#lee know historical au

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Cowboy Like Me | TEASER | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

SYNOPSIS How can falling in love with someone feel so right? How could it ever be wrong?

Pairing: Lee Know x fem!reader Genre: Hollywood au, non modern au, angst, smut Warnings: explicit sexual content, playboy agenda, heavy drinking, mentions of drugs, slight age gap, virgin reader, toxic relationship dynamics, may contain inaccurate depictions of the time period, slight descriptions/mentions of infidelity, some misogynistic dialogue (& more to come) Release Date: TBA

It’s no secret that Lee Minho is one of the most sought after dreamboats to ever grace the silver screens of Hollywood.

Rumored to have torrid affairs with only the most dazzling starlets, it’s no secret that he’s popular amongst the ladies either. Unfortunately, after Minho is caught in the middle of a sordid scandal with a noteworthy director’s wife, he journeys away from home to escape the damaging media circus swarming him.

Taking refuge in the small sound production studio in which he was first discovered as a star, Minho reconnects with his old passion for music, and in doing so, stumbles upon a fledgling singer who turns his life upside down. You and Minho are worlds apart; while you’re a sweet, up and coming artist, Minho is an infamous lothario disillusioned by fame.

He knows he should leave you alone, stay away from you. He knows he should refrain from dragging you into his unfortunate spotlight, from making his demons yours. He knows the way his pulse quickens around you is wrong, and that loving you is the last thing he should be doing. Minho also knows that he’s failing in his efforts to quell his feelings for you, slowly surrendering his heart to you.

But it’s not just the world around him that is a caveat to his romance with you. Minho has never truly given or received love, limiting his amorous endeavors to a single night or the ones fabricated by movie scripts. You deserve better than him— a strong, kind man who isn’t afraid to love you, to devote himself to you, to show you off to the world, paparazzi and tabloids cast aside. Pursuing you would not only jeopardize Minho’s own tenuous reputation, but your future as well. It means disaster, a tragedy instead of romance. But how could he not, when this is the most authentic he’s ever felt, after a lifetime of playing other characters?

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

TAGLIST @ajxreads @chizumiyoshi @jetblackbelle @yeahhspider @army-stay-noel @143hyunes @httphans @ave-221 @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @chillseo @ultimatestayandminoronce @moasworld @boomfrogg

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©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[jisungs-songs]

Wish You Back -- Han Jisung

18th century AU where Han Jisung is a poet suffering from writer's block. TW: terminal illness, death.

AN: Hi y'all! This is my first skz fanfic so please be nice lol. I don't know why I decided to be edgy but I guess I'm just emo. This whole thing was inspired by this Nacific concept picture that dropped today and I'm just down majorly bad. Enjoy!

TW terminal illness, death

OK let's go!

_______________________________________

He sat in his study and anxiously tapped his fingers on the mahogany desk. He twirled the pen around in his hand, as if he were trying to force the words out of his fingers, as if that’s where they came from. And yet, no words came. 

Han Jisung opened the curtain and stared out the open window into his garden. The sun was just beginning to set. He looked out onto the flowerbeds, the roses and chrysanthemums, the honeysuckle bushes, and the big willow trees on the edge of the garden. It was October, and the leaves were changing. 

The plants were easy to describe. They came in flaming reds, vibrant oranges, subtle greens and whites. They fluttered and danced in the breeze and all the rest of that poetic, cliched nonsense. Jisung could grasp flowers easily, yet the feather quill still spun in his fingertips and his paper remained empty. He closed the curtain again. 

Jisung heard the study door open behind him. An older woman in a black dress and a white apron stood in the doorway, a tray with a small teapot, a teacup, and some biscuits in her hands. “I thought you might like some tea. Goodness me, it’s as dark as a dungeon in here!”

Jisung smiled. “Thank you, Miriam.”

She approached the desk, which already had a plate of untouched food off to the side, lunch from earlier that day. Miriam sighed and took the plate, shaking her head, and replaced it with the tea tray. “Let me know if you need anything else, love.”

Jisung nodded, and Miriam left. As she left, he heard a voice whispering at the door. “How is he?”

“He hasn’t eaten, the poor thing.”

Jisung laid down his quill and picked up the teapot. Careful not to burn his hands, he poured the tea into the teacup, watching the steam swirl up into delicate spirals. He set the teapot down and picked up the teacup, feeling the heat of the tea through the porcelain. He held the cup to his nose, taking in the smells, and closed his eyes. It was so strange to go through this ritual alone. 

He took a sip of tea and set the cup down, and picking up his pen, he began to write.

To my dearest love…

Jisung stopped. What could he even bring himself to say? “I miss you”? Of course he missed her. All he did was miss her these days. All his waking hours were consumed by memory, by desperately clinging to the feeling of her hand in his, the warm touch, the long fingers. The way her fingers looked when Jisung would hand her her teacup, curling around the handle. 

“Do you have any poetry for me today, my love? You know I love your poetry.” she asked. 

Jisung smiled, and shyly pulled a folded piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket, and handed it to her. “Always.” 

She unfolded it and read it, and a smile grew across her face. “It’s beautiful, Jisung.”

“It’s about you, you know.”

“Really? I thought it was just about the garden. With the roses and the willow tree, and all that.” 

“Well, I suppose it’s about the garden, on the surface. But it’s really about you.”

Her gaze shifted past Jisung to the window.  She stared out into the garden. It was especially beautiful in the summer. “I don’t see how I can be like the garden, not with… all this.” She looked at her hands, dry and yellowed with jaundice. “I suppose flowers can wither.”

Jisung took her hands in his. “That doesn’t mean they’re not beautiful anymore. That doesn’t mean I can’t write poetry about them.” 

She looked in his eyes, tears welling up. “Jisung, I need you to promise me something.”

“Of course.”

“Promise me that if something, you know, happens to me–”

“Don’t say that–”

“No!” She stopped him mid-sentence. “Let me finish, this is important. If I die, you must promise me that you’ll keep writing poetry.”

The effort made her wince in pain. Jisung moved a hand to her face, which was warm with fever. She held out her pinky finger. “Please promise me that.”

Jisung nodded, and interlocked his pinky finger with hers. “I promise.”

The leaves started to change, and the pain grew worse. There was only so much the doctors could do. By September 23, she was gone. It was a Thursday. 

It’s almost been a month now. What did her hands feel like again? 

Jisung’s eyes grew blurry. He couldn’t see the paper anymore, and the rays of light peeping through the edges of his curtains faded into a haze. He gripped the edge of his desk, almost seasick with grief, lost in the storm. 

She was his love, his muse, his flowers and tea. His poetry, his command of language, his words were all for her. It was all to make her smile, to bring the roses and chrysanthemums, the honeysuckle and the willow to her sickbed. And now she would never smile again, no matter how much poetry he could write. There was nothing he could do to heal her. No words could bring her back. 

How could any of these things have flavor or color again? How could he write vibrant poetry about a desaturated world? It would be a disservice to the art of poetry to try. Fury boiled in his chest, and he seized the paper from the desk, crumpled it into a tiny ball, and threw it across the room. 

He wept for a long time before finally falling asleep in his chair. 

When Jisung woke up again, it was dark outside. A blanket had been draped across his shoulders, and there was another meal on his desk. It seemed to be roasted ham, along with some multicolored potatoes and other vegetables. There was also a small cake, which appeared to have strawberries in it. He ate the cake, promising himself that he’d eat the rest later. 

Rising from his spot at the desk and stretching his legs, he walked across the room and picked up the crumpled paper, placing it in the trash. He then sat at the desk again, and picked up his quill. Silently, he began to write.

To my dearest love, 

I’m sorry, but I can’t write your poetry right now. Because you’re on my mind today, my vision has been blurry, and my tears, meaningless, continue to flow. I sit in my study for days and nights, in the dark, missing you, and trying to explain how I feel, and write your poetry. I do not know if I can bring you back by missing you, yet I cannot stop. 

As time passes, I wonder if you’ll gradually fade from my mind. I still remember your warm touch, and when everything was beautiful. You were the main character in the book of my life. You were my story. I wish you would come back. 

Yours, always and forever,

Han Jisung

He folded the letter into thirds and placed it in an envelope, which he then placed in his desk drawer. Then he rose from his desk, crossed the room, and stepped into the hallway. He walked past their old bedroom and down the stairs. He walked past the downstairs bedroom where she had spent her last days, and the flowers sent by the mourners and friends and family.

Jisung stepped into the garden. It was chilly, and the sun was just beginning to rise. The first rays crested over the hills beyond the property, illuminating the countryside. The trees and flowers, the autumn leaves, and Jisung himself were cast in a pink and golden light that bounced off the undersides of the wispy clouds. Somehow, it made him feel less lonely, that perhaps there was some sunrise that would end his endless darkness. Maybe he could write a poem about that. 

[amourcheol]

ave, general

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | 16.1k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, this is bss and friends, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ mentions of loss of loved ones, descriptions of war and death, dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched @monstacheol @xabsolutelynothingx @kyeomiis @icecream-sundaes @peachytokki @jihanniecheol @ourkivee

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : she is here!! i promised myself i would release this once i've watched gladiator II and she is back...changed woman...i guess this is a belated bday present to jihoon? thank u for inventing music king </3 enjoy reading loves !!

back to masterlist

“WHERE IN JUPITER IS HE?”

The maid whined as she focused on the crowd once more—thousands of citizens gathered across in the Capitol, the road cleared for the procession about to occur. Giddy conversations of every man, woman and child flourished for a mile, and you had to hold onto the girl accompanying you to not be trodden over.

“Careful, mistress!” Myrtia, your servant, warned as you dared take a step at the edge of the hill. “They will be here any minute now!”

You did not listen, holding onto your heavy shawl tighter as you waited in earnest of what was to happen. Rome was a city of chaos, but you did not hear the noise—despite the crowds, the instruments, the chanting, every single voice seemed irrelevant as you stood over the Capitolium. The little houses underneath you swirled around the hill, all evolving the temple behind you, the destination of the people about to be welcomed. Columned buildings made of stone and marble surrounded the crowds, speckled with garlands, its bright colours of vermillion shining in the summer sun. 

A small sigh left your lips. Today was the day he would come back home to you.

“By the gods!” Myrtia let out an excited screech, grabbing onto your arm and pointing towards the empty street, barricaded by the people. “They’re here, they’re here!”

Following her finger, you stared at the scene.

That was when the parade entered. 

Screams of elation spanned across the crowd as thousands of soldiers flooded in tight ranks, accepting the cheers with pride as they marched along, prisoners of war being dragged along by their chains. There must have been hundreds, spanning back beyond your vision, dirtied and haggard, but that was the consequence of challenging the Empire. The soldiers all adorned their red and silver uniform, smiling at the city which welcomed them.

Your eyes scanned the front of the parade, lips curving at the five men on decorated horseback. Each and every one of them had their distinguishable responses towards the people who sang praises to them, and you longed to see them ride up to the Hill where you could greet them.

When your gaze hovered to what rode in front of the men, it widened.

Four horses, adorned in the finest metals and blood-coloured clothing, led the chariot of the same colour, fully festooned in laurels. Gold swirls cemented on its front, making itself heard with its screeching wheels.

It was not the chariot you cared about.

No, it was the man who stood in it.

The man who was clothed in royal purple and gold, holding a laurel branch in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The man, whose wild black hair perfectly settled the golden crown that another beside him held. The man, whose ghost of a smile sent the crowd in absolute frenzy, beginning up a chant to his name.

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Eagle!”

Your heart stopped to a standstill.

At last. At long last, the Eagle of Rome had come back to its nest.

“Mistress, look!” Myrtia exclaimed, pointing towards the star of the show, the lead victor in this parade. “Your husband achieved the Triumph!”

You glanced at her with unadulterated pride before focusing on the man in front, coming closer in your vision as he began the ride up the hill. The Triumph. A public celebration of a certain general who managed to lead Rome to a special, foreign victory. It meant the destruction of the enemy, complete desolation, which a mere centurion could not simply achieve. To receive the Triumph was to be respected by the highest of the Roman officials. 

