status could give him for a long while. Whatever goes on outside the palace life, he wouldn’t know and neither would have the time to sit down and chat about it.

“I shall see you next week again, sir,” he replied with a polite bow. “Thank you for your delivery, once again.”

“Of course,” the mailman said, a hint of laughter evident in his voice. “There isn’t much clumsy old me can do but send some letters these days. Gives me something to do after my wife passed away, and I like seeing you kids run around working sometimes.”

Chan wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he smiled and he waited for the mailman to take his leave. He listened for the creaking of the folding step, the gentle whipping of a horse’s back, and finally the stuttering movement of those round wheels bringing the mailman back on its path to the palace gate.

His eyes trailed after the envelopes in the basket; another batch he has to go through so he could separate the complaint letters from the family mails sent to the staffs (royal letters are sent by designated palace messengers, not mailmen). The silver seals all sat prettily, some unevenly, on top of the white papers, and Chan could not help but admire them for a while.

That was, until your loud voice rang through his ears.

“Chan! Chan! Bang Chan!”

You bratty kid, why were you calling him by his full name again?

Calculating his timing just right, the second he stood up from his bowing position, he stretched his arm out before his chest and turned to the side. Your springing legs were forced to a quick stop as his the heel of his palm met your forehead, and you stumbled back when he lightly shoved at your head for you to back off.

“[Name], what did I say about addressing me by my full name?” He asked, exhausted from all the nagging you never listened to. “And you have to yell it this time? What if the king hears it? Do you understand how awkward it would be for me to have to explain the commotion to him?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed and completely uninterested in what he has to lecture you about palace manners. Changbin has done a great deal of that already, not that any of his warnings has helped in any way. “Oh, whatever, the king is old! He’s probably going deaf at this point!”

“[Name]!”

“No point talking to them, Chan. This kid never listens.” Changbin’s gruff voice appeared from behind you. He set down his water buckets, the ones the maid asked him to fill up using the water pump from outside the front yard, and he quickly whacked you across the head.

Ignoring your whines of curses, he looked at Chan dead in the eye then, something of a veteran father whose dealt with his child’s antics for too long and has become immune to them. “You gotta smack them.”

Chan widened his eyes. You seemed more agitated than before, your eyes glaring daggers and impossible profanity spilling out of your lips like a mantra. He met eyes with Changbin, who ignored you completely with a smile. The disbelief in Chan’s eyes almost made him laugh; Chan has only ever met you under the warm and comfortable atmosphere of the palace, of course he wouldn’t expect you to be such a vulgar child.

“For the record, I didn’t teach them this,” Changbin mentioned as he pointed at you, and you smacked his hand away with an annoyed groan. “Weeks of scraping cow shit at the barn taught them this, which, for the record–“ he turned to look at you before shifting his attention back to Chan,“–you should probably keep chef Park in check.”

Chan raised a brow, curious to the reason why Changbin felt the need to lower his voice, and to why he was asked to keep an eye out of chef Park. He knew almost every staff working in the palace; perhaps not in detail for every single one of them, but he remembered their names and their families. Chef Park has never come across as trouble to him before, he wondered why.

“I will,” he said dubiously, but he kept the thought in mind.

“Good.” Changbin flashed him a nod, and then he sighed. He reached down to lift up the water buckets again, a huff leaving his lips. “I’m gonna head back and hand these to the maids. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen, okay?”

You gave him a brief nod and an annoyed grumble, still quite mad that he decided to smack you across the head. Changbin scoffed out a faint smile before he turned away, leaving you to talk to Chan about what you needed to ask him for. Chan spared a short glance at Changbin’s back before he turned his attention back to you, his brows furrowing.

“Where did you two come from?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

You shrugged. “Outside the palace gate where the water pumps are.”

“And that’s a two person job?”

“Well, it… was…” you sheepishly twisted your feet against the ground, your fingers finding each other before your abdomen. A childish smile slowly graced your face and you looked to Chan hesitantly. “But then I got tired holding the bucket so–“

“You made Changbin hold them for you,” Chan muttered with a deadpan manner.

“Technically speaking, I didn’t make him do it,” you defended confidently, speaking in a factual tone. “I kept whining about how much my arms were hurting and then he decided to take my bucket to shut me up.”

He sighed then, his eyes rolling to the side as his head shook. Not in disbelief, that was something Changbin would totally do for you. It was in defeat in the wake that there was probably no winning for him in any sorts of situation.

“He should have smacked your head and told you to carry it yourself,” Chan commented.

“This is why I don’t like you that much,” you confessed, both honestly and as a joke.

“Oh sure, you don’t,” he announced to himself, his voice holding a hint of magnificence in them as if he was mocking his opponent in an argument. Shaking the basket in his hands, Chan glanced down at it with a smile before he looked back up at you. “I guess none of these letters are of any importance to you as well?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” You exclaimed as you leaned down to push at the edge of the basket until it hit the floor. Standing back up straight, you gave Chan a faint smile before you said, “I just want to see if my mom sent me a letter, since she hasn’t sent one in a long time.”

Chan hummed in thought, his eyes rolling skyward as he recalled the past months. He did remember handing you letters from your parents for a time period. It started with thick envelopes that would be delivered weekly, then as time passed by the letters became thinner with more time spaced out in between each reply. He couldn’t remember when you stopped receiving them, but he knew at some point, the reply stopped.

“I mean, I guess it was kind of my fault for not writing to my mom for almost a whole month once,” you mumbled to yourself, rubbing your hands together. “But that was a busy month for us. You would remember, right, when the duchess came to visit and we had a royal ball!”

That was the first time you were given the opportunity to make a plate of dessert on your own. Chef Park probably hated the idea of letting you in charge of a full plate of dessert, but the kitchen had needed to prepare a long table full of snacks for the ball, and there had not been enough pastry chefs to go around.

You had been instructed to make some sugary cookies for the ball, but with you being you, instead of making a boring plate of common dessert, you have decided to make honey jasmine macaroons instead. Not that sugary cookies are bad, but you would much love to bake something that could match the bubbly, extravagant atmosphere of a royal ball.

Long story short, your plate of macaroons was licked clean by the guests, but chef Park hadn’t factored that into consideration and simply scolded you for disobeying him. Sometimes you would like to think that he was simply being envious of your ability, hence the reason why he didn’t tell anybody about the people liking your macaroons.

After that day, you haven’t been able to bake for the royals on your own until the rosewater cream puffs.

“Oh, yeah, I do remember,” Chan said, nodding. “Did you stop writing to your mother after that?”

“Well, I stopped writing during the time the duchess was living here,” you replied, calculating the timeline in your head. “But after that month, it took me longer to bounce back to writing a letter, so I think it was a little more than a month. I did write her a letter eventually, but I haven’t heard anything from her after that letter.”

He hummed thoughtfully, understanding your situation but not being able to explain to you why you haven’t received a reply letter yet, because he had no idea either. The only thing he could do was to make suggestions, some kind of excuse like your letter getting lost or your mother being too busy with the flower shop. Or, even better, he could try and look through the new basket of letter and see if your mother had sent you one back.

Looking down at the basket, a frown slowly made its way to Chan’s face as his mind processed just how many letters were in the basket. It would take a long while for him to shift through all of them just to separate the letters for the court and those for the staffs. Then he would have to find the letter sent by your mother specifically before he could hand it to you.

He was still in the middle of going through the first basket, a process he would hope not to interrupt. He wouldn’t want to mess up the areas from which the letters came from, considering how the court solve the complaints from one town to another instead of doing so altogether. Therefore, just to eyeball how long it would take him to find out if there is a letter for you, it would take at least an hour.

“Well, I will make sure to keep an eye out for your letter,” he said, glancing back up at you.

“What–can’t I get it now?” You whined.

“Are you going to look through the whole pile now?” He asked, holding the basket up to you. “Because there are a lot of letters. You might accidentally skip through yours if you rummage through it, so it’s better to wait for me to pick them out and divide them first.”

You grumbled under your breath impatiently, your lips pursing into a hard line as your brows furrowed childishly. “Ahh, but how long is that going to take? I wanna know if my mom wrote me something so I won’t have to think about it!”

“I know, but I still have other work to do around the palace and this isn’t my only basket,” Chan said, his voice low in a coaxing way.

And he knew you understood how busy it could get for him around the palace. The unsatisfied expression that lingered on your face was just there for you to vent, it didn’t particularly mean anything and he didn’t have to take it to heart. Except he always does, not severely but having to see you get let down weekly for the past months has made him grow susceptible to your angsty features.

Softening, Chan let go on one side of the basket and he pinched your cheek gently. “I’m sorry, but I promise I will try and get through it all as fast as I can,” he told you, with all the sincerity in his voice.

“Hmm… Fine.” You pursed your lips together with a nod, leaning your face away from his hand. “I have to go back to work now, I’ll see you later.”

“You can count on it,” he said, his hand reaching back down to pick up the basket handle.

Flashing him a small smile, your legs brought you a few steps backward before you finally turned around and headed to the backyard. Your steps picked up, and Chan watched your back fade until you disappeared into the discreet corner of the palace. He looked down at the basket of letters then, his forehead creasing in a moment of thought.

Please be in there. He hoped. Please let your mother’s letter be in there.

You had planned to head straight back into the kitchen, but the sight of Changbin chatting with the maids by the laundry poles made you stop. With amusement, you found a spot under the shade of the old tree and you watched on, finding immense fascination in seeing the way he discreetly—almost discreetly—flirted back with the young maids.

Perhaps it was you who never paid enough attention. Granted, you didn’t get to see much of Changbin interacting with other people. Whenever you were present in the picture, he was always too busy trying to keep you in check, he’s got no time to really speak with others. It was a peculiar sight, one that you planned to tease him about when he decided to leave the backyard and head back to the kitchen soon.

As you turned, preparing to flee before he could see you looking with awful, stupid intentions, a hand tapped at your shoulder and you spun around. The smile that welcomed you was familiar, you just saw it this morning when you woke up, and you quickly returned it as Felix waved excitedly at you.

“Hey, Lix,” you greeted as you eyed him up and down, your brows slowly furrowing at the dirt stained on his cheeks. His shirt was wrinkled, which you didn’t notice this morning but you were sure it hadn’t been as bad as it looked now. “What have you been doing?”

“We went out to the forest to gather more woods for the next few weeks,” he replied after heaving a sigh, exhausted from all the labor work he’d done all morning. “The court prophet said something about a thunderstorm coming so we were asked to fetch more wood for fire, since we won’t be able to head out if the storm actually hits.”

“A thunderstorm,” you snorted, your eyes widening a fraction at such an absurd idea. Whatever would happen to the weather in the middle of a hot summer, a thunderstorm was the last thing you would have predicted. “I wonder why. The North star clashed against the moon, perhaps?”

“Oh, [Name], you know I’m not one for analysing the stars,” Felix laughed out, rubbing his rough hands together and reaching a hand up to swipe at his face. “But I don’t mind a thunderstorm, I won’t have to head outside for duty for once. You, though–“

“I’m not afraid of storms,” you cut him off quickly with a roll of your eyes.

You knew he would bring that night up. The thunderstorm approached during the middle of the night, when the palace has become quiet and empty. It was loud, and since the dormitory part of the palace was built differently—with lesser care, one could say—it made everything sound like they entered an echo chamber.

You weren’t terrified, but being away from the comfort of your own home and stuck sleeping on a foreign bed was nightmarish enough for you to be afraid of it that roaring night. Felix had awakened with the sound of whimpers, and he happily stayed up with you that night.

“The echos of the palace walls simply scared me too much last time, but I promise you I am not afraid of a little storm.” You said, slightly annoyed.

Felix could only laugh, his hand still furiously wiping at his cheek because he had no idea of knowing if he had gotten rid of the dirt. “Well, we’ll see when another one strikes us within these weeks,” he said.

“You will find your accusation incorrect,” you said as you reached up to swat his hand away. A frown adorned your face as you gently scrubbed off the black dirt on his freckled cheeks, a click of your tongue displaying your annoyance. “And for the love of god, bring a wet towel with you at all times.”

“But they’re heavy.”

“They’re clean and cool,” you said. “Good for wiping your face and good for the hot weather.”

Felix hummed in doubt, unsure if he was fully convinced to take an extra object with him to finish his duty. He didn’t much like the idea of having wet trails down his back, especially when he would be draping the towel over his shoulders instead of holding onto it. So he retorted with something that made you both frown and laugh.

It was an endearing frown, perhaps due to the laughter Hyunjin could almost hear from the other side of the yard where the grass field was. It was a spot far from where the chores were, but not far enough for the workings to be invisible to the eye. He and Minho sat under the tree, the shade covering most of their body besides their feet that poked out from the shadow.

Minho wanted to find a place to sit down and write his second love letter to Princess Rose, but when Hyunjin suggested for a trip to the garden, Minho only grimaced about the dullness of it. It was always the garden. He wanted somewhere else, a new place where he could get inspirations from.

Hyunjin wasn’t very sure what Minho thought could be inspiring about watching the palace staffs run around washing clothes and transporting woods, but alas, Minho sat down under the large tree and began tapping his pen on the parchment paper. He followed suit without much complaints. It wasn’t like he’s got anything better to do around the palace anyway. It was either he leave for his home, or he stays here and follows Minho around.

The letter Minho was writing has been blank for a while. He kept pressing the tip of his pen against it but never actually scribbled anything down. His mind short-circuits every time he is about to write something; just when he thinks his brain had thought of something worth-while, his heart tells him to hesitate.

Hyunjin was done persuading him that the letter would be nothing more than a mere draft, that he need not hold any fear. Pretend it like a diary and simply let his feelings flow, Hyunjin told Minho, but the advice was not taken with each huffs of heavy sigh leaving the prince’s mouth. And Hyunjin was quite tired of trying to rid Minho of his anxiety, so what he did was that he turned away from his frowning cousin.

The sight that welcomed him was you, almost immediately within the crowd of similarly dressed palace staffs. And he was happy to see you. You stood under the shade in your natural glory, as always, and you were grinning towards a direction Hyunjin couldn’t bother to tear his gaze away to check.

He was debating if he wanted to pull you out of work once again, just so he could spend some time to talk to you. He has the power to do that, and if he doesn’t then Minho certainly does. But whatever excuse was he supposed to give to get you out of the kitchen? He didn’t want to come off annoying. He was also too shy to drop hints that might indicate his fondness toward you.

He could think about something work related! Perhaps another dessert that he wanted to eat? He was very fond of those cream puffs you made, he would love to try out the other desserts.

The dreamy smile on his face was permanent for a long while until Felix showed up. His smile gradually faded as his eyes watched your friendly interaction, and his plump lips pursed into a thin line as a bitter taste dropped at the tip of his tongue.

Annoyed, and definitely jealous. Annoyed because he couldn’t blame Felix for being friends with you and he couldn’t blame you two for being close friends, jealous because, well, obviously because he has a majorly, royally problematic crush on you.

“Hey! Lover boy!”

Hyunjin slowly looked to his side. The nickname Minho just playfully gave him not settling on his good side whatsoever. He needn’t be reminded of how terrible his crush on you was going; not to mention he barely had any chance to begin with. His royal status was a screw-up from the moment he laid his eyes on you.

Minho stared at his cousin for a short while before he breathed out a defeated sigh. He had pretended to not notice Hyunjin’s infatuation for a long time. It all started with his unusually frequent visits to the palace; something Minho deemed solely because Hyunjin and his parents’ relationship was never the best. But things changed when he realized how observant he has become.

Hyunjin wouldn’t spare the palace halls another glance, so when he started to look around the corners as if searching for something, or someone, Minho’s suspicion started to raise as well. He didn’t know when he concluded that Hyunjin has fallen for somebody in the palace, he just knew he did. And it was only recently when he finally found out who the token staff was.