You smiled at the notion. The destination for the parade was the Temple of Jupiter behind you, its columns holding up the huge, faded roof, towering over the few beloved relatives of the generals that led the soldiers. “I never doubted he would.”

The crowds grew wilder as the generals journeyed closer, halfway up the rocky hill—everyone opened their doors, leaving their houses to witness the rare spectacle. “Do you think they would let us speak to them?” your maid wondered out loud, following your steps as you turned your back, walking to the Temple. Standing right beside the steps, upstaged till they reached your height. “Gods, I forgot how big the temple is sometimes!”

“Wait here,” you said, holding onto the polished stone as you climbed up the steps. The thundering sounds of hooves on cobblestone entered your ears, and the few other relatives which accompanied you silenced, joy in their faces as the parade ascended. You turned before the show, the entire building shading you with its presence.

There he was.

With his four white horses slowing, neighing wildly at the company that arrived at the hill. With his red and golden chariot inciting excited Latin from the crowd, there he was, swiping past in front of his friends. The horses finally stopped, just before the steps, and the generals behind him followed suit, halting their own as they waited for their commander.

Their commander let go of the reins—stepped down from the chariot, purple robe flowing after the steps. The head that wore the crown turned to the Temple, laurel and sceptre still in his hands.

His calculating eyes skimmed the crowd, face exposing a little pride at the turnout.

He then faced his destination—right on you his stare settled, standing alone at the entrance.

You swore you saw his entire body still.

You were not wrong. The commander parted his mouth, eyes widening with who welcomed him past the steps. Gods, he nearly dropped the possessions in his hands, staring and staring at the woman.

No, not just a mere woman.

But you, his wife.

One of the generals, instantly noticing their leader’s change, got off his horse, same black hair glinting in the sun. He walked over, taking the objects from his hands, smiling knowingly. 

When the leader’s hands were free of the spoils, he willed his feet across the sanded street, first step atop the stairs. His gaze never wavered, unable to stray from the woman who haunted his nights. 

You, however, could not wait at all.

A choked sob escaped you as your own feet dashed forward, barely able to control themselves as you ran to him. His arms began to raise as you collided against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and crying into his purple-clad chest.

“Missed you...Jihoon…” your muffled murmurs slipped into his attire. “Missed you...so much.”

You felt strong arms envelop you, a rough-hewn face burying into your shoulder. “I thought of you everyday, mea vita.”

Mea vita. My life. A smile caught onto your tears as you hugged him tighter. “And I thought of you every night.”

He returned it, feeling his lips curve upon your skin. Placing a small kiss, he pulled away slightly, only to take your face with one of his hands and lean in closer. Enveloping your lips with yours, he kissed you with the longing of a thousand lost souls, finally returned to their other half. 

A soft groan threatened to leave your captured mouth, but then you felt your husband pull away, hands upon your waist. “I must stop here, my love, or I would not be able to stop afterwards.”

Cheeks burning, you did not let go of him. “Are you not finished?”

Shaking his head, he looked beyond you, to inside of the Temple. “I have to pay respects. It is the final part of the ceremony.” He turned to you again, aching to take you before the sacred grounds. “I cannot have you waiting for me that long.”

You were to object until the raven-haired boy behind him spoke up, waving his hand about. “We can escort her home, Jihoon,” he suggested, patting his general on the shoulder. “We do not need to go inside.”

“Are you sure, Wonwoo?” your husband asked, looking towards the other four. 

One of the centurions, with straight, cropped black locks framing his face, grinned smugly, holding onto his reins. “Oh, just let her leave with us!” he exclaimed. “We all know she missed us more than your stone-cold arse!”

You chuckled as Jihoon knifed the man with a glare. “A few hours in Rome, and Soonyoung is already a pain in my backside.”

The younger centurion beside Soonyoung scoffed, brown locks being caressed by the wind. “As if he is not a bother for us all.”

Soonyoung mocked a gasp. “Seungkwan!”

“Everyone, quiet down!” Another man declared, eyes closed and head raised in pride. “We all know our Captain’s wife wishes to ride with me.”

Soonyoung began to chortle at the claim. “_____, you might as well walk home than take Seokmin’s offer,” he mused, earning a near-death experience with a dagger thrown at him. 

Raising a brow at the bickering group, you raised a finger. “You know what? I think I shall ride with Chan.”

The said-boy perked up, eyes widening. “Me?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Well, of course, I just—”

“He would fall asleep mid-journey!” Seungkwan complained, crossing his arms. “It is already past his bedtime!”

“Hey!” Chan chimed in, but it did not help that he looked away, trying to stifle a yawn. Seungkwan pointed and laughed, proving his stupid point. 

“Enough!” Jihoon shouted, silencing them all instantly. “If _____ says she wants to go with Chan, then that is final.”

All of them began to complain, but one warning glare from their commander had them quieting like scolded children. Chan, being the one chosen, began to smile in innocent satisfaction, earning the evil wrath of Seokmin and Seungkwan. Soonyoung merely shrugged, whereas Wonwoo put a hand on his chest, heartily agreeing with his commander.

You glanced at the man in charge, looking as ever the victor in his royal robes. “Come home soon.”

Stealing another kiss from you, he squeezed your sides in comfort, smiling in reassurance. “I already am home, vita.”

THE LEGACY COMMANDERS ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO MAKE THE MOST NOISE.

Throughout the half-hour journey, the five men talked of their lives for the near-two years they were away—the battles they had won, and the siege they had laid over Alexandria, where Mark Antony and Cleopatra were finally defeated.

Chan glanced back every five minutes to check you were stable on horseback, urging you to hold tight whenever a rockier road was being taken. You patted him softly where you rested your hands upon him, showing him you were well. “Do not fret over me, dearest,” you assured him, earning an uneasy chuckle from him.

Unfortunately, the few centurions, riding right beside you two, heard your reassurance, and instantly resorted to striking fear. “Hanging onto Chan for dear life will not help you!” Seungkwan remarked loudly. “One wrong bounce of the horse and he is flying off!”

The youngest of the men, on instinct, tightened his hold on the horse, now fearing he would drive his commander’s wife to her death. Soonyoung laughed at the scene, but set his sights on the next youngest down. “Seungkwan should not be talking,” he crowed, galloping further ahead. “Pray tell us, how much denarii did you borrow off Wonwoo to heal your broken leg? You know, after you tripped over a tent rope?”

“Careful, Soon,” Seokmin exclaimed over the horses’ hooves. “Or Seungkwan will not hesitate to call on all the escorts you went bankrupt over in Egypt!”

Soonyoung immediately whirled his head to you, who eyed him incredulously. “_____, it is an exaggeration!” he deflected. “It was only one visit, merely to see what the women were like—!” 

“Is it true, Wonwoo?” you asked, who was fighting back a grimace at his friend’s endeavours. “Is our dear centurion as scandalous as he’s accused to be?”

The answer was swift. “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” 

As everyone cackled, the guilty flushing with embarrassment, he quickly switched the conversation to everyone’s adventures while on the road to Alexandria. Soonyoung did most of the storytelling, with Seokmin chipping in with great pride—Seungkwan had to tell the two of them off when they exaggerated their military prowess, while Wonwoo only laughed, narrating the truth of their adventures. Whatever they told you, though, you knew that they came out victorious.

The Legacy Legion was destined for greatness—especially if Jihoon Park commanded it.

By the time they were done, you had arrived at your villa, almost on the outskirts of Rome. The huge estate had been gifted to your husband by his superior, Octavian, who was thankful for the continuous loyalty he had seen from the Legion. Its exterior towered over the five horses, guards opening the gates to let you and your friends inside.

The estate was basked in whites and greys, roof the colour of baked bricks adding vibrancy to the faded walls. When entering, you were met with your bustling courtyard, servants hard at work with preparations for Jihoon's return. Within the four walls were different rooms which served different purposes—you could smell the different breads and meat being cooked on a slow heat, taking their time to be fully made. The boys began to salivate at the aroma, and when you felt Chan’s stomach grumble beneath your fingers you reined in a laugh, waiting for him to heave off before helping you down as well. 

“Take the horses to the stables,” you ordered one of the servants walking past you, who nodded, shouting for other men to come and help him. 

Seokmin groaned as he sniffed the air again, holding his armour-clad stomach. “I cannot take this any longer!” He whined, stomping to where the smell took him. “____, I must have cena now or so help me Ceres!”

“Stop complaining about lunch!” Seungkwan crowed. “I gave you half of my breakfast, and you pinched Chan’s bread too!” 

“Here we go again,” Wonwoo mumbled. He then heard grumbling in his abdomen, and knew he could not argue against his body. 

You watched the absolute creatures in tenderness, and waved them all over. “Come,” you began, walking inside the first door. “I wish to show you something.”

“This better be some roasted boar!” Soonyoung grumbled, earning a jab in the arm from Wonwoo.

The destination was not far, and with one further turn, you ended up in a smaller, yet spacious room, golden sunlight streaming through the windows. You ushered the boys in, taking up the entire space, and they were all about to complain when you showed them.

Every single man in the room melted at the sight.

“By the gods!”

“Tell me it is not an illusion!”

“This is a better sight than roasted boar!”

Laughing, you put a hand to your lips. “Not so loud now! Jihoon is not aware of this yet, and I wish to tell him myself.”

“Of course!” Wonwoo agreed, eyes dancing. “By Jupiter, he would be overjoyed!”

“I hope so,” you voiced out your wishes, glancing at the surprise. 

The boys were about to say more when they heard the distant sounds of thundering hooves near the villa, and everyone stilled. 

“Quick!”

“Everyone get out of here!”

“Seungkwan, move—”

The five greatest centurions of Rome scrambled to get out of the tiny bedroom, rushing into the courtyard where Jihoon now made his entrance, crown still upon his head. He saw the rather guilty exit of his men, and raised a brow at their strange behaviour.

“What are you all—” he was about to ask, but then the boys dashed towards him, each grabbing his arm and pushing him to their last destination. “Wait, hold on—!”

“This is of extreme importance, we assure you!” Wonwoo simpered, knowing his end was near with the behaviour he and his friends upkept. 

“Even more important than lunch!” Soonyoung added.

“Even more important than roast boar!” Seokmin chimed in.

Jihoon was about to throw them off when they pushed him into the small room, waving excitedly at you. “We will be looking for food!” Seungkwan called from the door, and Chan looked at you apologetically before following after his friends. 

Watching them busy themselves, he turned to you, cocking his head. “What was all that for?” 

“They are terrible actors, but they had good intentions.” You then bit your lip, glancing beside you. “Actually, they brought you here for a reason.”

“Oh?” He took a step forward. 

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.”

Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?”

Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience.

“My love, I gave birth to our son.”

You felt Jihoon’s world still for a moment.

Within seconds after, he closed the distance to the cot, following your gaze.

There, wrapped in blankets, lay a small baby, lost in sleep.

The general did not know what to say.

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber. 

So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

He thought all good had withered from the world till his eyes beheld this child. His son.

“It was he that helped me cope with your absence Jihoon,” you continued, and you did not know why it began to hurt to talk. “You see, the boy looks so much like you.”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to you, catching the melancholy in your stare. He knew—of course he knew how you felt about him hardly being here.

You could not blame him, though. With a position of such esteem came great responsibility, which he would risk his life to fulfil. It was his honour, his undeterred loyalty in what he believed in, that made you fall so deeply in love with him. Still, you admitted that life was barely liveable without his magnetic presence near you.

He propped his hands on the edge of the cot. “May I...may I hold him?” 

“Of course,” you replied, slowly pulling the boy in your arms, cooing softly so he stayed asleep. When you were sure he was peaceful, you held him out to your husband, who took a deep, shuddering breath.

With shaking hands, he raised them towards his son, feeling the soft cotton of his blanket beneath his fingertips. Staring at Jihoon, you made sure that he would not let go—satisfied, you gave him the stirring bundle.

Another hard sigh escaped him.

The child, on instinct, nuzzled further into his hold, right into his chest, and he knew his answer straight away. His heart fluttered nervously, holding his breath to not wake him. It was so bizarre that his nerves heightened with every second, fearing he would let go—his sword was heavier than this child, yet his hold on him was shaky, uncertain. 

He wondered if he could ever get used to this feeling.

There were sensations he had experienced which brought him immense joy. His victories, his commandeering of the Roman legions, the subsequent victories that were guaranteed under his leadership. His centurions, who, despite their incessant complaining, shouting, general presences, were the catalyst to his success. You, who was behind the man that he was, and became—the reason he breathed. 

A small murmur escaped the little boy, and all the love Jihoon had lost these years had come back.

He was never the one to expose such extreme emotions, but gazing at the baby brought him such…peace. In truth, he had not felt peace in a long, long time, yet the feeling washed over him, like small waves upon the shores of a beach. Each twitch of his fingers, every kick of his feet brought his soul to a standstill, then revived it once more. 

He contributed to this creation. He was half the reason for the slumbering life in his hands.

His stare did not leave his son. “What did you name him, vita?”

Your gaze was rooted to him as you answered.

“Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s rocking froze. 

His eyes darted towards you, and the pure shock which emitted had your heart breaking. His mouth parted, only for silence to welcome his tongue. 

It was now your hands which held onto the cot.

Seungcheol was not some ordinary name you thought up on the hour of the birth.

No, this name was originally held by the previous leader of the Legacy Legion.

Most importantly, the name was held by yours and Jihoon’s dearest friend.

Choi Seungcheol was a sweet, charismatic boy who had grown up in the same neighbourhood as you and Jihoon. He was the nail in your house of the trio, and the mastermind of the romance which weaved between the two of you. 

He had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Under Octavian’s army he had achieved the title of primus pilus—the leadership of an entire legion—with all of the boys, including Jihoon, under his command. He was an advocate of justice, and had risked his friends many times for defending the rights of Rome and her citizens against tyrants.

It was these very tyrants that brought about his downfall.

Jihoon was never meant to leave your side these past two years. He was meant to stay in Rome under Octavian, but the rivalry against Mark Antony had crossed lines, and war was about to be waged. Seungcheol, forever the hero, vowed his undeterred loyalty to the former, and promised to shed Mark Antony’s blood.

That very night, the commanders of the Legacy Legion were celebrating the war when a group of assassins launched an ambush—the five of them managed to cut out and leave, but Jihoon was on the verge of death fighting. Your husband was to die that night.

That was when Seungcheol made a sacrifice. 

He hollered at the assassins to fight him, giving Jihoon the chance to escape. Your husband begged him to run, but he knew his friend would not listen. 

When Jihoon saw the dozen daggers slash into Seungcheol’s chest, he could not let the sacrifice go to waste.

It was this act that brought him the rage to accept command of the Legacy Legion. It was this dire need of vengeance that helped him cope with the months of stalemates across Egypt, when he thought Mark Antony was to escape.

It was Choi Seungcheol’s sacrifice that made Lee Jihoon the Eagle of Rome. 

Thinking of this particular past had your vision stinging.

Jihoon scoffed, stroking his baby’s brow. “Imagine how smug he would be now,” he mused, “If he knew we named our son after him.”

The thought had you rasping out a laugh. “Gods, we would never hear the end of it.”

He cracked a smile, gaze never straying from his bundle. He grew silent once again, clamping his lips together. Scared to wake him if he rocked him further, Jihoon settled the boy back into the pillowed cot, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. 

He turned to you, and seeing his change of expression had you stepping closer. “Darling?” you got out, your hands raising to touch his face. “What troubles you?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Leaning into your palm, he replied, “Nothing troubles me, vita.”

Then, he pressed a small kiss upon your skin. “I have no more troubles now that I have seen him…and I have him because of you.”

His gaze settled upon you, eyes glossed with teary gratitude. “Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

The words nearly made you cry.

Jihoon did not let you, though, when, with his other hand sliding around your waist, he pulled you to him. He enveloped his lips with yours, and with a whine you accepted him, closing your eyes. The kiss you shared was achingly soft, seething with months upon months of longing—he turned your head slightly, and his lips delved deeper, taking you fully with the strength of a waking beast. 

His hands dug deeper into your sides, feeling the desperation seep into his lips as he slowly pushed you back, your arms closing about his neck, needing him all over you. Sliding your hands within his locks, you revelled in its velvety softness, knowing you could live forever in him. 

The action had your husband humming into your mouth, a perfect incentive as he backed you against the wall, pressing himself fully against you, extinguishing any last atom of space between you two. You could not get enough of him, trying to make up months of his absence in this kiss alone, but you wanted more, needed more, or you would collapse in his arms.

It was fortunate for you that he understood you perfectly.

However, your dear friends did not understand at all, bursting into the nursery in utmost hurry.

Five pairs of eyes rooted to the passionate scene before them.

Chan let out a shrill scream.

You and Jihoon repelled from each other, breathless gasps emitting as both of you whirled your heads to the door. The five centurions gathered at the doorway, stunned at the show that went on before they interrupted.

Seokmin let out a groan, clutching his stomach. “I regret eating that entire boar now,” he rasped out, turning away from the panting couple. Seungkwan elbowed him harshly in the gut, making the former double over.

Soonyoung sauntered in, stepping past you two in mighty fashion. “You both are insufferable!” he yelled, bringing out baby Seungcheol and rocking him in his arms. “Carrying out such atrocities with a child nearby?”

“I apologise for the disturbance, general,” Wonwoo said, glaring at the man who now cooed comically at the baby. “We were just...um, we were to ask ____ of the plans tonight.”

“But y-you seem to be very preoccupied!” Chan added, pulling the men near him away from the door. “So we shall not disturb you again!”

“You should have thought about that before,” your husband hissed. “And what do you mean by plans?”

“For your return,” you answered, smiling a little as you regained your composure. “It has been too long since you stepped foot at home. Of course I am to celebrate.”

“And do we not exist to you?” Seungkwan demanded, armoured hands at his hips. “You include Jihoon only as if we were here in Rome partying this entire time!”

“I wished that were the case,” Soonyoung drawled, stepping beside you, swaying the baby the entire time. “I would rather the company of wine than you foul-smelling bastards anyday.”

Seokmin, recovering, scoffed, pointing a finger at his fellow centurion. “Oh, do let us know then, Soonyoung, who was calling us his dearest friends on the march to Alexandria?”

“That does not count!” he countered, waving off the claims. “I was beyond gone from wine, and everyone spews rubbish when drunk.”

“You spew rubbish anyway,” Wonwoo muttered.

“You are lucky I am holding Jihoon’s child right now, or I would have knocked you out.”

“Just Jihoon’s child?” you crossed your arms. “And what if you were holding someone else’s baby?”

There was a pause at that. “I shall not comment further.”

“Enough!” the general ordered, silencing the bickering group. “Out, the lot of you! Go back to your own homes and leave us alone!”

“But _____ said we can stay here and help with preparations!” Wonwoo voiced out, stepping forward in haste. 

“I never said that!”

“Please, Jihoon,” he continued anyway, “I have no wish to dump all responsibility on her.”

The said-man pursed his lips in thought, clearly in no hurry to keep his friends when he could be using this precious time to continue what he left off with you. Already his hands ached to linger further over your body, but if he was disturbed once again, then he would kill his subordinates without hesitance.

Seokmin stopped his train of thought. “Personally, I have no wish to do housework,” he jeered. 

Your husband then smiled, which was more a flash of teeth. “Brilliant. You can piss off back home, then.” He then directed his threatening stare towards the others. “All of you.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you, hoping for your objection on the matter. However, you only shrugged, holding out your hands to the man beside you. “General’s orders, I fear.” When a series of groans followed at your verdict, you took Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s hands. “Do not whine like that, friends! I am giving you the chance to have more fun before tonight’s celebrations!”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled, turning his cloak as he stepped out of the room. “I am off to get more drinks! Anyone but Jihoon may join me.”

“Hey!” the commander shouted, but the men were already leaving, save for Chan, scratching the back of his head. 

Seokmin cocked his head in question at his friend’s stillness. “What are you standing here for, fool?”

“Well, um,” Chan started, his shy gaze levelling with yours. “I am not inclined to wine as of now, so I was hoping if I could...err, linger here and help around…” His eyes widened, raising his hands. “But if it is bothersome I will accompany the others!”

Your heart melted at his timidity. “What are you so nervous for? Of course you can stay. Those four idiots will only be causing trouble the entire afternoon.” 

“And we intend to continue such troubles at night as well!” Soonyoung declared, almost skipping to the entrance. “Honey wine, here I come!”

“Chan, are you sure?” Jihoon asked, gesturing towards the exiting group. “You should rest a little after months of fighting.”

“I am alright, I insist,” his soldier assured him, raising his arms. “Let me take care of the child.” When you obliged, handing him the stirring bundle, he slowed his movements, ever so careful not to disturb him. He darted his gaze over you. “You, uh,” he said, and he chuckled sheepishly, a blush rising upon his cheeks. “You both carry on with whatever you were doing before!”

Before you could say further, the man was hurrying out, forgetting to close the door as he took Seungcheol with him.

You and Jihoon watched him go, stunned at the sudden entrance of the centurions, and then the sudden exit within minutes. You could not help the huff of laughter that escaped you at their antics, catching his attention. “What is the laugh for?”

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe. 

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

Then, you aggressively shook your head, heading straight to the kitchens. Not these thoughts at the moment, _____.

You have a party to prepare for.

THE NIGHT OF THE WELCOMING ARRIVED AS QUICKLY AS YOU HAD HOPED.

The guests began to enter your estate as soon as the sun descended on the empire, bringing words of praise and gifts to your husband and his soldiers. Your pride swelled exceedingly at hearing the positive messages, encouraging everyone to drink to their health. The smiles did not cease, widening further when the men and women fawned over your child. They wished for your baby to grow up just like the man he was named after, and you smiled, scared that one word from you would have your tears gushing.

You had everyone lay on their seated beds, surrounding tables filled with nourishment. Orders spilled from your lips to never stop the plates of beef and veal and fish and infinite other meats—tonight, your guests would feast like emperors. 

Eventually, the stars of the legion arrived, howling in celebration at seeing you adorned in indigo-coloured finery. You reckoned that they had drunk a fountain’s worth before showing up here, but you only hauled them inside, showing them to their place—cushioned couches all set up around low, circular tables, food nearly toppling off the edges. 

Seokmin drooled at the sight. “Out of the way, bastards!” He declared, running straight for the bedding in the middle part of the cushioned arc, settling himself nicely before digging in instantly. “Tell your slave Chan to bring us some wine!”

As if on cue, the soldier came rushing in with huge jugs of the featured drink, looking at you. “Is this alright?”

“Of course, Chan,” you said, taking the jugs from him. “Now you lay beside your friends! You have helped me enough.”

“Where is that man of yours, my lady?” Soonyoung drawled, snatching a cup of honey wine from the servants. “He did not accompany us this afternoon.”

“He had to go meet Octavian,” you answered, the rest of the centurions lodging themselves on the cushions. “There were honours he had to receive from him before he could officially celebrate here.”

“As long as he gets drunk with us, I do not mind,” Wonwoo voiced, raising his cup in toast. 

Seokmin, seeing Chan looking around in embarrassment, poured a cup full of alcohol and pushed it in his hand. “Drink up, boy! I am not having you shy away from your victories!”

The latter seemed much inclined to throw away the wine, but his friends began to groan. “Fine, fine, but only a sip!”

Seungkwan downed his cup, sighing into it. “He will never grow up.”

Wonwoo eyed you with concern as he plucked a grape from its pack. “Will you not have a rest with us?”

“You men have your fun,” you insisted. “I will settle when Jihoon comes home.”

Fortunately, that did not take more than ten minutes, you catching the sound of hooves outside the estate. Footsteps sounded from the entrance, and you whirled to see your new arrival.

The primus pilus of the Legacy Legion looked every bit his title—regal, powerful, magical in his purple robes, hemmed with gold as it draped over his loose white shirt, exposed on his right arm. His locks, longer than his hair months ago, curled slightly along his neck, roughening his usual soldierly demeanour.