Those rosewater cream puffs really caught the boy by the throat.

“You like [Name],” Minho pointed out boldly.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and scoffed. He leaned his elbow on the knee of his crossed legs, putting his chin on top of his palm as he stared ahead at you. His mood went even more sour when he watched Changbin ruffle the both of your heads.

Jeez, make it look more like a family, why wouldn’t you? The scene looking exactly like you three were having the “Oh, hey, I brought my boyfriend home!” kind of conversation—ugh! He could shiver in annoyance just from thinking about it.

Hyunjin looked away from you, a huff brushing past his lips strongly as he spoke, “This pisses me off!”

“What pisses you off?”

“This! This stupid, invisible crown on my head!” He gestured towards his hair, his finger going in a circular motion. Then he shifted down to complain about his silky clothes, and his gold belt, and his cotton socks matched with leather shoes. He hated all of it, anything that labeled him as a prince he despised.

“Would you rather walk around in thin rags then?” Minho shrugged, smiling in amusement. His attention was focused on the letter in his hand. When he scribbled something down, he held it up to Hyunjin’s hand to stop him from replying. “What do you think about this?”

Hyunjin yelped, swatting Minho’s hand away before snatching the paper from his hand. He carefully glanced at the paper, rereading the sentence his cousin wrote at least three times before he grimaced with an honest answer. “Good, but change the structure, it doesn’t sound eloquent enough.”

“I was thinking maybe I can express the insanity I feel through incoherent sentence structures,” Minho hummed, receiving the letter just as Hyunjin huffed out a disapproving grunt.

“You’re not the person to pull that off,” Hyunjin commented.

“I’m not,” Minho dragged out in acceptance, running the pencil across the sentence before he placed the paper back on his knee. He twirled the pencil between his fingers, his brows furrowed, then he jumped back on the original topic. “You know the materials they wear can’t keep you warm during winter, right?”

“They can’t–they can’t?” Hyunjin borderline yelled, the panic slightly bubbled up his head. He glared at Minho, his brows furrowed in concern. “Hello–what if they get sick? Do you guys at least distribute extra duvets?”

Minho didn’t answer his question. The sheer fact that Hyunjin has the capability to care and to question the treatment palace staffs receives was startling enough for him. It was not to say Hyunjin would be so heartless not to care about other people, he was a boy with a kind soul, but he also was not brought up to think too deeply about people unlike him.

He would give sympathy to those less fortunate than him, but his mind wouldn’t register the option the help if he wasn’t there to witness the problem himself.

“You know how much of a problem it is for you to like them, right?” Minho spoke, turning to look at the working maids. His eyes were careful as he scanned past them all, his head unable to name a single one of them but still could recognize a few faces he has seen multiple times before. “You and [Name]. It’s not an easy match. The royal court won’t allow this.”

Hyunjin pursed his lips together. His chest was burning at the truth, hating it with all the might his lean body could muster. “They don’t have to allow it. I doubt [Name] will develop any feelings for me anyway.”

“Oh? That’s an interesting view,” Minho said, widening his eyes at the letter. “Why so?”

Hyunjin sat in silence for a moment, his mind working to think up a reason. It was all tangled in his head; there wasn’t just one reason, there were plenty, as much as he hated to admit it. He didn’t know where he should start. Should he start from problems steaming from him, or problems steaming from everybody around you?

Just to name a few right off the bat: your statuses were different, he was born with royal blood while you were born as a commoner. Not only would royalties from all the neighbouring kingdoms give him the sting eye for falling in love with someone much lower than him, his parents and his relatives likely won’t allow it as well.

His bloodline was a huge, painful problem; an unbreaking stick in all of his relationships, platonic or romantic.

Now, setting his royal status aside, who was to say that you’d fall in love with him? Hyunjin knew he was good-looking since everyone around him told him that ever since growing up, and he’d like to believe he’s got enough charisma to charm the other equally rich, if not richer, marriage candidates from other kingdoms. But nobody has ever talked of his personality before.

Long story short, Hyunjin hasn’t done anything outstanding as a mere prince. Every charitable accomplishments were credited back to the king, as it should be because the king (and his council) regulates everything. He has taken no part in political or social management of his kingdom even though he was born as the crown prince.

What if he wasn’t good enough? How would he know if his personality was the type that would make people fall in love with him? He wouldn’t be able to tell. Even in royal marriage, almost everything was arranged or based on economic measures. Royalties don’t like each other for who they are, he learned that the hard way. And no one has ever told him he’s got a killer personality, at least not genuinely, he supposed.

You have told him he was charming, but you didn’t know him. He might not be somebody you would want to have around.

“I barely spend time with them,” Hyunjin replied casually after the spacious, panicking round of overthinking in his head. He licked his lower lip, discarded the thoughts in his head, and he picked himself up. “You can’t fall in love with people you’ve never spend time with. I would want to get to know the person more and more, just have them reveal everything to me as time goes.”

Because wouldn’t that be so nice? To reveal yourself to someone who’s willing to stay.

“Well, aren’t you a romantic,” Minho grinned out, finding amusement in the way Hyunjin seemed to be turning into some sappy, all knowing lover of the century just because he, too, has fallen in love with somebody.

And Hyunjin was always rolling his eyes and scoffing at Minho for being overdramatic about everything regarding the princess—the audacity.

Hyunjin could only scoff. The laugh he let out was sardonic at best because he didn’t know what other reaction he could have. How does one properly display defeat? Through what kind of expression could he use to show that he felt stupid for still letting himself fall even though he knew that the relationship would end in nothing, just nothing.

But it wasn’t like he had a choice. Hyunjin’s heart has always done what it wanted to do; if it wanted to fall in love, it would do so disregarding all types of circumstances. He was a boy who’s got his heart thrusted out for everyone, full and beating. He couldn’t change it, he just fell for you.

Hearing the lack of response from him, Minho turned away from the love letter in his hands and he glanced at Hyunjin briefly. There was this dazed look on his face, a blank but remorsefully thoughtful look. He could tell Hyunjin was beating himself up over liking a palace staff, one who didn’t even serve his own kingdom too!

Sympathy surfaced in Minho’s chest. He wondered how that felt. He wondered how it was like to fall in love with someone so blatantly out of your reach, someone who was accustomed to putting up a wall between yourselves due to the status quo, someone who your family and your subjects wouldn’t approve.

Minho wondered how it felt to fall in love with someone who could’t reciprocate the feeling for so many reasons, and despite all the power the crown holds, there is still nothing to be done.

It must be exhausting.

“I’ll support you two.”

Putting the paper and pen down to indicate that this would turn into a rather serious conversation. He sat up, crossed-legged with a confident smile as he watched you vanished into the palace with Changbin. Minho knew, subconsciously, that he still held certain ill-feeling towards what you’ve done to his love letter, albeit if was for his own sake. And he has to admit, he has known you for no more than a long, embarrassing conversation of you lecturing him about the topic of love.

But he was so sure, somehow, that you are definitely no so bad of a love interest for Hyunjin.

“What?” Hyunjin asked, staring at Minho with wide eyes.

Minho turned to him, the grinning softening on his face. “I said I’ll support you two. When I become king one day and I’m in power, I’ll publicly display my encouragement for you, seeing that you do successfully woo the brat in the future."

Hyunjin physically brightened at his words, finding solace in knowing that while knowing his romantic goals might be far-fetched, Minho stood with him instead of going against his wishes. It was nice to be able to get it all off his chest; having to hide that he was in love with a kitchen staff around the palace with watchful eyes and soundless walls was terrible. He’d hate to have the news spread all over the place.

Bringing his legs up to his chest, Hyunjin smiled ahead of him, watching the maids move around with laundries baskets in their hands. He scanned their faces, none of them able to reach your level of gracefulness when you walked and the brightness of your smile as you talked to others.

“I want to be able to fall in love with who I want to,” he said with a faint smile. “I want to be able to fall in love with [Name].”

Minho hummed, “You can. Didn’t you already?”

Hyunjin felt a sickening rush of affection consume his veins, the thought of you fulfilling his head. The butterfly, the cream puffs, the single leaf on his hair. His smile widened; Minho was right, he already did.

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 7-35 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 7 – Rains of Monte Cristo: 7-1 / 7-3 / 7-5 / 7-7 / 7-9 / 7-11 / 7-13 / 7-15 / 7-17 / 7-19 ♦️ ♦️ 7-20 / 7-22 / 7-24 / 7-26 / 7-28 / 7-30 / 7-32 / 7-34 / 7-35

Content Warning: This section contains topics that may be uncomfortable to some readers (mentions of abuse). Please proceed with discretion.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Court Hallway

After the trial ended, I did not leave immediately. Rather, I waited in the hallway for Hang Jiahe.

Soon, she walked over, guarded by two bailiffs.

MC: Miss Hang.

Hang Jiahe: What are you doing here? Are you going to laugh at me?

Hang Jiahe: Are you happy to have beat me?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. I came to tell you something.

Hang Jiahe: What?

MC: Actually… this examination report…

I took out that last examination report again.

MC: Due to time and technical limits, we currently do not have the identification results.

MC: When I showed it in court, I just wanted to add psychological pressure onto you.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe froze for a few seconds, but she then responded quickly.

Hang Jiahe: You tricked me… you tricked me… hahahahahahaha!

She suddenly burst into sharp laughter.

Hang Jiahe: I didn’t lose… I didn’t lose…

Hang Jiahe: I still got my revenge!

MC: …

MC: Miss Hang, can I ask you something?

Hang Jiahe: What do you want to say?

MC: You said in court that Qi Yu tried to hold Hang Fei back “that night”.

MC: But you still murdered her out of hate for her bystander position, correct?

Hang Jiahe: Yes, I hated her for being a coward, hated her for being too scared to resist Hang Fei, hated her for looking on for so many years without lifting a finger!

Hang Jiahe: She knew during those years what Hang Fei was doing to me, so why didn’t she save me?

MC: …

Hang Jiahe: Then… did you know that Hang Fei had also been abusing Qi Yu during those years?

Hang Jiahe: I did. How could she not have been beaten, with how cowardly she was?

MC: Then do you know why she was beaten?

Hang Jiahe: Why?

MC: …

I took out my phone and opened a video featuring Qi Yu’s abuse. That small woman was lying weakly on the floor, passively enduring the man’s punches and kicks. But she kept mumbling something –

“Don’t hurt Jiahe… and those children… stop it…”

Hang Jiahe: What…

MC: Miss Hang, did Qi Yu never do anything during all those times you were abused?

MC: Are you sure that every time, she chose to be a bystander, rather than being forced into her position?

MC: Did you know that Qi Yu said those words in each of the videos she was beaten in?

Hang Jiahe: I…

Hang Jiahe froze for a second, but then she immediately reacted.

Hang Jiahe: So what, then? What do you want to say?

Hang Jiahe: That I misunderstood her? That I shouldn’t have killed her? Then does all the pain I suffered for so many years even matter?

Hang Jiahe: You want me to absolve her? To forgive her?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. That’s not what I mean.

MC: I am not you. I have not endured your suffering, so I cannot request for you to forgive anyone.

MC: I haven’t seen what happened during those years, so I cannot judge whether Qi Yu was actively or passively making her decisions.

MC: And I definitely can’t carelessly determine whether she sinned or not.

I stopped for a moment and looked at Hang Jiahe’s gloves.

In her mind, she probably was the Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond Dantès – someone who had been wronged and could only get revenge for herself. She believed herself as intelligent and as lucky as Edmond, that she would ultimately be the winner. But…

MC: But even Edmond would figure out the situation before his revenge and repay his benefactors.

MC: I’m telling you this, only because I hope you’ll understand what sorts of people you sent away.

MC: I hope you understand that there have been people who intended to treat you kindly.

Hang Jiahe: …

MC: Also, Miss Hang, I can guess why you were not willing to ask for help from the police.

MC: In that sort of situation, you may have thought that you couldn’t rely on the outside world to go against them.

MC: But even so, me, Captain Morgan, and many, many people still have to do something.

I flipped further into the examination report.

MC: Even if Hang Fei is gone, the things he’s done will not disappear with him.

MC: This is the report we’ve created. Captain Morgan’s already sent it to upper management and applied for international cooperation.

MC: Miss Hang, we will bring you the justice you deserve for the pain you’ve experienced.

MC: As for the last few people, I promise that they will receive the punishment they deserve.

MC: So, for the rest of your life, please don’t live in hate.

MC: You’ve already stayed in the darkness for long enough. Please try to take a step forward.

MC: Doesn’t it say that in your beloved “The Count of Monte Cristo”?

MC: “He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”

MC: Miss Hang, if possible, please try it.

MC: Perhaps the light you’ve always been searching for isn’t too far away.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe: Ha… ha… hahahahaha!

Hang Jiahe broke into sudden, sharp laughter. It sounded like a heartrending sob was woven in it, as it resounded in the empty hallway, melting into the rain.

Amid the grey deluge of rain, specks of light leaked through. Maybe the downpour would finally end this time.

Not long after, Simon’s homicide case opened trial, and Wang Chunchong was deemed the murderer. Xingrui Estates declared that they would be depriving Xu Yin of her position and removing her from the family. Only Tyson received the weakest blow, as the evidence for instigation of murder was insufficient. However, lots of people online were saying that they hoped he would “succumb to the demon of illness as soon as possible”.

Thus, the homicide case of the couple in Yaofu Community came to an end.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

NXX Base

After the Hang Jiahe case concluded, the NXX investigation team met up at the base again for discussion.

MC: That’s how the Hang Jiahe case went.

Marius: Thanks for your hard work!

Artem: Thanks for your hard work. You did excellently.

Luke and Vyn nodded at me.

MC: Thanks, everyone.

MC: Enough about me – how’s everyone else’s investigation?

Artem: I’ve already updated Tyson’s case file. I haven’t found any new clues for now.

Marius: I followed what Wang Chunchong said and investigated that guy named Xiao Ren, but…

Marius: I haven’t found anything for now.

Luke: You also found out about Xiao Ren?

Marius: Huh?

Vyn: What a coincidence. I, too, found out about him.

MC: !!!

Luke: Marius, what information do you have on Xiao Ren right now?

Marius: Mainly what Wang Chunchong told me before.

Marius sighed.

Marius: According to Wang Chunchong, Xiao Ren is linked to Heirson’s raw materials purchases.

Marius: Tyson held Xiao Ren to very high regard, and keeps his occupational information on severe confidential status.

Marius: All in all, this person seems pretty mysterious.

Marius: What about you, Luke? What did you find?

Luke: The aunties in the group told me that Zhao Fei kept looking for someone called “Xiao Ren”.

Luke: I suspect that Tyson brought up this person in the recording that he sent him.

Marius: That’s possible. Wang Chunchong also heard Tyson bring up Xiao Ren, so there should be some sort of link between them.

Artem: Luke, that’s not all the information that the assistive team provided you, is it?

Luke: Yep, that’s not all.

Luke: First, the workers in Heirson where the abnormalities appeared were mostly on the production front lines, so what they touch the most are the products.

Vyn: They probably mixed in their developed illegal drugs into the products, resulting in infection.

Luke: That’s right.

Luke: Secondly, about Zhao Fei…

Luke ripped out a page from his notebook and placed it on the table.

Artem: These names are…

Luke: When I was questioning these ten people about Zhao Fei, their reactions were a bit abnormal. I suspect that…

Luke: They’re the ones hiding Zhao Fei.

MC: What about you, then, Dr. Richter? You just said that you also found out about Xiao Ren.

Vyn: I spoke with half of the 20 special respondents and noticed that it was the same doctor in charge of their examinations.