Squealing, you rushed to him, greeting him with a kiss. “Come, come!” You exclaimed, ushering him inside.

“The general’s arrived!” Seokmin before you with the others following, albeit with more difficulty.

Jihoon directed a soft smile at you before sneering at his friends. “At least finish chewing on your food, you babies.”

“Care about your own baby before calling us such, you prick!”

“You are very lucky you are drunk, Wonwoo!” 

“Sit with them,” you said, tugging him to a free space between subordinates. 

As your husband obliged, he let his curiosity wander. “And where are you off to?”

Your gaze went beyond the dining hall, into the leeways that brought you to the kitchens. “I am a host, dear, and that means making sure all my guests are accommodated for.”

His grip on you was strong. “When will you come back?” He asked, thumb brushing over your hand.

You let your lips slip into a small smile. “Soon.”

And you were off, letting Jihoon’s eyes brush over you instead of his touch.

A few hours into the party and the chaos began.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually, with the amount of wine being consumed—your friends alone downed half the deposits, the consequences of such reckless drinking being exposed by their behaviour.

The centurions’ area was by far the loudest: Seokmin drank to the point he pissed in the jug that stored his wine, Seungkwan then threatening to topple that very jug atop his head. Soonyoung resorted to self-praise in his stupor, with Wonwoo shaking his head, yet laughing uncontrollably at every unfunny quip the former slipped out. Chan giggled as he sipped his alcohol, Jihoon watching all his friends with a full cup in his own hand. 

It was around midnight when you heard the voice of your beloved calling for you. 

“Vita!”

Excusing yourself from your tipsy guests, you walked to your dear men, who were creating a ruckus in your home. You felt soft fingers caress your shin within your dress, and you looked down to see your general smiling at you.

“Sit, my love,” he said, tugging you down to him. “You have made me wait a while.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed with mock exasperation, laying down next to him. 

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him, your entire back pressed against his front. “There,” he whispered, and the proximity of his breath had chills running down your spine.

You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating off you.

“_____!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing his cup at you in accusation, wine sloshing out and spilling. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Oh, gods,” Jihoon cursed quietly.

“So I found out from our esteemed general that you named your son Seungcheol.” The man scoffed. “How could you commit such an action?”

When you raised your eyebrows, he smirked in disbelief, gesturing towards himself. “My lady, I am offended you did not name him after me.”

Wonwoo spit out his drink, unable to control his laughter. Seungkwan poured himself some more, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Gods forbid we have another Seokmin in our circle.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” the man demanded, bunching his robes from his arms. 

“I know you are not that stupid,” was his sly answer. 

“Boys,” Jihoon seethed, glaring at the two about to send the estate down with their fists. “Lay off the anger or lay off the wine.”

Grumbling as they broke off their spat, you looked up at the mediator, swirling his cup. “You know you do not have to be a general here.”

Your husband hummed absent-mindedly, lazily running his hand along you. “I know, vita. Can I ever rest, though, when I have such rowdy dogs barking around me all the time?”

Chuckling, you leaned into him, his honey-like scent engulfing you. “Have you drank?”

“Only a little.” You felt a lilt to his voice as he continued. “Sober enough to see clearly how divine you look. Especially in this dress.”

You stilled as his hands began to wander downwards. 

Your voice barely came out as you said, “Jihoon, what…what are you doing?” 

He did not respond, instead adorning a small smile on his face as his fingers ghosted down your body, to your stomach. On instinct you stopped his trail with your own hand, gripping his wrist. “Jihoon!” you hissed. “There are people right beside us!”

“People who do not know what is going on around them,” he added, gesturing to his friends. Sure enough, each and every one of the centurions were out of their minds, save for Chan, who was too preoccupied trying to take away their drinks. 

Jihoon turned to you once more, eyes inviting. “I mean, I will stop if you wish.” His movements turned slower, your hand still on his. “If you have other…pressing matters.”

Your mind could only think of damning whatever ‘pressing matters’ there well to the underworld. Perhaps he could see it too. “If roaming eyes are what you fear,” he whispered, “Then let me solve that problem.”

In a flash, he brought one long slit of his toga, resting the huge sheet of fabric upon you so your entire body was cloaked, along with his wandering fingers. So casually he began his journey once more, widening your eyes with each finger spiralling downwards.

When he reached the spot, shielded only with your silk, his head rested softly against your neck. “There we go.”

He barely grazed the slit, but the very sensation had you squeezing your own hand upon his. “Easy, darling,” he whispered, as if he was not the reason for your change. “I haven’t even done anything and yet you falter.”

“Not my fault you went away for two years,” you hissed. It was a terrible thing to say, really, but your desire was bubbling. Your rationality, in turn, simply had to depart.

The comment only made your husband chuckle. “I was saving the Empire, vita.” His other hand, completely free, occupied itself, his solitary finger ghosting along your skin. “Would you rather I damn the world to the gods and serve at your feet instead?”

“As if you do not already,” you murmured, your hand loosening on his wrist. 

Earning another soft laugh from him, his new freedom had him sliding down further. “And where did this…newfound confidence come from?” he asked, one finger delving into your slit and eliciting a shuddered breath. “I’d only hear gasps from you before.”

His slow endeavours found your clit beneath the silk, and the seething gasp that tore from your mouth had the bastard sighing in satisfaction. “Ah, see?” He continued, his hand upon your shoulder now sliding beneath his cloak. It found refuge upon your breasts, perked from the sheer desire burning inside. “Fuck, I missed, I–” His fingers circled your clit, and you closed your eyes, heart beating rapidly underneath his other hand. 

Your breathing turned harsh, eyes darting to the members of your husband’s legion—completely unaware of the shuddering mess of nerves you had become. “Look at you,” Jihoon sighed out, fastening his fingers. “Acting out with our loved ones under this roof.” Your soft whines were music to his ears. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Maybe you should—fuck,” you cut off, your legs tensing, a dull, delicious ache growing at the small of your back. “Jihoon, I—”

Your line of speech was interrupted by another voice. You had hoped it would be your husband, taunting you further into oblivion, but it was a voice of pure concern.

“By the gods, _____, are you alright?”

You blinked back to see Chan, holding two glasses of wine, shaking off Soonyoung’s hands. Your eyes then widened, acutely aware of Jihoon’s fingers slowing, your release fading. 

Sly as an asp, your husband retracted his hands, still under his cloak. “What is the matter, dear friend?”

The centurion had his gaze fixed on you, confused at your state. “Is _____ okay, general? Her breathing, she…it sounds uneven. Even her eyes are dazed.”

Soonyoung, taking the lucky chance of his friend’s engrossment, snatched the wine from his hand, downing the bowl. “She is drunk, you fool!” he exclaimed, loud enough for Wonwoo to double over, cursing his rowdy mouth. “And you should be as well, instead of ruining our fun!”

“My lady, allow me to indulge you with wine,” Wonwoo sang out, trying to catch a jug of alcohol from thin air. 

Seungkwan snorted at his attempts, successfully stealing Seokmin’s drinks and chugging the lot. “Oi, you prick!” The latter yelled, nearly bringing the estate down. His friend merely laughed, calling him names and finishing the rest of the wine.

Chan, glancing for a moment away, focused on you once more. “Jihoon, I fear for _____.”

You feared for yourself too, but not in the manner the soldier spoke of—more your sanity at the pulsing, the near undoing now far from being reached. 

Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling at Chan’s words, despite differing intentions. “You worry too much, Chan,” he said, beginning to get up from his cushions, taking you gently into his arms. “It is as Soonyoung says. Mea Vita here has had a drink too much.”

The centurion seemed a little unconvinced, but his trust for his commander outgrew any suspicions. Seokmin scoffed at the couple attempting to leave, shaking his bowl at you both. “And where are the lovebirds off to?” he demanded.

“Lady _____ is tired from the honey wine,” Chan explained. “Jihoon is helping her sleep.”

“Ha!” was the boy’s reply. 

“Are you really that dim-witted?” Seungkwan asked, laughing darkly at the youngest’s naivety. 

“Huh?” Chan glanced at his general.

The general declared to his guests, “I will be retiring with my wife, but enjoy until dawn, friends!”

Cheers arose from every corner of the estate, no doubt eager to live up to his request. Jihoon then rested his eyes on his soldier, who looked up at him with great bewilderment.

He only offered a sly wink before slipping into the hallways. 

Chan’s confusion only deepened. 

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter. “You poor fool!” 

Seungkwan’s smirk was prevalent as, taking the bowl filled with fresh honey wine from the tables, he sat beside Chan, offering him his first drink. “Let us educate you, dear man, on what exactly is about to happen between our general and his wife.”

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY TEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR PATIENCE SNAPPED IN YOUR DARKENED HALLWAYS. 

You slapped your hands against Jihoon’s purple-clad chest, and tried to push him back into the stone wall. Of course, when one had the strongest general in the Roman Empire as a husband, physically overtaking them is an impossible action.

Which was why he began to laugh at your efforts before casually taking your wrists, whirling you about.  Suddenly your back was against the wall, with his face near inches from you. 

“Cannot control yourself for even a minute?” He purred, bringing your hands above your head. “Has the journey to our bedroom become too difficult?”

“Stop fucking about with me” you got out, aching to have your hands freed, touch his face, his lips, but he was too strong. 

The man leaned further. “No, vita…it has been too long.” 

He brushed his nose along with yours. “Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with simply fucking you against the wall.”

His words alone had your heart beating faster, eager to see how he would play the night out. It had been far too long since you had felt such promise of pleasure in these years.

“I won’t be either, general,” you mused, and the fire that sparked in Jihoon’s eyes could have very well brought you your undoing then. 

That was enough for him to swoop in, damning all sweetness to the underworld as he collided his lips with yours. 

You swore you could never tire of Jihoon’s lips as he moved hungrily, grip on your wrists tightening. A small noise lodged in the back of your throat, aching to be released but to no avail. His mouth refused to pull away, miss even a moment of how you felt against him. 

The years away made you realise how much you missed his touch—lips in sync, bodies snuffing out any distance left—you had no choice but to whine into his mouth, opening yourself up fully to him. You wanted him all, without a single drop of hesitation.

Feeling the exact same, he happily delved further, an eon-old kernel of fire singeing his lips and searing you with his desire. His tongue, catching onto his lust, slithered past your teeth, swirling your tongue with his and increased the volume of your moans. 

Gods, your moans, your little voices of passion were like victory trumpets to his ears, every single ah! or fuck! riling him further into a frenzy. He had not forgotten these glorious sounds when he was thousands of miles away, but it had been so fucking long since he had heard them in person, and not just his dreams.

So he relished in your moans. Completely engulfed himself in your bubble of desire as his one hand strayed from your wrists, skirting downwards along your body. Grabbing hold of your skirts, he raised them to your hips. He caught sight of your cunt, and he swore his mouth watered. 

“Stop it…stop stalling, Jihoon,” you seethed, soul almost withering in wait for your husband to ruin you already.

Fortunately for you, he was the most accommodating man.

His hand freeing yours, it journeyed downwards to the real treasure. Your eyes widened at his finger sliding inside you, and the pure, ethereal sensation of his touch finally attaining your cunt had you dazing off completely. Your mouth forgot all words, as if forgetting how to speak the languages which Jihoon whispered now on your skin.

With your hands gaining newfound freedom, they carded through his hair, finding refuge in the soft, growing locks, tidied for the party. You would have done more had Jihoon not circled your clit, and the delirious sensation was back—your legs nearly gave way, and you let out a whimper as you held onto him tightly, lest you fell at his feet. 

His sharp eyes caught onto your weakening state, slowing his ministrations. “How about I take this somewhere else?” He rasped in your ear. 

Not waiting for your answer, he slid his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, you instinctively wrapping your legs around him. He did not cease his kisses, his tongue dancing inside your mouth while finding the door to the bedroom. 

He did not waste a single moment—kicking the door open with his foot, he settled you on the table right beside, throwing the objects to the floor. Giving you a small peck, he journeyed downwards, slowly kneeling before you while opening your legs.

His husky chuckling rang in your ears. “Gods, after so long…” he could not even finish, pressing airlight kisses upon your inner thigh, each phantom touch nearing the kernel of arousal. “So…fucking long…”

The minute he reached his destination his tongue slipped free of his mouth. Holding onto your thighs, he let himself take the last step.

His tongue sliding along your cunt had you melting on the table. 

You were certain the table had crumbled beneath you, the ground fading as your husband explored you, lapping up the arousal dripping since the moment he graced you with his touch. A satisfied noise left his occupied mouth, you tasting like the honey wine you poured for him not an hour ago.

This. This made fighting relentlessly for two years worth it. This made every single drop of blood, buckets of sweat and floods of tears worth it. Life was hard, torturous even away from Rome, from you, but all that dark anguish in the time lost between you two was worth it if this was his reward.

And Jihoon would make sure this, too, would be worth it for you.

His tongue found your clit, and if you were not a mess before, the tendrils of pleasure that came with reduced you to cinders. He circled the bud like a slow march, growing faster with each passing beat. You moaned his name, a mantra on your lips which only rang louder. 

“J-Jihoon,” you kept whimpering, and his tongue would circle faster. You begin to thrash against him, unable to sit still while he brought you such unadulterated thrill. You would have happily grinded against his face had his hands on your thighs not tightened, indicating to stop fidgeting.

In honesty you tried—you endeavoured to be composed, but the bastard made the task impossible. The writhing continued, and would have kept going had Jihoon not halted his actions.

You let out an agitated yelp. 

“I’m sorry, vita, but you have to stay still,” he replied, fingers running along your thighs. “Do you not want to enjoy this?”

His lips glistened as he spoke, courtesy of your cunt. With his head in between your thighs, he was a feast for your eyes. “Fuck, Jihoon, I…I already am.” 

Maybe he agreed that he was a fine feast, for he curved his shining mouth in a dark smirk, eyes not leaving yours as he slowly slung a leg over his shoulder. “Well then,” he began, repeating with the other leg, fingers skimming the naked skin. “Let me add to your pleasure.”

This time, when he dove in, he was relentless.

You gripped onto the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood as he quickened the rhythm of his tongue, working on your bundle of nerves so deliciously you wondered how your soul still survived inside your body. 

The wondering stopped, your questions answered when his finger joined in on the ravishing, sliding inside you and knocking the breath out of you. He was so undeniably good, knowing you liked the insertion slow, almost testing the waters before completely undoing you.

And gods bless him, for that is all he intended to do. The Eagle of Rome only knelt for the gods, but you, your whines, your writhing pleasure he drank like a man parched…

You had become a deity in his eyes; and a celestial figure deserved the best of service — hours upon hours of honing your desire because he was the only one who was capable of ruining you.

Another finger found itself inside you, and your cunt began to pulsate at the fullness it achieved, inching along the growing tension bubbling deep within your gut. Beads of sweat dripped down, your willpower to not thrash against his face about to snap, and when he fastened his pace an obscenely loud moan ripped through your mouth. 

You were much too close to the final high.

“Fuck, Jihoon—!” you nearly cried, hands unable to stray from his hair, his wonderful, lustrous hair. “Jihoon, please, I’m so clo—”

His free hand on your thigh squeezed you ever so slightly, as if aware of your near absolution. He only sped up his work, his fingers gliding in and out so quickly you could not keep up. If that was not enough, his mouth sucking on your clit was ready to bring the sky down on your head.

But Jihoon was ready to risk the destruction of all the world. Ready to face the gods in his last hour as he swirled your swollen bud with his tongue one last time.

That was enough to come undone.

Your release came crashing, curls of pleasure riding all through your body as your mind misted into fog, no thought or idea save for the slow assistance of your husband, easing your throbbing. A lust-struck sigh came out of you, hand falling from his hair onto his tensed shoulder. Sensing your high washing over, he slowed his tongue, fingers withdrawn from your cunt.

He caught your gaze in his, two slick fingers hanging between you two. He dared you to look away as he brought them to his lips, slipping them inside and tasting the residue.

That sight alone could have made you come for the second time. 

The bastard knew it too, for a ghost of a smirk exposed itself on his face, once his fingers were clean of your arousal. “Could not let it go to waste,” he murmured, as if your wetness was liquid gold. 

Hands back on your thighs once more, he lifted himself up gently, toga in disarray over his service. With you sat upon the table, his fingers found home upon your chin, lifting your line of sight on him.

Pure hunger lay dormant in his eyes. 

Not just his eyes, but his mouth still, when he leaned in and kissed you. You returned it without question, desire coiling around your soul as if it had not been released mere minutes ago.

You did not care. Not when you had waited so fucking long.

The man smiled between the burning kisses, humming at your lusted agony as he slid an arm around your waist. “My love—” a kiss upon the corner of your mouth —”What more shall I do—” another kiss, to the other corner—”For you?”

If he kept at it like this, you were going to forget your mother tongue. “Inside me…” you mustered between his lips on you, on your skin. A pathetic attempt, but your mind was still recovering from your release.

He paused, a malicious grin curving. “Pray, mea vita, my sweet, was I not just inside you?” Tugging you off the table, he held on tight as your knees buckled. “See? Even your body speaks for me.”

Your leg brushed against the weakness of his argument, almost tenting his toga. “Does yours?” you managed to remark, catching the defeated furrow of his brow. 

His stare had you silent once again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Leaning in, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“I’ll have your body screaming for me when I’m done, vita.”

Your body, in his response, shuddered against him.

Jihoon did not wait for more as he slotted his mouth along yours, igniting the flame again, unable to have enough of you as he whirled you around, eliciting the same little whines he adored so ardently.

He swooped you up in his arms, knowing your legs could not take the walk to the bed. Never stopping his kisses, he knew where to go by memory, hands skirting along your skin as he neared the final haven of tonight. Despite his words, he laid you gently upon the bed, continuing his trail upon your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere where you would allow him. 

Your heart sang at what was to come. Memories flooded you, passionate nights of years ago reminding you of what had been, and what distance had snatched from you. You had never forgotten the last time you both had made love, the very last night you both had been offered before he was to sail away to satiate his need for vengeance. He had asked nothing from you, not a single request, even though he knew you would have given it to him in a heartbeat. 

No, that night, he had explored every inch, every crevice of your body—burned his presence onto your skin till the entirety of Rome knew that Lee Jihoon had left a piece of himself in you. That piece morphed into the child you bore, but Jihoon had never really left your soul, despite the thousands of miles stretching between you two.

“Never again,” you let yourself whisper as he broke away, your hands fisting themselves in his toga, tugging off the fabric which was another form of distance. You needed him once again. Yes, you had withstood miles upon miles away from him. But now, you could not handle even inches apart.

He understood. He always understood, slipping off the clothing till it reached his hips. Climbing over you, his abdomen exposed, you could not believe your cheeks burned at the sight of him half-naked before you. A small chuckle escaped him, and he stole a quick kiss before burying himself into your neck.

His fingers reached for the loose straps of your dress, barely of use. “Take these off for me, darling,” he whispered, and the order vibrated along your skin, ready to be followed. While you desperately tried to pry your dress off, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, making your simple task an impossible mission.

One strap fell, and Jihoon’s teeth slowly sank into your skin, sucking at the spot with such passion a soft groan trambles out of you, unsure whether you could get the other half of your dress off. Thankfully, with someone as accommodating as him, he pressed an unironically chaste kiss before finding the last straps himself. 

The pure smugness in his eyes had you in near tears. “One little kiss, and you’ve ceased working,” he drawled breathily. “Must I do all the work, my sweet?”

You would have cursed his ancestors had he not brought your dress down, tossing the clothing to the side and drinking in your bare figure. 

A breath shuddered out of him, certain that you could inhale the pure lust oozing from him. “I can’t…I cannot believe I went two years without…without this—”

The words were left unfinished as he wasted no time, indulging your mouth for moments before pouncing downwards, taking your left breast in his mouth and skimming his teeth softly against the nipple. The man was riling you up now, you taking his hair in your hands, certain you were trying to tear his locks out with the way you held onto him. Jihoon did not seem to mind, too occupied with your breasts to pay heed to your damage.

“Jihoon, please, I need you to—fuck!” cut off with his tongue encircling your breasts, you nearly had had enough. Your cunt ached for the final descent, your patience growing thin. “Please, I-I need you inside me!”

His answer was allowing one last lick to your right nipple, cold striking your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes glossed over with carnal delight. With his hand he ripped away the toga pooling at his hips, and his cock was freed, almost enraged to be cloaked away in silk. 

You looked like a fool staring at it, but you could not help it—you did not remember it being so huge, even though it has been inside you countless times. Another piece of evidence that he had been away from you long enough.

“Ogled enough, darling?” his voice snapped you back, and you were almost embarrassed at the shit-eating grin that lit up his face. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you could not say more, you being silenced with his searing kiss. 

Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours, black locks tickling your cheeks as he held your one side in one hand, and his cock in another.

Nudging your legs apart, the tip brushed against your folds, and your soul nearly departed from the ghost of a touch. “Careful,” he warned, thumb stroking your hip, and he stole a glance at you.

“I love you, vita,” he whispered.

And began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, slowly, ever so slowly, but with every inch you felt each layer of your spirit stop to a standstill. Jihoon never stopped watching—catching your parted mouth, the shallow, uneven breaths you took, the knitted brows, your fingers holding onto him for dear life. He could not help it, see—these few seconds, these few, transitory moments, where both souls are on the edge of the world, and none know whether they’d hang on, or fall to their doom.

This moment encompassed such an image within the features of your face.

And he relished it. Captured the image, and used it as fuel to his carnal fire as he buried himself into you, releasing a breath he kept inside the entire time. Maybe it was after so long, but the two of you stayed still, your husband fearing you might snap. A frivolous thought, of course, but one can believe anything when one is so vulnerable.

One look from you, though, had his doubts disappearing in an instant. You let a small smile escape, and it was all he needed before he slowly withdrew, the mere action so gratifying you wondered whether it was another one of your dreams, a vision granted by the mercy of the gods.

Maybe the gods were extra pleased, for Jihoon was no dream—only a very pleasing reality, waiting for your whimpers to fill the room before thrusting back into you again. The rhythm was beginning to strike, and you were its follower; the shy hesitations started to fade, and you could feel his desire burning with every slide out, and every slide in of his cock into you, holding onto your hips to keep you steady. 

With each thrust you felt the stakes of your pleasure reach higher and higher. Tendrils of delight rippled through you with his movements, quickening yet keeping his fluidity, like an elegant dancer in a warfield, somehow managing to emerge victorious with his body alone. Of course, you could never doubt your husband. He was the favourite of the Empire for a reason.

“By the gods, you—” he plunged into you once more, and he grazed a certain spot inside you that had you seeing the universes. “You’re so fucking good to me, you—”

Never finishing his sentences, never even finishing his line of thought, the sole thing in his mind being your delicious fucking folds, your cunt which felt so perfect around his cock. He leaned in further, teething sweet love bites onto your neck, revelling in your pleasured groaning, growing louder and louder with each quickened thrust. “Yes, vita, just like that!” he exclaimed, never stopping. “For all of Rome to hear!”

He did not care a bit if the world heard them now. All that mattered to him was you, you and only you.

More so when that familiar, growing ache of nerves was back, warning you of your impending release. Jihoon was ruthless to you, relentless with his cock, unforgiving with his tongue and teeth which managed to devour your every inch. There was no escaping it—the ache was like a tightened knot, with his actions well on its way to unravel it.

“I-I’m close, Jihoon,” you breathed out, pressing your lips on his chest, his shoulder, anything you could grasp. “Please, love, I need to—”

“I know, vita,” he guttered, as if he, too, was close. He did not care much for that, though, when all he could focus on was you, all broken words and teary gazes beneath him. “I know.”

To add even more to your doom, he brought back an older prospect, fingers circling your clit and heightening the delight swirling within your gut ten times over. The nerves were pumping, faster and faster, and you were deathly aware that it was now or never.