Vyn: And that person is named “Xiao Ren”.

Vyn: So I suspect that this person knows many secrets regarding Heirson’s experimental data.

MC: If so, this Xiao Ren person knows about where raw materials come from and can deal with the experimental data…

MC: If we can find him, we might be able to patch up the missing part in our evidence chain against Heirson.

Marius: So this Xiao Ren is going to be our investigative focal point from now on?

Luke: Leave it to me, then. I’m the best when it comes to finding people.

Artem: Then leave Zhao Fei to me. I just happen to have something I want to confirm with him.

Vyn: I have only met with the special patients. I will continue to meet with the remaining bunch.

Vyn: Marius, what are your plans?

Marius: Me? I plan to go see Hang Jiahe.

Marius: She wanted to find reporters in the past to drop major news about Heirson, and she’s now in jail…

Marius: We should find out what this news is.

MC: Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that!

Marius: So, jiejie, want to come with me to see Hang Jiahe? After all, only the two of us know her the best.

MC: Uh…

I suddenly had a bad feeling.

Luke: Marius, do you really need someone to accompany you just to go see someone?

Marius: I’m not going to see a typical person, am I? I’m going to see someone who might give us an important clue.

Marius: It makes sense to be a little more cautious and bring someone else.

Luke: Then just bring your assistant. If anything else, then bring some recording equipment.

Luke: Convenient, and it can record in real time.

MC: …

Right after, Artem spoke.

Artem: Zhao Fei’s case was ours to begin with, and now that we have clues…

Artem: MC, let’s finish it off, alright?

MC: Lawyer Wing…

Vyn: I may be overstepping, but…

Vyn stepped in just before Artem could speak again.

Vyn: May I trouble you to go with me next?

Vyn: There’s a special patient that I need your assistance with.

Faced with their “eager” eyes, I was very sure that –

The investigation team seriously needs to recruit a new member!

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼ CHAPTER 7 END ✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #tot translations #lu jinghe #zuo ran #xia yan #mo yi #marius von hagen #artem wing #luke pearce #vyn richter #未定事件簿 #feels bad for hjh :'(

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marshmallowprotection · 2 years

Note

hey, Kait! it's been a while, how are you doing?💖

I'm doing alright, believe it or not. I feel like I'm in a good place lately and I'm grateful for it. Life can be hard sometimes and I'm glad that I am where I am now if anything. I'm happy that I managed to get yet another Choi twins' story finished after a few months. It took a lot of thought to figure out the story and where I wanted it to go, but after Calluna, Cereus, Andromeda, and Iris, I know these characters as if they were me.

I'm figuring out what kind of story I want to write next but I haven't decided yet. I'm also debating on putting more time into writing my original content, too. My dream is to finish writing a long book with my own characters someday, after all. If my body would cooperate with me, though, that'd be great. Sometimes it's hard dealing with chronic illnesses but you learn how to cope! If my migraines would relax, I could get started on my next plans.

At the moment, I'm working on my birthday fic for Saeran so that's got most of my attention at the moment. I'm excited since I'm in love with this man. I just want to be able to have fun with Saeran and we have made it another year with him in our hearts. What more could I want?

I've got some life plans that I want to sort out, too. I want to be able to hang out with people and do fun things again... but that's tough because I have to be extra mindful of my poor health and the health of others. So, hopefully, I might be able to do something fun soon within reason. All and all, I'm doing alright and trying to figure out what's next. I've been reflective lately, too! I've learned new things about myself and I'm finding support in the right places.

#amee racle #ask #mod kait #not mm #Like I've discovered my sexuality is actually better suited to being called panromantic demisexual #I've been able to open doors for myself this year and I'm happy #I feel like I can be myself #and I don't think i'd be here as happy as I am if it wasn't for this community

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sleepysnk · 3 years

Text

have fun ;)

Team Player: Chapter Nine

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: suggestive content

Word Count: 3.6k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Eren sat next to (Y/N) in the class they shared together. It was an early morning and the two both felt exhausted. The two planned overnight on what they were going to practice at the field, Eren had access since he was an athlete, but the two had to be quick. Campus security was strict on any students out past curfew.

"So what time again?" Eren asked, looking over at her.

Her eyes averted towards his. "I have class until 7, so I can go right after." she replied.

He nodded. "Sounds good.. come by my dorm and I'll give you a ball and we can practice," he said, a small smile growing on his face as his mind flashed images of the two playing catch.

"Ugh! What if I suck? I guarantee I can barely throw a football," she said, rolling her eyes.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "You got this! I believe in you (Y/N),"

Her cheeks grew hot from his touch and his words. Eren had an odd way of making her feel flustered.

"I'll try my best to believe that.." she mumbled before looking up at the front of the class where Professor Ackerman stood.

"Good morning.. today is going to be a pretty short lesson. I'll be releasing you all early today, so I hope you cooperate for this to go smoothly." he said, eyes roaming among the students.

(Y/N) sighed, taking out her laptop to take notes. Eren did the same, he watched as she chewed her lip. For some reason, he always liked when she bit her lip, it was something he found.. attractive?

"Eren."

His eyes looked towards the front of the class where Professor Ackerman was staring at him.

"U-Uh.. yes?" he asked, nodding his head.

The stoic man sighed. "I get you think (Y/N) is cute, but please pay attention." he replied, turning back towards the board.

Eren's face grew pink as he felt many eyes staring at him, (Y/N)'s being one of them.

"Yeah Eren.." she whispered, giggling a bit at his cuteness.

He rolled his eyes before elbowing her side, causing a small yelp to escape her lips. She glared at him and returned back to her notes, a wide grin appearing on his features. He just loved messing with her.

Eren ended up zoning out while taking notes. His mind wandered to other things like football, sleep, (Y/N), wait what?

"Eren!"

He turned his head to meet her gaze, she was putting her stuff away. "Class is over, come on," she said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

He blinked for a moment before putting his stuff into his bag. 30 minutes really flashed like that?

"I barely paid attention to what he was saying.." Eren said, rubbing his tired eyes.

She exited the classroom with him by her side. "Trust me.. I don't understand Ackerman much either. Sasha had him and almost failed his class," she replied, nudging his arm a bit.

A smile grew onto his lips. "Yeah I guess he is…" he said, turning his head to look at her.

There was that stare again.

His eyes wandered to the small features of her face, (Y/N) was so pretty to him.

"Do you wanna head to your dorm? You know.. to pick up the football?" she asked, breaking his thoughts.

"Y-Yeah! Let's go," he replied, heading towards the exit of the campus building.

She followed him to his residence hall. Eren was walking pretty quickly, curse him and his long legs. (Y/N) slowly caught up, grabbing his arm in the process.

"Slow down! I almost lost you there," she said, trying to catch her breath.

Pink dusted onto his cheeks. "My bad! I'll slow down.." he muttered before opening the door to his building.

She rolled her eyes before following him down the hall to his dorm, she had only been to his dorm about once. The one time she helped him clean it. She silently prayed she wasn't this gross guy who just dirtied his room after cleaning it, that would for sure disappoint her.

He opened it and ushered her inside, her eyes scanned the room. He still kept it neat, surprisingly.

"I should have one around here somewhere," Eren said, opening his drawer. He dug around the dresser for a moment before pulling out the football. "Here ya go!"

He tossed it to her, she caught it and eyed the ball. She hadn't touched one in a pretty long time.

"So 7:30 right?" she said, looking at him.

He smiled, "Yeah for sure! I'll text you when I'm on my way," he replied.

She nodded, "Sounds good! I'll see you then. I gotta head to my next class.. so uh, I'll text you!" she said before heading towards the door.

He waved, "See you later!"

She made her way out of his dorm. Eren smiled to himself, (Y/N) was such a cute idiot. He couldn't get over it, the way she eyed the football made him happy, she looked so cute.

Maybe tonight would go well… maybe, just maybe, Eren could see her as more than a friend.

Eren was awoken in his dorm by his phone going off. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it was dark out. He could faintly see the lights from the campus shining into his room, lighting up the walls.

A groan escaped his mouth as he grabbed his phone, Jean was calling him for some reason.

"Hello?" Eren said, his voice deep and groggy from sleep.

"Finally! Dude I've called you like four times! Were you sleeping?" Jean asked over the phone.

He rubbed his tired eyes, "Yeah I was.. what do you want though? Where are you?" he asked. He could faintly hear some background noise.

"I'm at Connie's frat right now! You should come by! This party is getting pretty lit, plus you have been laying low on partying anyway," Jean replied.

Eren looked at the time on his phone, it read 7:00.

He contemplated for a moment, would going out partying even be worth it? He had been kind of low on the party scene lately, it may help him feel a bit better.

"Fine… I'll be there in 10," he replied, sitting up on his bed.

"Sick! I'll see you then!" Jean replied before hanging up the phone with a click.

Eren sighed, he stood up and turned on the light to his room. He put on a black zip up hoodie and some grey sweatpants, he wasn't exactly looking to impress and do much. Maybe a few shots and that's all? Plus it was a Wednesday night.

As Eren exited his dorm, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something. Did he have assignments? No. Practice? No. He wasn't exactly sure what was missing, he just shrugged it off and made his way to the frat house.

Little did he know… he was forgetting something.

Eren downed his third shot that night, the burning of the alcohol went down his throat and to his stomach. He placed the glass onto the table, leaning back against the cushions of the couch.

"You want another?" Connie asked, holding the bottle towards him.

Eren shook his head, "Nah.. I'm good."

He felt a weight next to him, Jean was sitting next to him now. His face was lightly pink from the alcohol he consumed earlier, Jean was such a lightweight drunk.

"So Jaeger when are you even coming back on the team? You've been benched for weeks," he asked, looking at him.

Eren sighed, "I dunno.. maybe if coach actually listened to me." he replied with a shrug.

Jean slung his arm around his shoulder, "You got this! I think you'll be back soon," he slurred.

Eren pushed Jean off of him, "You smell like beer dude, go somewhere else."

He furrowed his brows, "Shut it! You seem grumpy.. did (Y/N) stop letting you hit or something?" Jean asked, crossing his arms.

Eren's eyes grew wide at Jean's words.

Shit!

"Oh shit.. fuck! (Y/N)!" Eren yelled.

"Huh? Is everything okay Eren?" Connie asked, looking at him with furrowed brows.

He fumbled for his phone, the time read 8:20. It all hit him at once. Eren was supposed to be at the field practicing with her, it totally slipped his mind! He also noticed the missed texts and phone calls he had from her.

(Y/N): 9 missed calls

7:02 <-(Y/N): hey i'm done with class!

7:10 <-(Y/N): uh hello? did you fall asleep?

7:19 <-(Y/N): Eren??? dude i'm at the field

7:21 <-(Y/N): dude seriously, where are you?

7:32 <-(Y/N): Eren, i'm not playing anymore. where are you??? you were supposed to be here.

7:41 <-(Y/N): wtf dude?? are you seriously ditching me?? this isn't funny Eren.

7:49 <-(Y/N): i'm giving you 15 more minutes if you're not gonna show up, i'm leaving.

8:01<-(Y/N): okay cool. ignore me, thanks for being an asshole. i thought you were cool but i guess people never change huh? don't even bother coming.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I gotta go, see you guys later." Eren said before rushing up the stairs out of the basement.

Eren rushed out of the frat house, he pushed past a few people and got outside. The wind picked up as he rushed towards the campus, he couldn't go to sleep tonight knowing that he forgot. He felt so guilty, that was fucked up for him to do.

In the distance storm clouds brewed, lightning flared in the sky lighting up the darkening clouds. Thunder boomed in the horizon as the wind began to blow around the fall leaves.

Just what I need, a fucking storm Eren thought as he rushed to the practice fields.

The bright lights were still on, unfortunately Eren didn't see (Y/N). He looked around the field, maybe she was in her car?

Eren fished for his phone to call her. "Come on pick up.." he groaned, looking around the empty field. The wind blowing in his hair.

"So.. you finally decided to show up."

He turned to see (Y/N) leaning against the small bench, her arms crossed.

"(Y/N)! I-I'm.. I didn't mean-"

"Just save it. I don't wanna hear your excuses," she cut him off.

Eren tried coming towards her, "I'm sorry! I didn't get your texts and everything slipped my mind!"

She rolled her eyes, "You left me here for an hour! I genuinely thought you were a nice guy.. but I guess some people never change. Just do this all yourself." she replied, tossing the football at him.

He watched as she began to walk away, the storm in the distance beginning to get closer. He ran towards her, grabbing her forearm.

"(Y/N).. please don't go, there is a storm right now and I don't want you walking by yourself." he said, looking at her with concern in his eyes.

She tried pulling away from him, "Eren just go! You clearly don't give a shit, just go back to your stupid party. I could care less.." she mumbled.

The crash of the thunder made him look up at the sky, "(Y/N)! I'm being serious! We need to go inside, just come with me okay!?" he yelled.

She scoffed, "Just fuck off dude! Let me go back to my dorm!" she argued back.

Eren was beginning to get frustrated with her, "I already explained! I get what I did wasn't cool! Just stop fucking around and let's go! The dorms are so far and you'll be walking in the rain, just come with me already!" he replied.

Droplets of water began to fall from the sky, darkening the material of Eren's clothes. Lightning flashed along the sky and thunder followed soon after, booming and rumbling making the ground slightly shake.

"No! Just let me go back by myself, I don't need your fucking help. You're such an ass! I wish I never helped you, God, I was so dumb to even think you changed!" she yelled as the rain pelted down on them.

He stayed silent, the rain hitting his head and making his hair wet. It soon began to fall at a quicker pace.

"I'm leaving.." she mumbled before starting to turn away.

Suddenly, Eren grabbed her arm and put his hand behind her head, pulling her into a kiss. At first she didn't move, then her lips suddenly began to move against his. Her arms went to his neck.

The rain fell onto them, soaking their clothes and making the ground below them wet. The kiss they shared was raw, passionate, and it broke the tension they've been having for the past two weeks.

"Just shut up (Y/N).." he said before pressing his lips back onto hers.

His arms snaked around her waist, bringing her closer to his skin. She shivered a bit as the wind blew against her wet flesh.

"E-Eren.." she said, breaking the kiss between them. Her lips puffy.

He looked up at the sky, "Let's go.. we're gonna get sick," he said.

He took her hand into his, her cheeks growing hot as he guided her through the wet field and towards the locker rooms. Eren had snuck a key and he always kept it on him just in case he ever needed a way back into school, he silently hoped (Y/N) wouldn't tell anyone.

He slid the key inside of the lock and turned it a few times, he felt the click of the lock and pulled the door open so she could step inside the locker room. Nobody would be around at this hour so nobody would catch them.

(Y/N) shivered entering the locker room, both of their clothes were soaking wet; the cooler air made goosebumps form onto Eren's skin.

"Just sit right here," Eren said, pointing at a spot in front of his locker.

(Y/N) plopped down, the sound of her wet leggings hitting the surface of the bench. Her hair was soaking, so was her outfit, she had no idea how she was going to explain this to Sasha.

Eren walked into the showers, his eyes scanning for the towels they kept for the players. He opened the door to the closet and grabbed two of the white ones, he hoped nobody would notice they were missing since his coach kept count of all that shit.

The squelching of Eren's shoes made (Y/N) look up, he tossed her the towel before sitting down next to her.

"I'm sorry again.. if you don't want to help anymore, you don't have to." he said, looking at her.

She rubbed the material along her face and through her hair. A sigh escaping her lips before she spoke, "I'm not gonna stop helping you.. that's not who I am, but I wish I got some kind of heads up."

Eren nodded, wiping some water off his face. "That's my fault and I'm sorry for that," he replied.

She looked at the ground. "You're forgiven.. but Eren," she said, looking at him.

His eyes averted towards her, his head nodding to the side. "Hm?" he asked.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. "Why did you kiss me?"

Eren let out air through his nose, he leaned against the lockers behind him. His back pressing against a lock, why did he kiss her? Was it just the heat of the moment? Did he want to release the tension they had?

He clicked his tongue, "Being honest.. I don't know. I guess in a way.. I like you, I hate to admit it but I do," he said.

Her eyes widened a little, Eren Jaeger liked her? She wasn't exactly upset.. she felt the same way and it was blatantly obvious at that point since she did lean into the kiss and she could feel the tension between them the last few weeks.

"E-Eren.." she whispered.

He looked at her, "What? I know you don't like me back," he mumbled.

She stuck out her hand to touch his face which was now dry, her fingers ran along his skin. "I do like you.."

He froze for a second, she was never one to tell a lie and by the way she spoke he could tell she was being truthful with him.

He turned his body to face her, their knees were now touching and tingles came from the touch. Eren's hand found its way to her cheek, he used the pad of his thumb to wipe away a few stray rain drops that laid on her skin.

Their faces leaned into one another, their lips connecting into a kiss.

Her hands found their way into Eren's damp brunette locks, pulling him down closer to her. Eren's hand found its way to her waist where he squeezed the flesh, some of the material of her shirt was damp and it made his hands wet.

"I want you.." Eren whispered, his breath uneven.

She looked into his eyes. "I want you more.."

His hands went towards her thighs, his fingers rubbing circles on the skin; it made her jolt a bit.

"You like that huh..?" he asked with a smirk forming on his features.

She playfully smacked his arm. "Oh shut up," she replied, her eyes rolling.

He smirked before moving his head to her neck, he pressed his lips against her skin; his lips were hot, almost feverish. They attacked her neck making her skin feel warm.

A soft moan escaped her mouth feeling his tongue glide against her sweet spot, he was about to bite down when a buzzing broke him out of his thoughts.

(Y/N) slightly groaned when she reached in her pocket for her phone. Eren leaned away and furrowed his brows, pondering as to who could be calling right now.

"Hello?" she said, chewing her bottom lip.

"(Y/N)!? Hello!? Dude I've been texting you for an hour! Where are you? It's storming like crazy outside and I knew you were out with Eren, is everything okay?"

She instantly knew it was Sasha.

She sighed, "Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine Sasha. Eren took me to his dorm, we actually got rained on. I'll be back soon," she replied, her eyes wandering towards Eren who seemed unfazed.

She could hear Sasha chewing on food. "Okay! Have fun! I'll see you soon," she said.

(Y/N) hung up and placed her phone down next to her leg. "Sorry about that," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Eren chuckled, "You're fine.. I think we should get back anyway, I don't want the janitor to come and find us here," he replied before standing up.

He held out his hand for her and she took it with a smile on her face, she shivered a bit since her clothes were still somewhat wet from being outside in the rain. Eren took notice of this and went to his locker.

"Hold on a sec," he said, making (Y/N) stop in her tracks.

She nodded as she watched him unlock his locker, he grabbed what seemed to be a hoodie. It had the University colors on it. He slammed his locker before locking it up and turning towards her.

"You should take this.. it's really cold and I don't want you getting sick," he said, holding out the fabric for her.

Her cheeks grew hot, but she just took the sweater from him. "Thank you.." she said, holding it close to her chest.

He smiled, "Of course! Now let me take you back to the dorms, it's the least I can do."

She smiled before following Eren out of the locker room.

The long walk back to (Y/N)'s dorm was quite fun, the two had encountered a few professors along the way and they had to hide in bathrooms to make sure they wouldn't get caught.

It was something (Y/N) wasn't used to, she was always staying out of trouble and she was seen as a good girl most of the time. Eren found that to be quite amusing, regarding the circumstances anyway.

He leaned against the wall that was next to her dorm door. "So uh.. tonight was something," he said, chuckling a bit.

(Y/N) giggled, "It definitely was.. but I had a lot of fun. Even if I'm freezing right now," she replied.

Eren looked at her, "I- uh.. I hope you know I meant what I said about liking you.. I really do and I want to be more than just a friend to you," he said, his cheeks slightly pink.

She looked at the ground before looking back up at Eren. "I meant what I said too.. I do like you, Eren."

"I mean.. by the way you moaned earlier.." he smirked.

She smacked his arm again. "Oh shut it! I'll kick your ass, but anyway.. I do want to have something more," she said, rocking on her heels.

Eren smiled, "Sounds good.. can I kiss you again?" he asked.

She nodded her head before leaning into his face again, Eren put his hands onto her shoulders giving them a small squeeze before pulling away.

"Kissing you hits different," he whispered before kissing her cheek.

Her cheeks were hot, "You're such a dork.. goodnight Eren!" she said, putting her hand on the knob of the door.

He chuckled, "Goodnight (Y/N)."

Eren walked back to his dorm with a giant grin on his face, he felt like he just won a game just now; but this time.. he won something special. (Y/N).

tagging: @ererokii @eremiie @erensapologist @luvrboykento @callmepromise @katsuhera @moomii-hime @flam3bird @thicmitten @daughter-of-the-stars11 @just-a-little-sad @lunamoonawatcher @sofi-yeager @ryan249057 @chayauwu @bell0214 @jaegercult

#anime #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot fanfiction #aot imagines #snk x y/n #snk x reader #snk imagines #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #anime fanfic #team player

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

Ménage à Trois Chapter 8

Hey lovelies, here’s the next chapter of Ménage à Trois a day early! I’ll be honest, I only had 10 chapters mapped out for this originally, but I’m not really ready to let them go just yet so I’m thinking this story might end at around 13 chapters. We’ll see.

Check out my masterlist to read my other stories, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything! Enjoy 😘

Word Count: 6594

CW: smut

T’Challa sat back in his desk chair and let out a deep sigh. It had been a rough week trying to convince the US government to continue their cooperation without Theodore, but they eventually came around and “allowed” the liaison position to replace an ambassador. It didn’t help that Theodore had been bad-mouthing Zora and the king to anyone who would listen, and unfortunately, lots of people listened. That is until some of those photos of Theodore and his mistress were mysteriously sent to Mrs. Thompson’s phone from an unknown number. That shut him up real quick. However, some of the damage had already been done. Thankfully, Zora had no interest in working in the world of politics and could care less about her reputation among that crowd.

Not only had the week been difficult because of work, but T’Challa was also missing his lady. Zora had flown back to New York to pack up her life, and she would be back in about a week, but he couldn’t wait that long. By the time three days had passed, he was already getting antsy. “Is this what it is like when I go on missions?” he wondered to himself.

He missed her loud laughter and the twinkle in her eye when she looked up at him. It just wasn’t the same seeing her in hologram form; it wasn’t anywhere close to as good as the real thing. Despite that, he looked forward to her morning calls. She would call him as she got ready for bed and tell him about her day as she detangled her hair, and T’Challa loved watching the look of determination on her face as she worked her way through every curl and kink. Some nights it was hidden under a solid layer of clay, and he’d tease her about looking like Hulk in her green mask. He didn’t get to see her like that often, but he liked it, and he wanted more of it. Something about seeing her in that relaxed state made him want to lay his head on her chest and doze off with her, but, unfortunately, as her day was winding down, his was picking up. He smiled as he thought back to their conversation earlier that day and the words that almost left his mouth when they said goodbye.

“I love you.”

He almost said it. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but it felt as natural as breathing.

“Sweet dreams, Babygirl. I...will talk to you tomorrow.” He had caught himself right before the words came tumbling out, but she didn’t notice his awkwardness thanks to a yawn that overtook her as he spoke. When she ended the call, he sat there in a stupor, unable to wrap his mind around what had just happened. It’s not that he couldn’t believe he was falling in love with Zora, that was pretty easy for him to believe, but T’Challa was surprised at how deeply he felt the words as they sat on his tongue. They were his truth that even he didn’t know until that moment. He felt a warm glow emanating from within him as he thought about his feelings for her, but it was quickly tamped out by the looming anxiety of what he knew he had to do regarding his other truth. T’Challa had no doubt in his mind that he loved Zora, but he had been lying to her the whole time about who and what he was. She had been kept in the dark about his identity because of her ties to the U.S. government, but T’Challa couldn’t hide behind that excuse anymore.

A call interrupted his thinking, and his mother’s image was projected into the air.

“Molo, mama.”

“Molo, unyana. Are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Change into something you can get dirty and come down to the garden.”

Ramonda ended the call before he could protest, and he chuckled, knowing she did it on purpose. The king stood and stretched out his body after sitting for so long, and he left his office to change into something a little less royal.

“How are you today, mama?” T’Challa asked as he kissed Ramonda’s cheek, interrupting the song she was humming as she watered her hanging flowers.

“You would know if you hadn’t skipped breakfast,” she taunted with an eyebrow raised as he smiled sheepishly back at her.

“I did not skip breakfast. I just had it in my quarters.”

“Mmmhm. Talking to Zora again?”

T’Challa playfully rolled his eyes and groaned. “Mama-”

“Don’t ‘mama’ me, boy. I already know,” she knelt down on her padded mat as she watered her fire lilies. “You know, in all the weeks she has been here, I have been able to spend very little time with her. Hopefully, that will change soon.” She eyed her son, and he nodded under her piercing glare.

“Yes, ma’am. I believe you will like her.”

“Oh, I already do. Zora is a lovely girl, T’Challa. You have chosen well, but then again, you always have had good taste in women.”

“Of course I do; I learned from the best,” he smiled at her as he crouched down and started pulling weeds.

“So, how is she?”

Ramonda smiled to herself as she watched T’Challa’s face brighten at the thought of her.

“Zora is well. She is still wrapping up loose ends in New York, but she is excited about her new job when she gets back.”

“I cannot say I am surprised at her appointment. She seems perfect for the position.”

“She is, mama...she is,” he said with a far-off look on his face and a dreamy smile holding firm on his cheeks.

“I bet. Have you told her yet?”

T’Challa’s voice caught in his throat.

“No, not exactly-”

“T’Challa!”

“I know, I know,” he rubbed the back of his neck, completely forgetting about the dirt on his hands.

“They have been here how long now, three months? You need to tell that girl before you make it worse than it already is. You should have told her the moment you decided you wanted to be with her.”

“It was not that simple.”

“And why not?” she asked with a hand on her hip.

“We went into this thinking there would be an end date,” he sighed. “Zora would leave soon and go back to America, so there was no need to get serious. She had already been looking for other jobs because she hated working under Theodore, but our relationship ended up blooming into this big, beautiful thing. It became more than I expected it to be, but now it might all come crumbling down because I have been keeping a huge part of myself from her. And M’Baku had to keep my secret, too...I do not think it will go well for either of us, but myself especially.”

The king pulled the unwanted plants from the ground and roughly threw them in a large basket, taking his frustration out on the soon-to-be compost. Ramonda looked over at her son, and her eyes softened at the sad furrow in his brow. She reached out and placed her hand over his. “Unyana, the longer you wait, the worse the outcome will be.”

“I just do not know how to come out and say ‘hey Zora, I have been lying to you this entire time’ without hurting her.”

“It might be inevitable, T’Challa, but that is not to say she will not eventually come around.”

“I hope so,” he sighed, and the two of them went back to gardening in comfortable silence. After a few more minutes of the hot sun beating down on them, Ramonda spoke again.

“So you said she is still seeing M’Baku?”

“Yes, and I believe things are going well.”

“Good for her. Does he love her as you do?”

“Yes, he-” A look of horror washed over T’Challa’s face while a smirk settled on his mother’s.

“Do not look so surprised. You are always the last to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, everyone can see how much you love that girl. Have you considered a future for your relationship?”

“So diplomatic. Is this how I sound to everybody?” T’Challa chuckled. Ramonda lightly slapped his arm, and he gave in. “Alright, alright. Yes, I have considered it.”

“But?”

“But it is complicated with M’Baku involved as well. Well, not complicated, but definitely something that requires a conversation.”

“A conversation you just now realized you need to have,” Ramonda said while slowly nodding along. “Well, your great-great-grandmother, Queen Asha, married both the River tribe and Border tribe chiefs. And I believe it was your great-great-great-great-grandfather, King Jidenna, who had seven wives.”

“That is entirely too many.”

“I agree, but what I am saying is do not worry about his relationship with her. It has no bearing on where yours can go. She would make an excellent queen and an excellent chieftess if I do say so myself.”

T’Challa smiled from ear to ear at the thought of Zora ruling beside him before looking down at his beads and noticing the time. He let out a deep sigh, having enjoyed his time spent with Ramonda but not wanting it to end so soon. His free time was over, and he had to get back to running his kingdom. He pulled the last few weeds out of the ground and carried the full basket over to the composter on the other side of the garden, dumping out the contents into the putrid container and shutting the lid tight. He waved goodbye to her as he walked back toward the palace, stuck in his head about how to tell Zora his secret.

Ramonda sat back on her heels as he walked away, and she shook her head before turning back to her flowers and sighing. “T’Chaka, your son is a handful.”

--------

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“I can’t see, T’Challa,” Zora giggled as he carefully led her out of the car and down the walkway of her new home. As part of her new job, she was given a choice between an upgraded suite at the palace or her own house. She sort of missed cooking for herself, so she chose the house. As much as she loved living in the palace, she had never lived alone before and jumped at the opportunity to get her Ari Lennox on. Besides, she could always stay with either of her boyfriends in their palaces whenever she wanted.

T’Challa grabbed her waist to still her movement and pulled her flush against him, kissing behind her ear. “Are you ready?”

“Mmm, for what?” she asked as she bit her lip and wound her hips back on him.

“Behave,” he rumbled in her ear, making her flood her panties. “Are you ready to see the house?”

“I’ve already seen it, baby; I picked it.”

“True, but you have not seen it like this.”

Zora felt his hands undo the sash, and as it fell away, her eyes slowly blinked open and focused on the vision before her. Her home was surrounded by a beautiful landscape of tropical flowers, and there was a swing to the right of the door.

T’Challa held out his hand to her, and she took it, “There is more inside.”

Zora followed him into the house, and her jaw dropped. It was already decorated and furnished, and somehow it was exactly what she wanted, right down to the art on the walls. The plush teal velvet sectional was obviously the centerpiece of the living room, and she immediately walked over and ran her fingers along the soft fibers. She wandered into the kitchen and almost drooled when she saw that T’Challa had made sure it was fully stocked with her favorites. The six-burner stovetop caught her eye, and her wheels already started turning, bringing up memories of how she used to cook huge meals for her loved ones. She made a mental note to bring that energy to Wakanda and host some get-togethers.

She continued her self-guided tour with T’Challa on her heels and slowly made her way up the stairs and to her bedroom. T’Challa opened the door for her, and when she stepped through, her eyes became misty.

“T’Challa...how did you do all of this? This is...this is perfect.” She walked to the four-poster canopy bed and sat down to test the mattress. “Yep, perfect.”

“Wait until you see the closet,” the king teased, laughing as Zora got up and ran to the closet doors.

She flung them open and gasped, “T’Challa, you didn’t!” The closet had been expanded to fit her existing wardrobe and an entirely new wardrobe T’Challa had gifted her. She walked in and excitedly started flipping through the garments one at a time with a massive grin on her face. “This is too much.”

“Then stop smiling,” he walked closer and rested his hand on her hip as she continued to flip through the clothing rack.

Zora turned around in his arms to thank him when she caught a glimpse of a full shoe rack on the other side of the closet. She damn near pushed T’Challa to the side and made her way over to the shoes in no time flat, picking up a simple pair of black stilettos and flipping them over to see the bright red soles.