Your eyes, seeing stars throughout, found your husband within the mist of desire. “J-Jihoon…”

Everything was forgotten. Not a word remembered in the fog of your mind but your vita’s name, your lover’s name, bright as the summer sun, as bold as the royal colours he adorned in his triumph.

As true as the love never lost between the two of you.

It was enough for the Eagle of Rome to capture your lips, holding you in a heart-wrenching kiss.

It was enough for you to completely ruin yourself.

Your cries drowned onto his mouth as release came crashing, legs shaking as you died and resurrected all at once, came undone within his hold. The world slipped away in that moment, with him as your anchor, saving you from being eternally lost.

While you lay breathless, Jihoon slipped himself out of you, breaking away from your kiss to cry out himself, spilling himself onto you and the sheets. A haggard fuck escaped him, arcing over you before throwing himself beside you. 

Silence welcomed you after that.

The din of the party remained, and both of you gasping, but a silence followed, like a warm winter blanket. Both of you stared at the ceiling, the moonlit parts of the surfaces, trying to catch your breaths after what you both just experienced.

Turning your head, you caught Jihoon already stealing glances. They were heavy-lidded, unsurprisingly, yet you found it endearing, despite the circumstances.

“What?” you got out, cocking your head at his soft staring.

He shook his head, smiling tiredly. He stretched his arm out towards you, murmuring, “Come here.”

Obliging, you followed under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Despite the granite-hardness of his body, no other surface would suffice. Your head rose and fell along to his uneven breathing, a small comfort. 

As the general gazed down at you, the softness returned; his thumb stroked along your cheeks. “I…” he began, voice huskier than usual, you humming in satisfaction. 

“Yes?” you got out, hanging onto his every word. 

Glancing away for a second, he looked to the window, and the view it offered of the world beyond.

He then glanced back at you, a better world he had found of his own.

“I am…so happy…” he whispered. Whispered because he had to tell his world what he felt. “So happy to come back to you.”

Your heart but into a thousand butterflies.

A smile as wide as you could muster was your response.

And as he continued stroking your hair, and you leaning into his hold, you too, knew that you felt the exact same.

For the Eagle of Rome had returned to you at last.

CENTURION LEE CHAN HAD WITNESSED HORRORS.

He had seen thousands of dead men, scattered across the sands of Egypt. He had seen ships sink before his very eyes—by the gods, he had even seen the beginnings of death, when he nearly drowned at the final naval battle that secured Legacy Legion its victory.

None of these events, however, made him more queasy as realising that you, while you were laid beside your husband, were not experiencing intoxication from honey wine. It was an exhilaration of a completely unusual kind, a feeling that had the tips of his ears reddening. 

His fellow men’s reactions only made it worse. “What did you think they were going to do?” Seungkwan only demanded. “Sleep it off on their first night together?”

“Well, how was I to know?” the youngest visibly shivered. “I do not know how married people work.”

“Poor soul,” Soonyoung tutted out, no plans for pausing his drink. “I fear for when he is to wed.”

“I still do not understand,” Seokmin voiced out. “They have a whole child together. How did you not…”

“My apologies for not pondering over our general’s intimate life,” Chan grumbled. “How idiotic of me.”

“Do not mind these deviants,” Wonwoo assured him, handing him a fresh cup of wine. “You just drink their awful comments away.”

He spared a fearful glance at the cup, filled with honey wine. “I should not,” he meant to declare in a confident stance. His voice, already weakened from a previous revelation of his commander’s, had rendered his declaration as a childish mumble. “The baby would need my attention sooner or later.”

“Fuck the baby!” was Seokmin’s great exclamation, clicking his tongue. “He is already the star guest of this damned celebration. We—!” he patted his chest repeatedly—”We were supposed to be the ones our people fawn over!”

“Your need for attention never fails to astound me,” Wonwoo remarked, circling his drink. “The boy was named after our murdered friend.”

“It happens to men like Seokmin,” Seungkwan drawled, slinging an arm around him, “To those men who received no attention at home.”

“Fuck off!” Seokmin jeered, rasped out from the alcohol buzzing in his system. “At least our Roman women fawned over me this afternoon. Where were your girls?”

“My, my, our dear Seokmin’s imagination runs so wild!” The second-youngest cooed condescendingly, grabbing Wonwoo’s cup, which had the latter furrowing his brows. “He dreams of female attention when we have seen no evidence of it!”

Soonyoung wished to join in on the bullying, chiming in, “And now he envies a child that cannot control its own piss!”

As everyone laughed at the poor, drunk soul, who genuinely looked as if he might cry, Wonwoo waved his large hands around, as if attempting to calm everyone down. “No more harassing the unloved virgin.”

“We were not talking about Chan though,” Soonyoung instantly piped up, his next said-target narrowing his eyes. 

“Just because I choose to save myself for someone I love,” he grumbled, which had chuckling resonating around the group.

“Gods help her when she turns up, then,” Seungkwan sighed out, drinking Wonwoo’s wine. 

Perhaps Chan might have said something in retort—might have even garnered the strength to punch the honey wine out of his friend’s insides when one of the servants came hurrying. 

He identified her as Myrtia, your personal maid, who looked incredibly distressed. “Centurion Lee,” she immediately began, “Seungcheol keeps crying!”

“Oh, gods,” Soonyoung crowed, “Wet-nurse first, soldier second, is it?”

“At least he is not a whore first, Soonyoung,” Seokmin muttered.

“Both of you, shut up!” Chan finally snapped, turning to Myrtia once more. “Where is he right now? Will _____ not tend to him?”

“Our dear _____ is a little occupied being tended to herself, remember?” Seungkwan reminded him, his smirk malicious. 

The youngest flushed scarlet, shaking his head. “Right, of course…” He heaved himself off the cushions, to much of his friends’ agitation. “I will see what to do.”

“What?” Soonyoung sat up, but the alcoholic daze had him swaying slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, don’t just leave!” 

“Take me to Cheol,” Chan said to Myrtia, but before she could even agree, four rounds of disapproving voices hurled towards the poor boy.

“No!” Seungkwan exclaimed first, taking great pains to hoist himself off the long tables. “No, no, you cannot go on your own!”

“Exactly!” Seokmin joined in, using Seungkwan’s toga to try hauling himself up. “You will die in there!” 

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, even though he, too, was beginning to follow after his friends. “Chan is not going to die with a mere child.”

Chan watched his superiors rise carelessly from their furnishings, already feeling a little frantic. “What are you all doing?”

“Why, coming with you, of course!” 

“Myrtia, my sweet,” Soonyoung purred, patting a hand on her shoulder, “You lead us straight to the baby!” 

Hurriedly nodding, she turned and headed towards the destination, five centurions hot on her heels as they were led down the familiar hallways. Chan muttered to himself, but did not have time to self-ponder when he was constantly being distracted.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Seokmin whined, holding onto the walls for support. “And since when did the lamps on _____’s walls start shaking?”

“It has not been a minute and you’re complaining!” Seungkwan snarked out. “It’s a wonder you managed to walk forty miles everyday, lazy git.” 

“Not lazy enough to slice your mouth right off!” 

“Just this door here,” Myrtia said, turning into the empty doorway, dipping her head in respect as she stepped out of the way, allowing Chan to enter first, the rest stumbling behind him. 

Sure enough, the first noise heard in everyone’s ears was the wailing—a screechy, whiny sound which reverberated off the stone walls, striking discomfort, irritation, turmoil in the hearts of whoever heard them. The man who felt it the most dashed to the cot, brows joining together in agitation over the sight of the baby. 

“You would think Chan was the father,” Seungkwan retorted. “Do something about this crying, boy!” 

“You really are heartless,” Wonwoo scolded, following after the youngest. Observing the crying child, he pursed his mouth into a thin line. “How does one…stop a baby from crying?”

“Only a mother can take care of her child,” Seokmin voiced out, as if he thought of a ground-breaking notion akin to Plato’s wisdom. 

“We are not disturbing _____,” Seungkwan rebuked, shaking his head vigorously. “Those two have waited nearly two years to fuck each other again.”

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!”

“I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered.

“Yes, so a baby in my eyes!” 

“Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.” 

I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

As the rest started grumbling amongst themselves, the youngest gently picked up the bundle, slowly rocking him in hopes to calm the crying. Seungcheol’s face was reddened with the constant sorrow, and it broke Chan’s heart a little, hoping that he would gain some newfound power and solve whatever problem ailed him. 

A sigh escaping him, he began to mumble sweet nothings to him, morphing those whispers in a quaint song he heard from his own childhood. His melody was like honey wine, words so soft, his voice so sweet, that the men that accompanied him began to quieten, turning their heads to the origin.

Wonwoo watched the scene, smiling lop-sidedly. “You are a natural!”

“It is quite embarrassing,” Seokmin admitted, scratching the back of his head, “That the youngest of us is the only one able to calm a child.”

“None of us claimed to be good with children,” Seungkwan thought out loud, observing the younger soldier tend to the sobbing, which had quietened to mere whimpers. 

Soonyoung tried to raise a brow—strong on tried, but he was too drunk to carry out such a simple action. “You always boasted of your relationships with your nieces and nephews.”

“That is different. I could care less about random urchins.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaimed. “Seungcheol is no urchin.”

“He was though, was he not?” The man scoffed, albeit a bit tenderly as he began to reminisce. “Gods, did you forget how insufferable he was?”

“Always on our arses, too,” Soonyoung agreed, snickering. “Do you remember when he got us in shit with Octavian?”

“Talking back to Caesar’s successor during our first military session.” Wonwoo visibly shivered. “The punishment still haunts me.”

But the distant memory only made the rest chuckle, as if the centurions had not received verbal lashings from the leader of Rome at that time. Silence bathed the room, only Seungcheol’s voice sputtering through the surface of calm. It had only been a meagre two-and-half years since the inspiration behind his name had passed, but with the hardships of the Alexandria campaign, it had felt like decades. Even Chan felt the age of this campaign, although he was young when he suffered the loss. 

He sensed the loss a little more that night as, walking away from the cot, he leaned against the wall. As if unable to stand, he let his legs buckle a little, sliding down and settling on the floor, feet spreading out before him. “I sometimes see him in my dreams,” he admitted. 

There was a heavy pause. 

Then, “He visited me more a year back.”

Everyone focused on Soonyoung. Travelling to where his youngest friend sat, he copied his position, continuing, “I told Jihoon about it, actually, right before Actium…I deemed it a sign of the gods.” A small laugh huffed out of him. “He then corrected me, saying it was all Cheol.”

“Typical,” Seungkwan said, smiling. “Take all the might of the gods and reward himself for it.”

“I cannot blame him, though,” Wonwoo countered, wandering over to the seated duo, looking down at their general’s son. “A loss of faith can come with a loss of a loved one.”

“Yes, but look at us now!” Seokmin reasoned, gesturing to them all. “Victors of the coming generation!” 

“But these so-called ‘Victors’ cannot stop a baby from crying,” Wonwoo murmured, sitting beside Chan. “I doubt we deserve that title.”

“Hey, at least Chan deserves it.” Seokmin hurried to sit beside the former, watching tenderly over at the baby. “Look, he is silent now!” 

“No way!” Seungkwan exclaimed, sauntering to the group and settling beside Soonyoung, reaching over to inspect the claim.

Sure enough—at the centre of the most powerful soldiers in Rome, almost slumbering in complete peace, was a silent Seungcheol, happy Seungcheol as he stirred only if Chan moved his hand, or shifted his legs. It was not as if they had not seen a mere child before, but, once again, this bundle, so full of life, was different. This was their commander’s legacy. Their leader’s soul extended from his own life-force, his evidence that he loved. 

This Seungcheol that the five men stared at was the new beginning. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Do you think he looks more like one over the other?” Wonwoo asked.

“All babies look the same to me,” Seokmin offered his opinion. 

By Seungkwan’s incredulous glance, it seemed it was not appreciated. “No one let this idiot have a child of his own.”