“Holy shit, these are Louboutins.” She carefully placed them back as if they would break and turned to face her man. “How did you do all this? Everything is exactly what I wanted.”

“Keisha may or may not have shown me your “Home Sweet Home” Pinterest board.”

“Of course she did,” Zora laughed. When she stopped, her voice took on that smoky timbre it tended to get when she was aroused, “You know there’s one more thing I really wanted that I haven’t gotten yet.”

“And what is that?” He asked, closing the gap between them and tilting her chin up towards him.

“We need to christen it.”

“How do we do that?” T’Challa captured her lips with his, and she melted into his arms.

“I want you to fuck me in every room in this house.”

“You haven’t even seen the home office or the meditation room yet-”

“I’ll see it later,” she reached up to undo his buttons, but he stopped her by grabbing her wrists in his hand.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

“I don’t care right now. Just fuck me.”

“You don’t care, eh? Alright, we will see,” he said as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

“T’Challa, stop,” she giggled out.

“Nope, you said you want me to fuck you in every room. Let us go where your neighbors can watch me slut your pretty ass out,” he said with a slap to the back of her thigh.

Part of Zora wanted to protest. She didn’t need her introduction to the neighborhood to be her getting her back blown out by the king, but those feelings were overridden the moment he reminded her of her position.

He took her back downstairs and toward the back of the house to a wide-open sunroom. She could see her new neighbors relaxing in their backyard, and her heart rate picked up when he set her down. What Zora didn’t know yet was that although she could see them, they couldn’t see her through the glass thanks to Shuri’s cloaking tech, so the thrill of possibly getting caught washed over her from head to toe.

“Take off your dress.”

“You do it,” she teased.

“Zora, I will not repeat myself,” he growled as he walked her back towards the glass wall. Fear flashed in her eyes for half a second before it was replaced by lust. He had a way of doing that to her that nobody else had ever done before. His presence alone made her tremble, and her body did just that as her back hit the glass. Despite how his dominance made her body melt, she still felt like putting up a fight.

“Then I’m not doing it,” she crossed her arms and looked up at him with a smirk.

“Take off the fucking dress, Zora. Now,” he grabbed her jaw roughly and made her meet his piercing gaze. She shuddered but held firm until his hand traveled up her inner thigh and zeroed in on her clit. Zora moaned as his middle finger applied the perfect amount of pressure while moving around her clit in circles. “No panties today...I see you wanted this. Do my fingers feel good on your pussy?”

“Mhm,” she moaned out louder as her teeth lightly clamped down on her bottom lip. T’Challa’s fingers experimented with different speeds and pressures, not letting her get too used to any pattern before they dipped down and collected some of her wetness. Right as her moans grew louder and higher, he removed his fingers and stuffed them down her throat.

“What does that sweet pussy taste like today?”

“Hmm, an orange creamsicle?”

“Mmm. Too bad I won’t be tasting it.”

“What? Why not?” she whined.

“Because you are disobedient. A good little slut would have taken off her dress and sucked my dick right here when I told her to, but you chose not to be that today. You decided you’d rather push my buttons than get fucked like a good girl,” he leaned into her ear, “but now I have to fuck you like a bitch out of line. You have clearly forgotten my rules and need to be reminded who is in charge here.”

Zora’s breath caught in her chest as the king yanked her head back by her hair.

“No traffic lights tonight, just the safeword.” He bit her ear. “Say it.”

“Sunset,” she whispered.

“Take off your dress,” he murmured between bites to her neck and shoulder.

“Uh-uh,” Zora shook her head and smiled mischievously at T’Challa. He pushed her into the wall and ripped her dress down the middle. Before she could protest, his hand was covering her mouth.

“You are only making things worse for yourself. Now, get on your knees.”

Zora had one more ounce of defiance in her and shook her head again, her words muffled under his large hand. Without saying anything, T’Challa threw her over his shoulder again and crossed the room to sit in a chair by the glass wall. He set her down, throwing her over his lap while she squirmed in his grasp. He held her down with one hand and slapped both of her cheeks with the other.

Zora cried out as he rained blow after blow down on her, alternating sides and watching her ass jiggle and redden. He spoke between slaps, “What are my rules?”

“I do what- Ow! I-I do what you say when you s-say it.”

Slap.

“And?”

Slap.

“I am to call you Sir unless you give m-me permission otherwise,” she spoke as her eyes watered and he massaged her cheeks to relieve the burning.

“And what’s the last one, Babygirl?”

“Bratty behavior will get me punished.”

His hands both came down on her backside, and she yelled out his name, forgetting herself. T’Challa growled and pulled her off his lap as he stood up. “On your knees.”

She obeyed, and her legs shook as she carefully knelt down and sat on her haunches with her hands in her lap and her mouth wide open.

“Oh, now you want to be a good girl?” T’Challa laughed as he unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor, freeing his already hard dick. He tapped it on her tongue as he teased, “Tired of being my bitch already?”

“No, Sir,” she said around the thickness of her tongue.

He grabbed her hair and tilted her head back before sticking out his tongue and allowing his spit to drip into her mouth. His tongue soon followed in a sloppy kiss.

“Good. Now suck this dick.”

His grip on her hair tightened as her mouth enveloped him. Her long tongue flickered along the underside of his shaft as he carefully thrust his dick down her throat. Zora’s head swiveled up and down his length, taking every last inch like he had trained her to do. He held her head down when her nose reached his manicured pubic hair, and when he pulled her all the way off to see her face and his dick covered with spit, he couldn’t help but plunge back inside and fuck her face.

The wet sloshing sounds coming from Zora’s mouth were all that could be heard as T’Challa’s dick made itself at home in her throat.

“Fuck, Babygirl, this throat,” T’Challa groaned, not letting up on her as involuntary tears fell from her eyes. He was used to that by now and simply ignored them as she looked up at him with her doe eyes. “You look so pretty like this, with my dick in your mouth.”

Zora moaned around him, and the vibrations made his toes curl.

“You were made to please me, and that is all you are good for. You are worthless without my dick in your mouth,” he pulled her head off his dick, marveling at the bridge of spit still connecting them. “Say it.”

“I’m worthless without your dick in my mouth,” she slurred.

“Good girl,” he chuckled darkly as his hand ran up and down his shaft while she looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “Not good enough yet, though.”

His hand sped up, and she could see his dick twitching, so she opened her mouth for him.

“Close that shit,” T’Challa seethed through his clenched teeth.

Zora shut her mouth, and shortly after, warm squirts of liquid painted her face as he grunted above her.

The next thing she knew, she was being pulled to her feet and her breasts were pushed up against the glass.

“All they have to do is look over here, and they will see you covered in my cum,” he whispered into her ear as he entered her from behind, “taking my dick like a good bitch. They can see how filthy you are.”

Her back arched as her hands pressed into the glass to steady herself. T’Challa’s hand found its way back to her curls and pulled her head back as his hips pistoned inside her. He licked a stripe from the base of her neck to her temple, tasting himself on her skin and making her shudder and clench around him. His other hand gripped her hip so tight it would probably leave a bruise as he pulled her ass back onto him. He wouldn’t even let her throw it back; he controlled every move her body made. He arched her back deeper, making her bend more at the waist.

Zora’s eyes rolled to the back of her head when the hand on her hip moved down to circle her pearl again. She nearly lost her mind as his thrusts got deeper somehow, and his hips rolled into hers, stirring her insides, before removing his hand and going right back to his punishing strokes. Her already sore ass stung as his pelvis made contact, and his balls slapped her clit. He let go of her hair and grabbed both of her hips, fucking her deep as she screamed out for the heavens. Her body tensed up and released all over him. Her contracting walls almost brought him along with her, but his self-control was out of this world. T’Challa pulled out and turned her around, wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing her back into the glass as he thrust into her.

“T’Cha- Sir!”

He chuckled and whispered in her ear. “No, say my name Babygirl. I want them to know who you belong to. Who owns this pussy?”

“M-me,” she looked him in his eye and challenged him, wanting him to go harder. And he did.

T’Challa used gravity to Zora’s disadvantage and dropped her on his dick, meeting her thrust for thrust and going as deep as he could possibly go inside her. She screamed out, unable to contain her volume any longer. Her nails dug into his back, and the cool chill of the glass against her back reminded her of her possible audience, taking her over the edge.

“T’Challa, baby, my pussy-”

“Wrong. Whose pussy?” He smiled teasingly as she looked around the room, eyes unable to focus on any one thing. “Uh-uh, look at me. There you go, good girl. Now tell me, who owns this pussy, Zora?”

“Y-you do.”

He groaned in approval. “And what’s my fucking name?”

“T’Challa!”

“Who?”

“King T’Challa!”

“Mmm, one more time Babygirl. Say it again.”

“King T’Challa! Mmmm, you’re gonna make me cum again.”

“Do it,” he slapped her thigh, “and tell me what I want to hear.”

His hips never faltered as her walls gripped him tight. Her voice was hoarse and uneven, but she was able to croak out as she came, “This is your pussy, baby.”

Hearing the words sent him over the edge right behind her, and the two of them stayed in that position, catching their breath and gazing into each others’ eyes warmly. Zora loved that about T’Challa. He could be as rough as he wanted to be, but he could turn it off with the flip of a switch and be tender with her.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice low.

“Sore.”

T’Challa nodded and carried her back into the main house and up the stairs to her bathroom as she clung to him and buried her face in his neck. He set her down on the edge of the enormous clawfoot tub and started the water before disappearing out the bathroom door and reappearing a couple of minutes later with a cup of tea. He handed it to her and grabbed some bath salts, pouring them in as she sipped and soothed her aching throat. Once the tub was almost full, he helped her in and slid in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she leaned her head back against his shoulder.

“Are you ready for your first day?”

“I think so. I’m still nervous about not being qualified.”

“Theodore was unqualified, but you are simply inexperienced. There is a difference. You will find your stride and do great things. I can feel it.”

“You better, you’re the one who hired me,” she chuckled as he wrapped his arms tighter around her and kissed her neck. “Thank you, by the way. For everything. The job, the house...for being you. Thank you.”

“You are more than welcome,” he said between kisses, making her giggle.

“T’Challa, I’m still sore.”

“So I cannot kiss you?”

“That’s all you get.”

“That is all I need.”

--------

Zora had spent the whole weekend alone as she settled into her new home. T’Challa had to get back to the palace to get some work done, so he didn’t end up staying that first night with her. At first, she was upset he had to leave, but then she rejoiced in getting her place all to herself. She didn’t wear a stitch of clothing all weekend, and she spent most of her time dancing around her living room and getting in the right headspace in her meditation room.

By Monday, she actually felt ready to do her job, something she hadn’t felt up until that point. Zora smiled at herself in the mirror as she adjusted the lapel on her favorite electric blue pantsuit and checked her outfit one last time before heading out the door. Thankfully, her home wasn’t very far from the palace, but T’Challa had gifted her with a hovercar to make her commute even easier. Before he left, he gave her a quick tutorial, and she picked it right up. As she slid in the driver seat and turned the vehicle on with her kimoyo beads, Zora smiled, thinking about how much she loved the Wakandan tech. “This is so fucking cool,” she mused as she ran her fingers over the dashboard.

When she pulled up at the palace, she grinned at seeing her own parking space near the entrance. She got out of her car at the same time Akil, the River tribe elder, arrived for the council meeting.

“Molo Zora! Unjani namhlanje?” he raised his eyebrow at her, testing out her Xhosa even though he was a former wardog and spoke English fluently. Zora had always liked Akil since he was one of the few council members that were initially open to her being there.

“Ndiphilile, Akil. And you?” she sent him a knowing glance with a healthy dose of playful attitude as he stepped out of his car.

“Bast woke me up this morning, and the sun is still in the sky. I cannot complain,” the older man smiled at her as they walked into the palace. “Are you excited about your first day?”

“I was nervous, but all that went away when I pulled up.”

“Because you saw me.”

Zora playfully shoved him as he cackled.

“But seriously though, you will do well. King T’Challa would not have chosen you otherwise.”

Zora turned to smile at Akil and caught sight of M’Baku coming down the hall. Her smile widened, and he turned to see what had gotten her so happy, quickly understanding her change in demeanor when he saw the chief. Zora excused herself from Akil and made her way over to her man, giving him a chaste, work-appropriate kiss.

“This color looks beautiful on you,” he held her hand in his and made her do a spin for him.

“Thank you,” she giggled. “Want to come see my office?”

“Of course. I am sorry I could not make it down this weekend to see the house.”

“Can you make it to my housewarming tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Then don’t worry about it. You’re gonna love it.”

They got to her office, and T’Challa was already there waiting with her paperwork. She took a look around the room and noticed how different it looked from when Theodore occupied the space. The walls were a warm burnt orange, and the furniture was all hand-carved Jabari wood. There were pictures on the desk of her and her mom and some with her and Keisha. Her framed degree hung on the wall behind her desk above a full bookcase. She ran her hands over the titles from throughout the diaspora and smiled, already thinking of curling up on her couch with a few of them. The Wakandan language and history books caught her eye, and as she reached for one of the history books, T’Challa intercepted her hand.

“Before you do that, there is something I need to tell you, but now is not a good time. How about after your party tonight?”

Zora’s heart sped up, and he tried not to notice, so he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Everything is ok, I promise,” he said, ignoring how M’Baku narrowed his eyes.

Zora’s first day went by smoothly. She mostly just read over and signed her contract after the council meeting, where she was officially reintroduced as American Liaison. The council gave her a round of applause, and she felt a weight lift from her chest upon realizing they wouldn’t be against her appointment like she thought they would. Another weight stayed, though. One put there by T’Challa earlier that day. His words continued to echo through her mind, haunting her until it was time for her to go home.

“There is something I need to tell you,” she mocked aloud as she packed up her things. She was frustrated and nervous, and she was thankful her housewarming party would be small and hopefully not too draining.

The rest of the night ended up being a blur. She greeted her friends when they arrived and held a couple of conversations as she kept the food and drinks flowing, but everyone could tell she was in another world.

“You should not have said anything earlier,” M’Baku grumbled to T’Challa before taking a sip of his beer.

“Would you prefer her to read about it before I tell her?” T’Challa rolled his eyes. “Either way, this is not going to go well.”

“For either of us.”

“Not necessarily. It is my secret, not yours.”

“I do not think she will see it that way.”

T’Challa nodded, and his eyes trailed Zora as she went to the kitchen to pop open another bottle of wine.

Zora needed to hide from the crowd for a moment, so she disappeared to the kitchen. Bahiti and Keisha had noticed her behavior and were concerned for their friend, so they followed behind her moments later.

“Is something wrong, Zora?”

“You’re acting kinda funny, and you normally love a party in your honor. What’s going on, sis?”

Zora chuckled. She was so in her head that she was missing a fun time with her friends. Her eyes swept over the dozen or so folks in her living room who had all come to celebrate her and her new home, and she suddenly felt a wave of guilt. Zora hadn’t meant to ignore her guests, but thankfully they had kept themselves busy. T’Challa and M’Baku chatted with Dakarai as Mandisa and Asha sat on the couch giggling over who knows what with a couple of people Zora had met in the dance class she had started taking a few weeks ago. The music set a chill tone for the gathering, and Zora thought it was nice getting to see her friends mingle with each other. Her friends from the dance class melded well with her work friends and the friends she made on her adventures around the country. Even with royalty and Okoye present, the vibe was relaxed, so Zora followed suit and put on a smile for the rest of the party.

Since it was a work night, people didn’t stay too late, and at around 10:30, Zora found herself cleaning up what little mess was left behind when she felt a hand circle her waist.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” T’Challa asked, nuzzling his head into her neck.

“Yes, but I would’ve enjoyed it a lot more if you hadn’t done the whole ‘we need to talk’ thing earlier,” she rolled her eyes and tried to get out of his arms, but he just turned her around to face him.

T’Challa sighed, “We do need to talk.”

“Ok, then talk.”

“My sweet, let us sit down first-”

“No, I don’t like this. Somebody talk, now.”

“Zora, please sit. Trust us. Please,” he felt a lump form in his throat at the words, knowing what followed would surely break her trust in him.

She eyed them both suspiciously before taking a seat on her couch. M’Baku sat next to her, and T’Challa started pacing as he searched for the words.

“Not this pacing shit again,” Zora thought.

“Zora,” T’Challa began, prompting M’Baku to grab Zora’s hand in his. “There is something I have not told you. Something very important. The only reason I kept it from you is because you worked for the U.S. government, and it is something I want to keep from the rest of the world for the time being, but now that you work for Wakanda, you need to know...”

Zora’s body felt like lead as she listened to his words and went over every possible worst scenario in her head. T’Challa’s deep breath unnerved her, and she braced herself for whatever came next.

“How familiar are you with the Black Panther?”

“The superhero?”

M’Baku rolled his eyes as T’Challa chuckled.

“Yes, the superhero.”

“Um, not very. He kinda just shows up, does his thing, and dips.”

“Yes, he is a very busy man.”

“You know him? Is that what this is about?” Zora rolled her eyes and sighed in relief. “You had me thinking-”

Just then, T’Challa’s suit appeared on his body, and Zora screamed, jumping back into M’Baku’s lap. Her hands were cupped over her mouth in disbelief as she stared at her boyfriend, the Black Panther, in all his suited-up glory.

“You...you’re- how?”

“It is a long story, but-”

“No, not ‘how are you the Black Panther,’ how the fuck could you lie to me all this time?”

“There it is,” T’Challa thought to himself. He knew the lie would overshadow the news.

“Zora, we went into this for just a good time. I cannot divulge this to just anybody-”

M’Baku shook his head to get the king to stop before he went too far, but he didn’t see it in time.

“Just anybody?!”

“Zora, that is not-”

“Then tell me this: if I wasn’t working for you, would you even tell me now?”

He hesitated, and Zora’s eyes blew wide open.

“So you can fuck me, but you can’t trust me unless I’m under contract?” Zora said as she climbed off of M’Baku. “And you-”

“Zora, he was acting under orders. Please do not be upset at him.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your orders, T’Challa, and I don’t care that you’re the Black Panther. I’m fucking pissed because you two lied to my face for months.” M’Baku reached for her arm, and she snatched it back.

“I had to. I could not let Theodore or the Secre-”

“I wouldn’t have told them, and you fucking know it,” she snarled. “How long were you gonna keep it up? Since I was ‘just anybody’ would you have ever told me? Would you have even spoken to me after we left?” Zora’s mind was racing, and her breathing became shallow.

“Maybe you should sit down, Babygirl.”

“Don't call me that,” she said between breaths. M’Baku tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed it off.

“Ok...ok. Zora, please come sit down.”

She listened, but not because he asked. She was getting lightheaded, and a cold sweat had started to take over her body.

“I need...you...to leave.”

“Zora, I can hear your heartbeat. We will leave, but you need to slow down your breathing. In and out, just like that,” he breathed with her for a few moments before the panic left her eyes anger filled them.

“You can hear my heart beating?”

“Y-yes, I-”

“Get out.”

“Zora,” M’Baku tried to get through to her, but it was no use.

“Get out. Both of you.”

“Babyg-”

“Get out!” she yelled, making T’Challa hang his head in shame. “Get the fuck out of my house, and if it doesn’t have to do with work, don’t talk to me. We’re through.”

“Zora,” both called to her, voices cracking with tears threatening to fall from their eyes.

“Save it,” she turned and walked up her stairs before stopping and turning back to T’Challa. “I’ll need the next week off.”

“Anything,” he pleaded, bringing tears to her eyes. She wanted to trust them, but she never could trust a liar, and that’s exactly what they were. Nothing they said felt true anymore, and she questioned everything they had ever told her. She ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door closed before they could see her cry, and she held it in tight until she heard her front door close behind them. Next Chapter

Taglist: @dersha89, @ljstraightnochaser, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #black!oc #t'challa #m’baku #t’challa x oc x m’baku #zora #throuple

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flowerflamestars · 4 years

Note

Main Issues with Feysand's leadership: it mostly consists on rather inmature, underdeveloped strategy that would in no way get a world leader very far in the real world (see: 'i schooled my face into a look of boredom'), seem content in making enemies left to right as long as they never have to step down from the pedestal that they've built, and see Illyria as a necessary evil, like wtf. In conclusion, Rhysand is a governor for Velaris, but is not fit to be the ruler of the Night Court.

Rounding caveat, because I know I’m going to get shouty: the dividing line between ToG and ACOTAR is that tog is a fantasy series with romance, and acotar is a romance series in a fantasy world. They’re not the same. I’d be totally fine with how the world building in acotar is v handywavy, because it’s still accomplishing what the books set out to do (tell a love story, hello acomaf) but- BUT, it’s not consistent. And that inconsistency wildly undermines the characters.

And god, if Rhysand as a ruler isn’t the heart of ???? spirit.

We’re not going to talk about how the plot of acotar only makes sense backwards (Hey, Rhys, why did you want to kidnap every month a powerless mortal girl???), we’re just going to talk about reputation.

So Rhys is a villain who we learn isn’t actually evil. A classic. He was made to do terrible things by Amarantha! He sacrificed himself to save his friends! Of course the High Lords hate him, they think he sided with the enemy.

That could have been the whole thing- the layers pulled back, Rhysand also a victim, a reason for the world to hate him but for Feyre to see otherwise.

OKAY BUT- then we learn? that Rhysand has been playing Evil Scary Jackass in all political situations? for his entire reign? that’s just what he does?

Round two: Rhys had to be Amarantha’s because he had to “shield the knowledge” of his friends and his capitol? city.

BUT- other people Under the Mountain, also accessible to Amarantha, know the IC??? have been acquainted with them for years? They’re not a secret. Mor was almost married out, Az and Cas are legendary, Amren is a story people tell.

And all those people are probably incentivized by the fact that, you know, they think Rhysand is an evil traitor.

Furthermore: guess who willing cooperated with Amarantha? The Court of Nightmares. Recall who, surprise in acowar, knows all about Velaris: Keir.

Round three: Sexy Evil Cosplay, wherein we learn that not only instead of just keeping it together in politics Rhys has adopted an entire secondary persona, we learn he also...uses this persona...to scare all the other highborn faeries into submission....so he? never has to talk to them?

BUT ALSO: this whole thing is undermined by, once more, Keir.

The whole game on the throne is to instill fear/ control of Keir. The whole Second Face. But Keir knows about Velaris? Keir knows exactly what Rhys stands for because Rhys and Cassian tried to rescue Morrigan from the Court of Nightmares when they were teens. Hell, Keir probably knew Rhys when Rhys was a kid.

It’s almost like eventually the person you pretend to be becomes who you are.

I think the Political Rhys vs Real Rhys started out as a plot point, but in character became this: not someone separate at all, but actually, Rhysand’s coping mechanism for making shitty choices.

See: if everyone in the Court of Nightmares bows, I’m ruling them. It doesn’t matter that women are being sold, that there’s servants and presumably totally normal people trapped in a mountain they can’t leave with people I think are monsters.

Let’s jump to Illyria.

How much easier is it, for Rhysand, half-Illyrian himself, to align wholly with the High Fae and say: no, it’s Illyria’s fault. They’re savages, they’re barbarians.

Easy as being a dick to other powerful men because it’s fun when they can’t fight back.

If the blame isn’t his, he keeps his army. He doesn’t have to fight a civil war that might swallow him whole, considering Illyria is the army he controls vs the High Fae soldiers left entirely under Keir’s rule.

If it’s Illyria’s fault he can successfully reimagine the past as he clearly needs to (someday, I’ll make a whole ass post about Rhysand’s mommy issues and how they creepily bleed into Feyre’s characterization, but one thing at a time).

If it’s Illyria’s fault, he can’t be mad about his Mother, daughter of a warrior race, offering him up for brutal, dangerous training. It’s the fault of Illyria. He doesn’t have to imagine he was learning those things, fighting in the mud, because it was the only way his mother could pass the legacy, could say, look, this is where I come from and someday you will have the power to make it better for your sister, for everyone.

He LOVED his mother. He wears the sacred tattoos, manifests wings, has Illyrian “brothers”.

But- It’s Illyria’s fault, so Rhys didn’t fail, Rhys is doing his duty by keeping them in line.

Which brings us to the war.

I’m unclear on why only the Night Court knew Hybern was coming, but let’s just accept that.

But it’s all about the Public Face, moving in the shadows, the two Rhysands. So for the months Feyre is wasting away with Tamlin, planning her wedding Rhys...doesn’t warn anyone. Doesn’t whisper to the other High Lords to shore up defenses.

He makes a plan contingent on 1)that creepy deal with Feyre that he can now both justify and doesn’t want to enforce knowing she’s his mate, and 2) long lost magical objects no one knows the location of, and that don’t belong to him.

Rhys got SO used to the All-Knowing Dickbag face, it’s like he started believing he was all knowing. He’s one of seven Lords, but he doesn’t talk to any of them, on the off chance they don’t do exactly as he says. He steals from Tarquin, a young High Lord kind enough to take a chance on him. He tricks Mor. He lies to...everyone?

And then it’s a big deal, a failure on their part, when at the FINAL HOUR AND LAST MOMENT BEFORE ALL OUT WAR, AFTER THE SECOND INVASION HAS ALREADY COMMENCED, when the High Lords don’t jump to trust Rhys.

A step back, a Feyre tangent: Feyre, younger, also deeply traumatized, falls into this hard. Rhys tells her he’s the underdog, and she believes it. He’s SO SO SO powerful he can take the voice of another High Lord, Feyre herself thinks he’s so magical the gap between him and his contemporaries is like that between humans and high fae-

But hey wait, they don’t trust him because he’s been a dick for five hundred years.

But hey wait, they came as their true selves, they don’t trust him while he’s WEARING ILLYRIAN WINGS- IT’S BECAUSE HE’S DIFFERENT-

No, it is not, but Feyre’s POV sort of wants us to think so.

And that’s where everything sort of falls apart.

The act of power has stopped being an act- it’s just their actions now. And they do not know how to stop.

Because they are in control, and they have to go on for the war. They have to keep making decisions, even if they’ve lost the thread, because they want to survive.

But they do survive.

And it turns out, even after that, they can’t put down the masks fused to their faces, because the act is the only thing keeping them together.

So the balls to the wall, We Must have the High Ground Even at Our Own Dinner Parties, The Center MUST Hold shit just keeps going: tearing down Lucien because he chose something that wasn’t their Court. Letting Illyria crumble because they don’t need the army right now. Banishing Nesta because she’ll never bow to authority.

All the weird, incestuous feeling inter IC drama.

But they’re the underdogs! the Heroes! It’s not their fault!

So they spend their time in Velaris, charmingly hanging out like they’re normal people, thinking they’re better because power is wielded on an unimaginable personal scale.

Rhys loves his people! Rhys sacrificed!

Rhys...careened from one war/disaster to the next, and then settled down to play house?

The narrative cannot decide: is Rhys really an underdog, devoted to his people? How about he helps every other city that Amarantha destroyed?

Is Rhys a Normal Guy who just wants to walk on pretty cobblestone and have a cute, happy family? Maybe, there should be a government so he isn’t solely responsible for everything?

Is Rhys the Lord of Darkness Redeemed by LOVE? Cool, let’s have him maybe he honest with Feyre exactly once, OR, at least talk about how him dying made her go off the rails and try to fix that with a bandage that isn’t baby shaped before Feyre’s 22nd birthday.

Canonically, becoming High Lord is a mystical, magical endowment. That then, for the most part, functions as some kind of mashup Monarchy/ Feudal Lordship.

If that’s what it is, why can’t we lean into that? Rhys who does want a normal happy life with Feyre, trapped by the weight of immovable magic destiny.

King Rhys, duty bound to his bloodline and his people, torn between different ways to rule.

Hell, Rhysand who really is a monster, because maybe Faeries are monstrous by human standards, who shows Feyre the beauty that lies beneath the brutality in a magic, surreal world where everyone is terrifying, but even monsters love.

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (16/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Note:

I know I said on tumblr I was planning on ending the story today and apologies for dragging this out longer.

The final chapter is already written out but editing is gonna take me an extra hour or so. Also, this week has been hectic, work especially has been very hectic since I'm covering a job for 3 people now while they hire. I ended up getting a little sick today so I decided to put off a lot of the asks and postings until Sunday.

I could post the final chapter earliest, tomorrow night. Latest, I'll be posting the final chapter is Wednesday. I wanna get it out soon but there are still a lot of stuff I'm hoping to fix up so, apologies for not meeting the expectations.

Thank you so much for reading though. It really means a lot to me.

As always, feedback is very much appreciated.

“You can take a seat Hange.” Shela’s voice was gentle. She had taken her time pronouncing every syllable.

Still, something jumped inside Hange as she heard it. She gathered herself together and willed herself to make eye contact. “Sorry about that...I got a little distracted,” she said. She was starting to get a little self conscious. Did she actually jump? Was her tone too jittery? Were her eyes too wide?

The woman in front of her seemed unfazed as if she was watching Hange do something so normal as to just stare at the room in front of her for a long few seconds. Still, Hange avoided her gaze and looked around as she made her way towards the sofa.

Levi had only ever talked about how much of a hassle and how much of a pain the whole process of going to therapy was. Over time, he had started ditching the sessions altogether. Consequently, Hange had expected an atmosphere that would make her feel a little more restrained than what she had felt then.

It turned out just entering the room made her feel the complete opposite of what she had expected.

Shela’s office was more spacious than Hange had imagined it to be. Or more full of life.

Filled with too much life in a way that Hange couldn’t understand. But it seemed to hold more than the average doctor’s office she’d been to. Maybe it was the paintings on the wall or the wooden bookshelf that stood so tall and wide it was an omnipresent in the room.

Either way, it was comfortable and Hange chalked it to the rustic feel of the room. The ambiance was just too strange, the shades of the wallpaper, the rustic carpeted floor was too indulgent of her senses and she could have been taking a little more time than necessary to get to her seat.

It looked like Shela followed suit. By the time Hange had settled on the chair, Shela had still been on her way.

Shela leaned forward from her seat and reached out a hand in greeting. She seemed excited, too excited. “It’s nice to finally be able to talk to you like this, Hange Zoe,” she said.

That excitement in her voice was enough at least to pull Hange’s focus away from the ambiance of the room and towards the woman in front of her. A clear reminder that she was there for a reason.

Or two reasons. Hange corrected herself as she pulled out her file. “Thank you so much for agreeing to go through this with me,” she said. “Since Levi started having sessions with you, we kept in touch so at least we had some history beforehand… And given your background, I thought you might be the best person to give me some extra content on my thesis.”

“For your review of related literature?”

Hange nodded. “It’s not yet done. I did research already on the biological aspect but I thought you might have information on the psychological aspects of it…” She pulled out a folder from her bag and slid the file towards Shela.

Shela was quick to scan through the title. “Looks interesting. What made you pick this topic?”

“Many things...” Hange said. “I thought I would be able to help more people doing this type of thesis. And maybe I can take further studies and---”

“Does this have anything to do with Levi?” . Shela raised one eyebrow at her.

“Oh? Was it obvious?” Hange asked. She deemed it futile to have even denied it then.