The accused frowned, genuinely hurt. “Hey! I should like to have a family one day. Give you all opportunity to become uncles again.”

“I would recognise your baby anywhere,” Soonyoung crowed, “Because it shall be the ugliest out of ours.”

The gasp that escaped Seokmin had Chan choking out a laugh. Seungcheol stirred at the action, which had the latter immediately stilling. “You guys need to insult each other’s future children a little quieter,” he whispered. 

The former had other plans, though. “Wait, can I hold him?” 

Chan shot a concerned glance. “Fine, but be careful!” he insisted, slowly handing over the bundle to Wonwoo, who, after smiling at him, passed him over at the end. 

Seokmin began rocking the child, who glanced up at him, languidly blinking up at the soldier. He was ecstatic, softly touching the tiny nose, and feeling his mouth widen into a grin. “See? He likes me already!”

“Yeah, after Chan has done all the hard labour,” Wonwoo commented, beaming at the baby’s expression. 

“I want Cheol after you,” Soonyoung demanded, crossing his arms, “So he can see what a real man is like.”

“Real jester, more like,” Seungkwan muttered, earning himself a hard elbow in the side. 

What Seokmin wanted to do was tell the eldest to wait his turn. He did not have the opportunity when he smelt the air around him, and found it most foul.

Chan noticed it immediately as well, and within the next few seconds, the others caught on. Five pairs of eyes whirled to the baby, who had the audacity to giggle.

Seokmin let out a scream. 

“BY THE FUCKING GODS—!”

Everyone scrambled to their feat, the rest struggling to hold back their amusement. “Not so loud!” Chan hissed, though he was restraining a laugh, only successful by the finger on his lips. 

“Stupid damned baby!” Seokmin screeched, holding the bundle at arms length. 

Wonwoo could not help his laugh, which spluttered out of him. “You cannot blame a baby for acting like one! It is like scolding a dog for running after a bone.”

The comparison had Soonyoung bellowing out, holding his stomach. “I always knew Seungcheol was annoying, but shitting on us is another low!”

Seokmin visibly shivered, patience running thin. “I hope he is rotting in the underworld,” he cursed, completely merciless. 

“I hope he is laughing at you,” Seungkwan prayed instead, wiping a few tears from his eyes. 

Chan only shook his head, walking to the doorway and stretching his head out. “Myrtia!” he called out, catching her tending to the guests in the dining areas. 

Quickly she arrived at the scene, understanding immediately what had occurred, judging by the men’s reactions. “Hand him over, Centurion,” she ordered, he obliging her instantly. 

“Sorry?” Seokmin offered, as if he was the one who soiled his toga. That had the others laughing even more, which had him furrowing his brows. “You men are the worst!”

“After ruining Chan’s night with all our complaints, it is only fair that we turn to you!” Soonyong explained, as if that was perfectly reasonable. 

Seungkwan cackled darkly. “We really are each other’s worst enemy.”

Wonwoo somehow found that incredibly sentimental. “I would not have it any other way,” he said, slinging his arm around Chan, ushering the other three to join in. “After all, who knows us better?”

“You make a stellar point!” The eldest clasped onto Chan’s free side, poking him in the cheek. “I would not wish to befriend any other wretched bastard.”

“You do not possess the ability to make friends, Soonyoung,” Seungkwan pointed out. 

“Then what are we?” Seokmin demanded, offended, the last to join the group. 

“Comrades?”

“Colleagues?”

“People who have seen me naked?”

But it was Chan, who was quiet all this time, observing his older—usually irritating, sometimes diabolical, yet always beloved—superiors, there formed an answer which had been settled in his heart the moment he had found their company nearly a decade back.

“Brothers.”

The men surrounding him stilled, gawking at the centre of their group—the centre that was always the core of their brotherhood. Although there was ample opportunity to poke fun at the situation, they found no ground for such humiliation. They only watched as, in an almost comical image, four pairs of eyes softened at the boy who had grown right in front of them. 

Wonwoo ruffled the youngest’s mop of waves. “And you are the dearest out of us all.”

“And do not forget it,” Seungkwan said. “Even if we make you seem otherwise.”

Chan smiled at them all, face flushing at the amount of attention received. A comfortable silence fell over them, everyone pondering over different notions, reminiscing of their times together. 

Soonyoung, however, possibly still a little intoxicated, thought of a completely different opportunity—thoughts of the very near future. 

“Men,” he began, “I have a proposition.”

The soldiers perked up, about to brace themselves for a revolutionary idea.

“Who wants to spy on Jihoon and _____?”

There was a momentary pause. Chan, visibly horrified, whirled his head left and right, praying to the gods that his fellow brothers felt the same. 

“Go on, then.” 

And as the four eldest centurions shuffled to the nursery’s entrance, Chan scrambled for a solution, because he would have rather been Mark Antony’s prisoner than listen to his commander and his wife…solidify their reunion.

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Wait!” 

The men paused, looking over their shoulders. “What is it?”

That intake of breath was released in complete devastation. So much for calling these utter shits brothers. 

“How about we all drink? I shall…” A hard gulp. “I shall join you properly all this time.”

They could not believe it at first. Chan, however, trudged over to them, grabbing onto whatever shoulder was nearest. “I mean it.”

He swore his brothers seemed happier in that moment than they had been cradling Jihoon’s child. 

“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Soonyoung roared, already leaving the entrance. “Let us empty the coffers!” 

And as the five most powerful men in Rome ran to be utterly gone with alcohol, Chan could not help but huff out a laugh, and hoped he had done his primus pilus a favour. 

YOU HAD ALWAYS ADORED THE WAY YOUR HUSBAND SLEPT.

As one of the most esteemed, strongest generals ever walked on Roman soil, Lee Jihoon looked as vulnerable as your baby son as he lay next to you. His body rose and fell with every breath, his arm a strong comfort around you. 

You could not help the smile that slipped past your mouth, watching him rest so peacefully after two years. You loved every single inch of your husband, but these little pieces of him, offered to you on rare occasions—with the sun bleeding through the bedroom windows, cool air drifting inside, kissing your skin—were a treasure rarer than all the wealths of the empire. 

You dared not wake him, lest the moment ended, only allowing your fingers to stretch a little forward. Your fingertips caressed the small cuts, scars on his skin, wishing you could fill every crevice of his battle-worn face with your liquid love. 

How beautiful he was, with or without what his experiences added onto him. 

Perhaps he could feel the adoration radiating off of you, for he began to stir faintly, humming to your caresses. His arm around you pulled you closer, and you were mere inches from face. 

What fortune to be so close to him, because you witnessed his eyes flutter open. Dark, chocolate irises welcomed you, and you wished with your heart that you could dive into them, and be forever lost in their haze.

“Morning,” you uttered, smiling.

He offered a lazy one in return. “Morning, my love.”

You almost beamed. “I love it when you say that.” 

His brow raised absentmindedly. “What? Morning?”

You tutted. “I think you need to sleep some more.”

“Hmmm…” he nuzzled into your neck, closing his eyes. “I will if you sleep with me.”

“But I already am.”

He craned his head back, nestled in your chest. “I think you know what I mean, vita.”

Involuntarily, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, and by the look on Jihoon’s face, he had half a mind to copy your actions.

Perhaps you would have let him too, if you did not hear a suspicious sound.

You perked up, head turning towards the door, where the origins of the voice—voices, as you listened in—lay. Your husband, catching onto your change of countenance, stretched himself before sitting up straighter, eyes squinting at the door.

Grabbing onto your clothes, which lay unceremoniously on the floor, you half-dressed yourselves before you reached just before the entrance of the room. The voices were much louder, a sense of agitation filling each one.

The loudest of the noise, amongst all the bickering, was a soft wail.

“—you stupid prick, I told you not to feed it that!”

“Well how was I supposed to know what it likes?”

“I hope you and Seokmin never have children—”

“Gods, Jihoon is going to be raging mad—!”

“What it deserves for being called Cheol—!”

You did not get to hear the end of the discussion, for Jihoon grabbed onto the doorknob and burst open the door.

Shrieks were heard on the entrance, five centurions stumbling into your bedroom, one with a special, wailing package in his hand.

“By the gods!” your husband exclaimed, shaking his head at his subordinates, scrambling to stand straight. “What are you all doing, muttering about behind our door?”

“Uhh…general!” Wonwoo declared, earning a sharp hiss from his friends. “We actually…uhhh…” He looked at the others, confused. “What were we here for?”

Soonyoung, rubbing his temples, seethed, “Seungcheol, you idiot!”

“Ah, yes!” Wonwoo straightened, deepening his voice to pretend sobriety. “Seungcheol!” 

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “But Seungcheol died years ago!”

Seungkwan then smacked him around the head. “Not that Seungcheol, you fucking idiot!”

You are the fucking idiot, you ugly bastard!”

You glanced at Chan, whose focus only lay on the crying child. The one who held him looked as if he might burst into tears too, but you spoke up before you had any more crying children in the house. “Here, let me tend to him.”

The boy handed you your son, but you noticed he dared not look you in the eye. “Is something the matter?” you asked him softly.

Soonyoung scoffed at your question. “Silly little virgin has been shitting his toga ever since he heard you two fucking like rabid dogs.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” your husband guttered, which had the scolded-man shrinking back behind Wonwoo.

Seokmin snickered, Seungkwan smirking as you glanced at the youngest. “Chan…” you trailed off, not really sure on what to say.

Thankfully, your husband seemed to have a solution. “Chan, please grow up,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his tousled clothing. “You were holding my child mere seconds ago.”

“He just needs to stick his cock into someone,” Seungkwan said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

“Or something,” added Seokmin, the honey wine clearly still talking.

You saw Chan physically recoil from the statement. “What did you even have in mind?” Wonwoo asked, nose scrunching in distaste. “Actually, I do not want to know.” 

“Sober up, the lot of you,” you said, unable to stay serious, despite the death glares Jihoon offered them. “I need you all to help me clean the place up today.”

Everyone unanimously groaned, causing the latter to get irritated. “If I hear a sound from you pathetic drunkards, then it’s 40 miles around the city.”

Soonyoung turned his head to you, clearly exasperated. “_____, did you bite his cock or something?”

“Soonyoung!” You gasped. 

“I need to lie down,” Wonwoo groaned, turning towards the door. “I shall be dunking myself in a well nearby.”

“Take Seokmin with you,” Seungkwan drawled, fixing his hair. “Maybe this time he will actually drown.”

“If I drown little man, I’m taking you with me,” the man snapped. 

“Chan, dear, please sort them out,” you requested, hearing him sigh.

“I shall try my best, my lady,” he mumbled, knowing that his best efforts will be in vain. 

As he began to leave, you called out his name. He looked back, and you smiled as you rocked Seungcheol in your arms. “You are his favourite, Chan.”

The revelation had his frown morphing into a small smile, bowing his head ever so slightly before turning to his centurions. “Let us give our general some privacy.”

Seokmin grumbled underneath his breath, following after Chan. “As if they had not had enough privacy…could have made another baby for all we know…”

Jihoon focused his gaze on Soonyoung and Seungkwan. “Remember. No fucking about or it’s 40 miles.”

The latter waved his hand, opening the door. “Yes, yes, we are aware.”

Soonyoung mocked a salute, adorning a most dramatic drawl. “Of course, your excellency, no doubt at all, your royal highness, please, do give us further idiotic orders to taunt us with, your magnanimous majesty!”

Jihoon’s glare did not waver. “Get out.”

“…right on, general.”

And so the last of the centurions were out, you standing at the door as they made to leave. Before they exited, though, they all simultaneously waved at you, some a bit too enthusiastically, others a soft gesture. 

“Ave, _____! Ave, general!”

And they left, laughing already with plans to bring more merriment into their lives.

Your husband joined you, leaning against the opposite door frame. “I have a feeling they’re going to drag poor Chan into some brothel.”

“I think the boy would pass out before that would take place,” you said, chuckling as you glanced down at your child. “At least he takes care of Cheol well.”

“Does he?“

“…better than the average soldier, then.”