Shela started to flip through the pages of the draft a little quicker. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him. He never replied to any of my texts.” She stood up, gesturing for Hange to continue talking as she made her way to the shelf at the back of the room.

“He went home,” Hange said. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds and she felt some inclination to fill it herself. “Back to his hometown,” she added. “He probably wanted to spend his birthday with them, or maybe Christmas. I guess this is a good time for him to go home… He---”

“So Hange, do you wanna talk about Levi? Or would you like to talk about your thesis?” The way Shela said it was far from abrasive.

From her position, Hange couldn’t even tell what face Shela was making. Yet she found herself a little shaken, particularly self conscious she was taking up precious office time. And for a few seconds longer, Hange struggled to find the right words. “There are things I wanted to ask about… Like definitely, I told you I need to discuss the psychological aspect and…”

“Well, from what I’m seeing, this didn’t need a session. I could have emailed you the pdf file of my thesis and just answered if you had any questions.”

Hange only noticed then as Shela walked back to her seat that she had pulled out two binders from one of the bookshelves.

“If you need any more sources for your thesis, you can read through this.” Shela placed the binders on the table and flipped to the last page of the thicker one. “And you can check through my bibliography for any more sources and I’m sure you’ll figure the rest out on your own. Levi told me you were a pretty good researcher growing up…”

Hange felt the blood rush to her face. That only made it harder to grasp for the right words. “When was your last session with Levi?” There were many other things Hange would have wanted to ask then. Her mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.

“A little more than a month ago. A few weeks before your finals. “ Shela answered. She rested her elbows on her lap, her chin on her hands.

“Finals ended more than two weeks ago. I was hoping he talked to you before he left.”

Shela shook her head. “No word from him.” She must have sensed the disappointment in Hange’s face because only a second later, she continued. “But maybe going home would be good for him. He might find someone to talk to there.” Her tone was cold, disconnected and it didn’t look like she believed it herself though.

“I know you would tell him to write, he told me that much about your sessions. But did he ever tell you about his stories?”

“Commander Zoe and Captain Levi?”

Hange nodded. “Oh, he did. You see, I wanted to talk to you about that. But I don’t know either whether or not I should be talking to his therapist about this...But I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“He deleted the file.”

If Shela was shocked, she didn’t show it. The only hint to any emotion in the room had been the short silence that followed. “I suspected he’d do that much,” she said.

“Suspect that much? Did he tell you something? Was there something wrong with his writing? Is he okay?”

Shela shook her head. “ I’m not in a place to tell.”

“Why did he get so attached to his stories? Why did it affect him so much that he couldn’t even accept a death?”

“I’m sorry Hange, I don’t wanna waste your time here so I’ll be upfront with you. What Levi and I talk about here stays between us.”

“I respect that.” Hange expected the answer, still she kept her tone long and drawn. She still found herself clinging to some hope that there was something Shela could share.. “I want to know though… Is this because of the injury? He lost a lot because of that and I know I was somehow involved with it but I just can’t shake off this feeling of guilt. ”

Shela sighed. “You know, I may not be able to tell you what we talked about. But I’m sure you know more about this than I do. You might even be able to contribute more insights to this discussion than I can,” she said. “Tell me Hange, what went on after our last therapy session. Did he really have finals?”

“Yes we did. I was busy too so I didn’t think too much of it then but the weeks leading up to finals are usually more hectic for any student….”

“Would you know if he still continued to write after the finals?”

“He did.”

“You seem sure.”

“He shared the document.” Hange started. She unlocked her phone and opened her drive document. It wouldn’t be there, she was sure of that but she could have saved it and it would have still been there. She forced a smile as her mouth threatened to curl down. Hange was still scolding herself for wasting such an opportunity. She let her phone fall carelessly on the coffee table in front of her and leaned back on the sofa. “So I got to read it.”

“Did Captain Levi really die?” Shela asked.

“No. Commander Hange did.”

“So before he deleted it, Commander Hange died?”

“That was the last chapter I read. Then an hour or so later, I confronted him about it, he asked me to leave me alone, then the next thing I know he deleted the file.” Hange leaned her head back on the backrest and stared up at the ceiling. “But you know, he didn’t want to believe that Hange died. She burned alive, he described it so vividly in his writing but he kept telling me, she didn’t die.

“Oh?”

“If someone burned alive, they should be dead right? Maybe there was a sequel to it that he just didn’t write yet.”

“But if Hange were alive, wouldn’t Levi have seen it through instead of doing something so rash as to delete the whole thing? Levi has a tendency of…”

Running away? Not processing things? Hange looked back at Shela and nodded slowly.

Shela seemed distracted. She was staring at something upward, mumbling to herself as if finding the right words to say. “Trying not to regret things,” she added a few seconds later.

“Regret… I noticed that. With the jumping and the injury but I wanted to ask you, if you think the story is somehow connected to how he’s processing his injury.”

“I have theories but they’re not mine to tell. Have you asked Levi yourself?”

Hange was almost tempted to laugh. That seemed like the only way her body knew how to process the last week alone in the dorm. She had sent three texts, a question about when he had gone home, a birthday greeting and a New Year’s greeting. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me anymore,” Hange said. She avoided Shela’s gaze. Somehow, her heart was racing then, her blood was rushing to her face much faster than usual and she found herself curling her fists into a ball, finding some semblance of control in them. Was she ashamed that Levi wasn’t talking to her? She shook her head. “But you know, I can try to talk to Levi.”

“What about this… I’ll contact Levi when he comes back. I’ll try to get his side of what’s been happening. Maybe I can even get him to reply.”

“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything now? Maybe even something vague. I can try to figure the rest out for myself,” Hange said. She couldn’t tell then if she had raised her voice.

Shela didn’t seem shaken at all. She shook her head again. “This is between me and my patients.”

Hange had integrity, she understood confidentiality clauses. She had been researching all her life though, and that side of her still continued to fight. Maybe if the hints weren’t all there, poking at her, just provoking, she would have given up much more easily “I just wanna understand it, I wanna understand him. Even if we don’t talk after this. Even if Levi wants to end this, you know I’m fine. I just wanna figure out for myself why he acted that way. I’m worried.”

Shela cocked her head to the side, her expression unchanging. “Believe me, I’m worried too but I can’t say much. Levi’s my patient and whatever we talk about in this room is between us.” She pushed the two binders on the table towards Hange and continued. “But I don’t want to leave you empty handed. I wrote two pieces for my dissertation which you might find useful, something personal and something professional, I can send over a copy of both of them to you over email. Or if you want a hard copy, you could have this photocopied in the library nearby. What do you think works for you?”

The digression had Hange’s lips trembling then. Shela knew things she didn’t for sure and Hange found herself tempted to even curse silently at that confidentiality clause.

She opened the cover to find the title page in black ink, in one of the most readable fonts.

Signs that suggest the reality of reincarnation and its manifestations in patients.

You got what you wanted. Hange thought to herself as she scanned the title page of the document in front of her. It was a cold and professional title. The researcher inside her should have been satisfied. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t ungrateful either. “Thank you, I’ll make sure to read it,” she said. It was still help anyway.

Another, much thinner book was pushed next to it.

Musings on a Past Life: Written by Kuchel Ackerman

“This is my own personal copy,” Shela explained. “It’s not something you should be emulating when doing research but… I thought it could give you some insight to your thesis.

“Okay, if I have some extra time, I’ll---”

No actually, let’s make this your little homework. I want you to read both pieces. And if you get a chance to talk to Levi again…”

Shela probably said something after that. At that point though, Hange was somewhere else. She had pulled the thinner document towards her and propped it on her lap, and scanned through it. She only had to read through the first paragraph on one of the final pages to understand why it wouldn’t have passed up as anything academic.

She wasn’t rattling off procedures, scientific speculations or statistical procedures. She was painting pictures of dark streets, cramped streets and a shabby one bedroom alone with a baby. She spoke of soft skin, a baby scent that never faded and illness. She reflected on loss, regret all manifesting in that last face she saw before she fell asleep for the final time.

A teary eyed face. A shaken voice begging at her not to fall asleep. And then nothing.

Maybe there was darkness, darker than the ceiling of the underground, darker than the room that had been hers and her child.

That was left to mercy of Hange’s speculation.

It was only when she was alone in the dorm, two days after, did she reopen it. It had taken her more time than necessary to finish it and maybe it had been because she had ended up rereading whole paragraphs, flipping pages back more times than she could count.

And it was only then, after finishing that personal file did she feel compelled enough to read the official output.

She opened a page, towards an introduction, a foreword or a message. Possibly all of those at once. But it connected so seamlessly to Kuchel’s own musings.

A False Bottom.

All humans feel. Even when they say they don’t, they feel something.

Human psyche is an endless blackhole of emotions, knowledge and experiences….

There are still things psychologists cannot comprehend about the human psyche. All we can do is endeavor to make sense of it…

With this thesis, the researcher proposes that one possible explanation for unpredictable bouts of emotion, out-of-character decisions, the phenomena of irrationality is the phenomena of reincarnation…

Manifestations of our past life.

“And maybe there are emotions that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life.. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it manifests itself.”

And how many times did Hange allow those words to echo inside her as she sifted through page after page. Enough times at least to have her open a blank document.

As she soon found out, it wasn’t easy at all to embrace the blank document. She was completely aware she didn’t have to open the blank document, she had a half filled one already, having started on her own thesis a while back.

But something had willed her to do just that. Something inside her that wanted answers to questions, and it begged for them, clamored for them and Hange was starting to forget who even asked it. She? Or Kuchel?

Musings of a Past Life. Hange had typed out the title days ago already. Maybe it wasn’t easy because it wasn’t her past life to write. It was Levi’s past.

Or so that was what Levi claimed when he wrote it. “Ugh…. What the hell am I doing?” Hange removed her headphones, closed her eyes tight, inhaled then exhaled. “Okay Hange. You wanted to write this thesis for Levi right? You read his whole story. This should be easy.”

She just needed to write enough to remember his story. Enough to at least shoehorn him into her own thesis.

“And after that, you never have to think about him again,” Hange said. She opened her phone again and stared at the last sent message.

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

“I wonder…. Did you talk to Shela?” Hange asked quietly, almost to herself. But Shela would have told her right? But what if Levi told her not to tell? What if he just wanted to cut it off already?

It was an idea Hange didn’t want to entertain just yet. Thesis was looming, graduation was hanging over her head like some sort of dark cloud. She didn’t have time to deal with heartbreak.

So in the wee hours of morning, Hange composed a quick last message to Levi.

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

And the next few actions after that were automatic.

Settings. Profile. Ignore Messages.

She had more important things to think about then. She had to admit, her inbox was starting to look a bit better without that thread she was constantly checking that had a string of messages that had been so pathetically ignored.

That last decision and the last few actions leading up to it had sapped more energy from Hange than she had expected it to. Or maybe it was the dim light of the early morning and the small yet strong light of her lamp that had her realizing how exhausted she had been then.

She switched off the lamp and fell back on the bed. The impact had shaken her to the bone and Hange found herself sinking into the mattress. She was happy to let it swallow her then.

The night was surprisingly bright. Yet, at the same time it had been a dark night, she was sure. She traced the sources of the light on the ceiling above. The light painted triangles, squares and straight cut angles. There were spots from other sources, maybe where the moon bounced on some glass objects.

Hange was too exhausted to sit up to see those refractions for herself.

She may have been too exhausted then to type in front of a computer or even sit up in bed so instead, she continued to count spots, trace the dim weak rays in the ceiling of her room, as she traced them back to the wide window, all the way to the point where she would have to crane her head to see what lay beyond. She soon realized, she still wasn’t tired enough to doze off.

The gears in her brain continued to turn. And they had only started to turn faster with all the intricate patterns the moonlight had created as it shone through the wide window of her dormitory room.

Should she close the curtains so she could get a good night's sleep? That question only occupied her for a second or so before she thought of something else.

And maybe there are sensations that transcend our worldly experiences. Maybe there are emotions that transcend the constraints of time, place and life. It’s just a matter of believing that false bottom exists and embracing it when it breaks open.

But if these emotions transcended worldly experiences, if they transcended life, then they should be unfathomable, not worth the effort of understanding.

Hange though, had been a researcher for as long as she could remember. She had mottos. She had habits. She had unshakable ways of thinking.

Turning to her side was easy. It was a quick, comfortable movement and maybe she had done it to sleep better. Or maybe she had done it to just get a better angle of the stream of moonlight that entered through the window.

Her desk sat on a familiar angle. Her laptop was open but turned off. Her bag slung over the chair.

The stream from the moonlight shone over her canvas bag and down to the floor. It created a web of intricate patterns, patterns that had Hange hypnotized at that moment. They were angular yet they were round and it would have taken hours for Hange to trace them in her exhausted state.

Yet they were hypnotizing enough for her not to want to look away. So in an effort to keep up with the challenge the moonlight had given her at that moment, she continued to reflect as she traced at it with her eyes.

False bottoms. Sensations that transcend worldly experiences, Emotions that transcend the constraints of time and space.

“But if they are things that transcend human comprehension, then how do we make sense of them?”

Ironically, it had been in the most intricate of patterns that Hange saw the answer. It had been in something so mundane that Hange had to blink twice and question it for a second longer.

“Dreams?” Hange asked, barely a whisper.

If there’s something you don’t understand, go out and learn to understand it.

She didn’t understand Levi’s dreams. She didn’t understand how his mind worked. She didn’t understand the stories he had written out.

There were things she didn’t understand for sure but there were things she remembered.

And maybe all she needed to understand something, was the right amount of hints, the right amount of crumbs to make sense of it herself. Maybe all she needed was the review of related literature, the observations and her own analysis to write a conclusion.

The dreamcatcher hung aimlessly from her canvas bag like it always did. It had been something almost unnoticeable before. Only in the night when the moon shined on it, when it had etched a large shadow on the floor, possibly even a hundred times larger than the small keychain in her bag did Hange think about it again.

And she thought about it hard enough to reach for it from the side off her bed. She stretched her hand farther and farther and in the dark, her sense of distance may have been a little worse.

She thought she had been almost there and she was pulled back into that cruel reality in a single moment, with a loud painful thud.

“Ow!” Hange quickly got up, a result of that adrenaline rush from the harrowing experience of a painful fall from her bed. She unfastened the dream catcher from her bag, on the way back to the bed, she grabbed her phone, her earphones and sat on her bed.

That time, she eased herself onto the bed and under the covers.

She held the dreamcatcher above her, tracing the purple, the green. She knew they were purple and green but under the moonlight they seemed almost blue, and maybe she could have even mistaken the purple and green for one another.

Her only hint to the shades after all were the way they reflected the moonlight on themselves.

Eventually, her arms got tired, still aching from that painful fall. She slipped the dream catcher under her pillow and turned on her side. She put one earphone on her left ear, another on her right and she turned on her phone and shuffled her music.

The dormitory was silent with everyone gone for the holidays.

Eerily silent. She was used to living alone, it wasn’t anything new. But recently, she had frequently found herself missing him, maybe missing her parents, she started to realize the silence, the isolation that came with it was almost unbearable.

So maybe she had been listening to music, maybe she had been talking to herself a little more.

And those dreams, they probably would help. Hange thought to herself as she set her phone to her side, a good distance from the edge of the bed.

She had dreamt enough to know, she couldn’t control dreams. But if they did come, they would come in hints, puzzle pieces and maybe something she could easily write down in the morning.

So she willed them to come in that silent night. She whispered to Commander Zoe. She pressed that dream catcher one more time.

Hange closed her eyes, adjusted the volume of the music and evened her breathing.

The dreams would choose when to come, if they chose to come at all. All she could do was trust in them.

***

Levi would have liked to blame the snow for his inability to concentrate.

It was fucking loud. The patter came too randomly, Levi struggled to find patterns in it. For a few seconds at a time, the snow would patter on the window in big loud waves. Other times, the snow came in plip plops reminiscent of a rainy spring day. A few times, it shifted to something slow and gentle Levi could have used it to lull himself to sleep.

It was a piece of music on rubato, and the musician was just a little too keen on leaving his audience unhinged.

And just that quick thought at least absolved Levi of any blame. He didn’t feel too much self loathing then. Just utter frustration and maybe a pinch of sadness.

The document in front of him was just a mish mash black words on white paper and for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine they could be anything else. The top section was descriptive, very descriptive that he should have been able to do so much as to smell the whore house. He should have been able to grieve the loss of a mother.

But it was just black on white.

So Levi scrolled down three pages to find a source of investment elsewhere. He found vivid descriptions of life on a wheelchair, a frequented grave but for the life of him, he couldn’t even imagine the large tree above, or the vivid descriptions of airplanes on the blue sky.

But it was just words on paper.

“What do you think?” Hange asked. She looked at him expectantly. “It’s not a lot… I’ve just been working on this in between my thesis and I don’t have much going for me but my own memories… But I rewrote some bullet points while I was trying to remember it and I just thought you know if I put my own writings in between what you have so far...maybe it could help you process it.”

“Process... it?”

“But if you don’t wanna think about it, it’s fine.”

Remember? Levi wanted to remember. Those weren’t black pixels on white pixels, conveniently strung together to make symbols. They were vivid descriptions of another world, another life for sure. But why couldn’t he bring himself to invest in it… Anymore?

“Maybe I just need a break,” Levi set aside the laptop on the side table and leaned back on the bed.

“You’re tired, injured. You could even get sick,” Hange said. “I don’t expect you to think too much of it, I just thought it would help pass the time.” She looked away guiltily.

“I’m not angry about you forcing me to get my knee checked again. Jumping in the dead of winter with a sprained knee was a stupid move.”

“I know it was. But I also know you’re probably tired of hospitals already.”

“I am tired of hospitals. But you were right. When they tested my knee, it didn’t feel right. I’m pretty sure I tore something again.”

“It was swelling… And I knew we could have just iced it but, you know you jumped pretty high, you ran pretty fast, it’s kinda scary you did that with your knee... In the middle of winter of all times of the year? God---Levi, What were you thinking? Armin told me he’d stop by the field to pick up Mikasa’s things so you know if I didn’t go out to meet him just in case he got lost, I probably wouldn’t have made it. At least Armin had half the mind to text me when you wouldn’t listen to him…” Hange trailed off. “But I wish I had arrived earlier, maybe I could have stopped you.”

“You wouldn’t have convinced me not to jump,” Levi said.

“Why do you say that?”

“No one would have convinced me. I was dead set on jumping that one last time.”

“Why did you wanna jump?”

“Closure.” It was a simple answer to a simple question. But as Levi enunciated each syllable, he became a little self conscious about how pretentiously short that answer had been. It was closure, he was sure but there were layers to that answer he couldn’t comprehend for himself in that moment.

Hange seemed to sense it too. She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth ready to speak before she closed it again and let her eyes fall on the hospital bed. “Couldn’t you find closure elsewhere? Did you have to risk your knee for it?”

“What do you know? ” Levi ran his eyes over his thighs and up to his knee propped on a few pillows. He started to feel the beginnings of guilt a second later. His intention never was to offend.

What do you know? That question had been for him.

You didn’t live your whole college life jumping only to end up in a state where you can barely walk. Was that what Hange heard? Maybe. She looked like she did. After all, she was blushing then. As if she had been aware of that slight vulnerability, she bit her lip, looked away and stretched out over the side of the bed to get back her laptop.

Levi felt obligated to reassure her. “You know I don’t intend to jump again. I wish I could. But I think that last jump helped me accept that that part of my life is over.”

“So, what next?” Hange asked. “Erwin mentioned you could get surgery to fix the partial tear.”

Levi shook his head. “And skip more school then hope I can jump again? The surgery isn't necessary. The knee can heal on its own.”

“But what about other---”

“Jumping opportunities? Other athletic opportunities? I said, that part of my life is over.”

“You had a lot of talent you know.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

Hange managed a smile, a smile that was far from happy. But at the least, it could be contagious. “Then it was an honor to see you fly that one last time Captain Levi.”

Levi could have sworn he saw something glisten as she crinkled her eyes, a supplement to her wry smile. “I was never the captain of my team. You know that,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I meant---” Hange had been meaning to finish, or at least she looked like it. The knock on the door though had been loud and it tore through that soft conversation.

Hange stood up from her seat and opened the door slowly.

“Erwin told me you too would be here. I finished up early today so I thought I’d pop in.”

Levi nodded in greeting. He had been too ashamed to say anything else. But he was determined at least to show some respect.

“It looks like you two are talking again. Doctor Erwin told me what happened and I thought…” The moment Kuchel made eye contact with Levi, her eyes widened. “Levi… You…”

Levi found himself particularly self conscious then, he looked down at his thick sweater, at his knee. “I sprained my knee again.”

Kuchel was quick to recover. “I noticed that much,” she said. “I was talking about…” She gave him a long awkward onceover. She shook her head.

She wasn’t the only one who seemed uncomfortable then. Hange hadn’t looked back at him since Kuchel had entered the room. Her whole disposition had somehow changed in that few seconds.

“You okay?” Levi asked.

Hange didn’t answer. She booted her laptop again and angled it towards Kuchel who had approached them and set a chair next to his bed.

“It looks like you managed to let go already Captain Levi.” Kuchel said, as she cocked her head to the side and smiled.

Captain Levi. The words whispered once again inside him, too softly Levi found it easy to brush it away. “You know, you were right. The emotions would leave on their own. It still hurts but I don’t see any reason to fight it if I know it’s gonna heal eventually. That’s how closure is supposed to feel like right?”

Shela shook her head. “Closure manifests differently for each person. But it’s normal to forget when you accept. Sometimes we find ourselves forgetting why we were ever sad at all. Or sometimes we just forget the details. Or sometimes it just feels like everything was all just a bad dream.”

“These past few months since the injury, they’re starting to blur together like some dream.” He turned to Hange who was starting to seem more and more uncomfortable. He chose that moment to reflects and he started to wonder why he had even avoided her in the first place. His next few words came out automatically “ I’m sorry what I did, and about our fight last month, I wasn’t angry about the injury if that’s what you think,” Levi said. The apology came out of nowhere, it felt misplaced. He started realize that maybe he should have given that apology much earlier.

Why then?

Hange had heard the apology for sure, but maybe she had just chosen to ignore it. “But Levi, you wrote these right? These dreams?” Hange said, as if she had taken his stare then as some cue to speak. She turned to Kuchel and to Levi, her movements seemed desperate then. She had at least kept some composure in her expression.

“I wrote them out,” Levi said. “But to be honest... I’m starting to forget why I did.”

"Emotions and dreams fickle things. They come and go when they please but sometimes we wanna keep them on record so we could relive it and process it. That’s why if you wanna grasp it and preserve it before it leaves... If you wanna be able to relive it, you have to write it down. This is why I ask all my patients to write things out. "

"Levi did." Hange turned to Levi. You wrote everything down right? You showed me a while ago, you wrote this and this… Shela, if they were his dreams, his emotions...he was writing it"

Shela’s expression was unmoving. "Those dreams weren’t supposed to be his. Maybe that's why they had been just a little more fickle. Who knows? Maybe Captain Levi just took it back already.”

“Why take it back?” Hange asked

“Maybe he fulfilled his unfinished business. Maybe he found closure.”

“But Levi you should have remembered writing it? You’ve been on it for months. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten these last three months right?”

“I haven’t,” Levi said reassuringly.

“Then why aren’t you thinking about it anymore. Why am I the one thinking about it for you?” Hange pressed. There was a crack in her voice and Hange looked ready to slam her laptop on the floor.

“I remember writing it. I’m just wondering for myself why I wrote it out in the first place. Maybe because I didn’t have much to do. I got injured, I was stuck at home and you know, those days in your apartment, those days stuck in the dorm, they just blended together.”

“But you weren’t just indoors… We went out to the mountains. You were telling me these stories and you were telling me how Commander Hange was like. Levi, I felt things. I remembered all of it. You can’t just leave me hanging like this---”

Shela cleared her throat, uncharacteristically louder than usual. “You know, you seem more relaxed now. How does it feel Levi? Does it feel like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders? Like you walk up from a bad dream?"

Levi nodded. "I'm just wondering why I'm exhausted."

“Of course you’re exhausted, you jumped while injured in the middle of winter. But relaxed is still a different feeling altogether, particularly compared to you the past few months. When I look at you now, you seem… freer?”

Freer? Levi shrugged. When had he ever been trapped?

For a while the room had been silent and it was Hange who broke it. "Levi, I wrote everything out, about what happened to Captain Levi in the survey corps. You may have deleted the file but I remembered them. These were your stories. These were the dreams you had. Hell, if Kuchel’s theory is correct, these are memories from your past life."

To humor Hange more than anything, Levi reread the bullet points and the effort quickly proved futile. They were bullet points of events, they could have been a timeline that Levi couldn’t for the life of him make sense of it. And he found himself a little annoyed at her tenacity.

“You still have a lot to write Hange, even I can’t make sense of it,” Kuchel said from behind. She gave Hange a reassuring pat.

The pout on Hange’s face, the way it had darkened into something similar to disappointment, had Levi almost guilty. Her emotions ran deeper than disappointment, he was sure. And for a second or so, Hange seemed crestfallen, ready to leave the room. The only thing tying her to the room then could have been her own strong penchant for seeking answers,

“You think you’ll be able to write again?” Hange asked. She looked like she could have said more. It was as if squeezing out that one sentence had sapped all energy out of her.

Levi shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

“When?”

“When the inspiration comes again.”

***

When will the inspiration come again? Hange always asked good questions and if she asked a question that couldn’t be answered, she always had an explanation to follow. Or at the least, she knew how to phrase questions in a way that could get answers.

Levi couldn’t answer and Hange wasn't helping him either. The tense silence that followed, loomed exclusively over the two of them. Although the conversation had shifted to a dialogue between Levi and Kuchel, even when Hange had kept quiet, pulling her focus back on her laptop in front of her, or her phone, the tension never left.

Levi had attempted to cut at it by focusing on Kuchel. He had provided a long drawn out explanation of his own emotions for Kuchel and in return, Kuchel had provided a long drawn out interpretation of his explanations.

Maybe drawing the conversation out longer than expected was unnecessary. In the end, the only take home Levi had for himself then was that the past few months were a blur and any effort to make sense of it would be completely futile.

Kuchel left them both in the silence, mentioning something about another meeting. Alone in the room, in the tense silence continued to haunt. It was Hange who spoke up again asking that same question. “When will inspiration come again?”

“You sound pretty fixated on my inspiration. Maybe you should write the end for yourself then.” The sudden acceptance had Levi relaxing on the bed soon after Kuchel had left the room.

“It’s not about writing… This story in particular, it meant a lot to me too.”

“I’m sure it meant a lot. It meant a lot to me too but weirdly, I just don’t care about it as much as I used to.”

“What about us?”

“What do you mean ‘about us?’”

“About us… The past few things you were writing the story and you were talking about Commander Hange and Captain Levi. That was about us right?”

“You heard my answer to Kuchel, it was a blur.”

“No, I meant about us in the past few months. Are you angry with me? Do you want me out of your life?”

“You wanna leave?.”

“No it’s not that. It’s just…” Hange breathed out, shaking her head in disbelief. “You didn’t talk to me for weeks.”

Levi looked away, hiding the wince in his face. “I told you, I’m sorry I don’t even remember why I did it.”

“So do you want me here?”

“Yes, I don't want you to leave, I thought it was obvious.”

“Well it looks like it wasn’t so obvious, I thought you’d want me to leave. You didn’t reply to any of my messages and I remembered, we’ve only known each other for months.”

“I think 'months' are more than enough for me to realize that I want you here. For a long time. Maybe longer than that.” Maybe even forever.

Did he say that ‘forever’ part out loud? He didn’t expect Hange’s smile then.

Her eyes were wide open, her lips curled up into a big smile. The overall expression on her face had seemed unreadable. She could have been mocking him, she could have been freaked out or she could have been that good balance between surprised and happy “So what are you saying? We’re soulmates?” She asked.

“You don’t believe in soulmates,” Levi said. The facade of disconnect was hurriedly done, consequently, it felt almost shoddy.

“Fate?”

“You told me yourself, you don’t believe in fate either.

“I don’t.”

“It was a choice right? Everything that brought us to this point was all just borne of choice. You made the choice to work for me, I made the choice to cooperate and here we are.” Levi felt a hand slip under his and it grabbed him from underneath. Levi didn’t have to look down to comprehend it, Hange’s face had said it all.

“But you know, I’m starting to believe in this abstract thing called soulmates. And this other abstract thing called fate,” she said

“Aren’t you a researcher?”

“I have the evidence, Levi. Someone has been coming into my dreams too and she’s been telling me about you.”

“You know, they must have been some really good dreams if they convinced you to believe in them.

“They were. They really were. And you know what, they only keep coming.”

Levi had closed his eyes long before then. And the patter on the window had mellowed to something rhythmic and along the way it had softened altogether. Whether it had been due to the even patter or through her own volition, Hange had stopped talking, her breath had evened out.

And when Levi started to dream again, the shift had been too gradual, too kind. The dreams weren’t loud, they didn't demand attention. They didn’t make themselves known. When Levi opened his eyes again, the idea that he had fallen asleep had seemed almost surreal, unbelievable.

“You can go back to sleep,” Hange said. She seemed focused on something on her laptop again.

Levi looked out the window, the sky was dark but the snow continued to fall.

“Erwin told us we could stay another night.”

“Why?”

“We’re completely snowed in.”

“Okay,” Levi said. He had attempted to go back to sleep and it had only proved frustratingly unsuccessful. The confusion at having the view by the window so suddenly shift from sky blue to complete black still had him disoriented.

So he found orientation in Hange’s concentrated look then and the white of the screen reflected in her glasses. Even behind the glare, her long lashes were noticeable, her hazel brown eyes could still be traced, the shades of brown discerned. So he continued to looked, and he had managed to pass the time much more quickly.

“How are you feeling?” Hange asked as she looked up at him. The glare of the screen disappeared from her glasses and Levi found himself unable to respond for a second longer as he appreciated the unmarred view of her eyes then.

It was a lucid view of her then that sent a pang of regret through him. It was quick and if Levi didn’t let it wash through him then, if he didn’t give it full control over him in that moment, maybe he would have never remembered it happened, maybe he would have never remembered to appreciate Hange then.

“I feel like I just had one long dream,” Levi said. maybe the dreams could have explained the slight pang of regret then. But they were too far off already for Levi to look back on. So he surrendered quickly and kept silent.

Hange didn’t hesitate to take the reins of the conversation. “I was writing.”

“About what?”

“About your dreams. I'm trying to remember what else you wrote.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think you ever gave names to the two titans you caught for me."

Titans? Levi couldn't follow the conversation. With nothing else much to contribute, he nodded.

Hange continued. “So I named them myself.”

“What did you name them?” Levi asked, an attempt to humor her more than anything.

Hange’s face had curled to a smile as she spoke and she opened her mouth a little bit, exposing her teeth underneath. She seemed to be enjoying it. “Their names are Sonny and Bean"

Somehow, Levi was starting to get invested too. “Hey Hange, since we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, maybe you can tell me what a titan is.”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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