“At least they had fun yesterday.” Jihoon took a step closer, observing his son giggling at his mother’s entertainment. “Though they test my patience everyday, they deserve all the reward.”

“Do not exclude yourself, my love,” you reminded him. “You did not enslave yourself to your armies to disregard yourself like that.”

“I do not exclude myself.” His hand reached out, holding Seungcheol’s little head. How strange, that his entire head could fit in his palm. “I am simply happy with what I have right now.”

He offered you a smile. “I am more than happy with you and my son beside me. I ask for nothing more.”

You returned his smile, heart bursting at the seams as he leaned in, enveloping your lips with his in a sweet kiss.

And as the two of you played with your son in the morning light of the Roman sun, you snuck glances at your husband, the light of the Empire. The Eagle of Rome.

Finally, your home was now complete.

[ihavethedreamies]

Only You | Bang Chan

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.6k

Pairing: King! Bang Chan x Noble! AFAB! Reader

Genre: Historical AU!, Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Married

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, First Times (Readers), Breeding Kink (a bit), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…), Big Dick! Chan (duh)

Summary: You are a nobleman's daughter and your father is struggling to find you a husband. The king refuses to marry all of the women brought to him and will not take any concubines. You end up meeting each other.

Author's Note: Oh boy! Here is the first part my dudes. I wanted to have this out sooner but I'm living with my uncle with my parents right now and so I don't have the same freedom to hole away in my room all day like I would prefer. Also can't really write smut in the living room with your dad like two seats away from you.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use, most of which are to do with the clothing they wear.

P.S. I only need to write the smut part for Lee Know's and Changbin's parts right now and then I can do the others after. Hopefully I will have one if not both of those up tomorrow. Hopefully.

Also, if any of my historical information/words are inaccurate, I apologize, I did the best with what research I could and what I know from watching too many historical K-Dramas.

-> Series Hub <-

-> Lee Know's <-

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

Sighing deeply for a third time, you lazily turned the page of your book, head tilting to rest on your shoulder. Your braid fell over your shoulder, the purple daenggi draping down and covering the characters in the book. Didn't matter, you weren't really reading it anyway. Already had several times. It was nearly impossible to get books you hadn't already read several times, or things that were actually interesting to you, because your father wouldn't let you get them. Most of the books not directed toward women that you had, you more or less smuggled into your house. Because of that, it was hard to get more, and so you were once again bored with your choices. A delicate breeze wafted in through the open window, a small bird flittering down to rest on the sill. You looked over its various shades of brown feathers and you wondered if you could ever get a book for studying birds. Probably possible, but not probable. Men don't want women that know more than them, that's why you can't keep a suitor. Your father's voice echoed in your head, and you rolled your eyes. Unfortunately, though, it seemed he was right. You had many suitors out of the sons of noblemen, but none of them stayed around too long when your conversations turned from dainty and feminine matters to things that actually made them think. Looking out to the sky, you wondered if there was anyone out there at all that wouldn't mind your learned state.

 ~~~

On a day you were actually able to go out, you were grateful it was your brother who could go with you. You both were wandering the various seller's stands and storefronts, only just glancing at most things. If you had a guard escorting you, you wouldn't be able to smuggle another book home, but your brother would help you. As you pretended to look over various different earrings, you cast a glance from under your sseugaechima to where your brother was at the book seller. Rummaging through what they had, he held a few up to look closer at the contents before putting them back down. Must all be fiction… Looking back at the wares before you, you nodded to the shopkeeper and moved on, instead looking at some shoes. You were closer then to your brother, enough that you could see when he held a book up toward you, pretending to rest it on his shoulder as he continued looking, like he was reserving it. When you caught his side glance, you shook your head no. Already had it. He sniffed, putting it back, and kept looking. As you moved on yourself, across the way, you watched a young nobleman sidle up next to your brother. He was a great deal shorter; it almost made you giggle, but you tried to remain inconspicuous.

"Oh, my lord, the book you were looking for arrived!" The book seller slipped inside his shop, coming back with a book you had never seen anything like before.

"I managed to get in contact with the Arab trader and he got it here all the way from the far west!" The book seller smiled wide, and you had fully turned around at that point, your brother looking over his shoulder at you.

"Thank you." The man smiled, handing over a significant string of mun before turning to leave. You weren't able to react fast enough, and he caught you looking at him. Well, not him, but the book he was holding. It was bound in what looked like leather and you had never seen writing like it.

"Wait, my lord, this as well!" The shopkeeper reached under his stall and the man went back, taking the locally bound book from him.

"Might be hard to read without the translation." The young lord smiled and then went to leave again, pointedly looking right at you as he did, a small smirk on his face.

"Let's follow him." You whispered to your brother, yanking him down to your level.

"Are you sure? He paid a lot for that, he's not just going to give it to you, and we don't have that kind of money on us."

"I just want to look at it, come on." You hissed out, following after the man before he got too far out of view. You heard your brother sigh dramatically, but he hurried after you anyway, making sure he didn't lose sight of you.

You finally managed to catch up with the man in a small courtyard behind a restaurant not yet open. He was standing at the edge of the stream, watching it, the two books held in his grasp as he rested his arms behind his back. Right as your brother caught up with you, the man turned around, a playful smile on his face. It was then you realized how gorgeous he was.

"Interested in this?" He turned toward you, holding the book up, and in your excitement, you dropped your sseugaechima, the garment fluttering to the ground.

"(Y/N)!" Your brother scolded, grabbing the head covering. You had moved so fast, you were already standing in front of the man, ogling the book. Even though he was probably four or even five chon shorter than your brother, he was still nearly a head taller than you.

"Aigo, put this back on." Your brother draped the garment back over your head, dragging you back by the shoulders a few steps.

"Wait!" You reached for the book, not having gotten to touch it, but your brother stepped in front of you. Stupid societal chauvinism.

"Apologies, my lord, but she's…intense about her hobby." You rolled your eyes behind your sibling.

"This isn't a normal book." The other man said, and you rolled your eyes harder. Obviously, that's why you wanted it!

"It's all the way from Dogil." Huh? Where?

"If she wants to look at it, she can." You shoved your brother out of the way, so hard he not just stumbled, but fell on his butt. The man held the book out to you and with shaky hands you took it. The text was so incredibly foreign, and when you flipped the book open, it didn't even look handwritten. Then again, you couldn't be sure since it was such a foreign script. Little symbols sat in the top corner of each page, and the words were horizontal rather than vertical. Each little letter was so small, the book cramped with lines. It was heavy too.

"This goes with it." The other man held the translation book up and snatched it from his hands without thinking.

"(Y/N)!" Your brother scolded, hurrying to get off the ground.

"She's fine." You moved toward a bench and sat down, opening the translation on top of the foreign text. Though, it wasn't a direct translation, just a catalog of what each word meant. It would take time to fully translate it.

"C-could I translate it fully?" You looked up at the man, your sseugaechima falling off your head again. He smiled and your heart skipped a beat, but you weren't sure if it was because he smiled, or what the smile meant.

"I would rather not just give it to you. What if you don't give it back?" His tone was slightly teasing. You deflated then and he held back a chuckle.

"You know, I have a lot of far western texts that I don't have the time to translate myself. You could come to my home and do it for me?"

"Wait-" Your brother's tone grew stern and you looked between them, the other man holding his hand up to stop the other's words.

"Rather improper I know. Though, the King can get away with quite a bit." The man was smirking, and your eyes widened. What?

"Y-You're-" You met your brother's gaze and you both fell to your knees before him, bowing so your foreheads touched your hands. Immediately, you realized how brazen your actions were. You were doomed.

"Don't worry about it." He waved you both off and you stood, head still bowed, avoiding looking at his face. Instead, you glanced back at the books. You wondered if the book seller even realized who he was. Your brother sat up, but remained on one knee, if he stood, he would be higher than the king. That was not allowed.

"What is your name? Who is your father?" He asked and you swallowed hard, trying to get words out. You spoke your name and family clan, as well as your father's name and rank. If he told your father about what happened, you would never be allowed to touch another book.

"Your age?

"Twenty-two."

"You're unmarried?" He raised a brow, and you nodded sheepishly. Reaching around your back to tug on the end of your braid, hanging down to signify your marital status.

"Your name?" He nodded to your brother, and he told him.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind showing me to your home. I would like to converse with your father." Oh, no.

~~~

Nervously pacing around your room, even down the halls through the building of the estate you inhabited, you wondered what was happening. You had scurried away like a scared mouse once you all returned to your home, looking behind you to the books held by the King. The King! Geez, you felt like you just escaped with your life. You heard your mother being summoned to go to your father and it had been nearly an hour of them talking.

"(Y/N)." You heard a whisper from outside your bedroom window as you wandered around it. You opened the shutters and your brother's head barely could look over the sill from where he stood on the narrow edge of the building's platform base.

"What's happening?" You whispered back.

"A servant just brought them our family registry."

"What?" Why the heck would they need that?! Unless…

"You think he's going to court me?" Your legs felt week, you weren't sure what to make of it. Your father had desperately wanted you married, but not enough to submit you to the palace. A life of luxury and prestige wasn't actually very safe. Most adversaries tended to target the women closest to the king since they were easier targets. You knew the King was unwed, and that the palace officials were just as fed up with him as your father was with you. Sure, you would rather marry someone for love, but that was hard to do as a noble. But if you did…that meant you could have access to the King's library. Was that his plan to let you translate his foreign books without it being improper? Honestly, you were fine with it. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. If marrying the king gave you access to even more knowledge and learning, than you would happily do it.

~~~

After the long meeting, the King left, and your mother came to inform you of the results. You were right, he wanted you to be his wife. But marrying a king to be the queen was much more intense than just being a concubine. Sure, the king had a lot of say, but so did his ministers and the Queen Dowager, his mother. Normally there was a long selection process, but instead you were brought to the palace and thoroughly analyzed by palace officials. They interviewed you rather extensively, then finally, his mother entered. After more questions, she left with the officials and you were left to sit in the pavilion, looking at the water, uncomfortable in your nicest hanbok ensemble. All of your fanciest accessories were in your hair, on your goreum was a heavy norigae, and heavy jade earrings sat in your ears. You twisted the jade ring on your finger in nervousness, feeling like you were waiting for hours. Soon though, the Queen Dowager reentered along with a few handmaidens and a eunuch. You had been approved of.

~~~

A grand dowry was sent to your family's estate, and in return your belongings were sent in as well. You were moved into a palace set aside for the future queen, and you were beyond grateful that your chest of books made it to your new home. Waiting for the actual ceremony and coronation, you were put through hours of etiquette training and lessons. Over the short time it took for you to learn everything, and have the ceremony and coronation performed, the King had spent a considerable amount of time with you. Every minute he could spare. He didn't want you, nor himself, to marry a stranger. Never having been in love, you were sure your feelings were either quite similar if not the predecessor for love. In a fleeting whisper he told you his name was Chan, of course it was part of his birth name rather than what he was crowned king with. He preferred you call him that though, even if you only could in private. When he could, he would bring a few of his foreign books for you to look at, but he said there wasn't time for you start the translations before all of the ceremonies. Chan seemed just as passionate about knowledge as you were, and that made you fall harder. And it appeared to work that way for him as well.

The day before the wedding, as he left before the time was improper, he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth with his soft lips. Your face blossomed red you were sure, and he chuckled gently to himself as he left.

The wedding itself was…a mess. Well, figuratively and only to you. You felt like you were being directed as a puppet going through so many specific rites and rituals. The most nerve-wracking part of the whole thing was being before so many people. Your tutor was proud you had learned all of your etiquette so well and you were ninety percent sure you did everything just right. By the time night fell, you were beyond exhausted. You weren't sure if you were more excited about your marriage, which felt more real thanks to your blooming feelings, or the future translation work. It was nice though that your love of scholarly pursuits didn't turn him away like all of your other potential suitors.

Finally, though, everything was more or less complete. You were wandering through the large room of the king's quarters, everything even fancier than where you had been. You picked at the white fabric of your sokchima, feeling naked despite being completely covered. Your hair was still in a chignon, the golden decorative binyeo holding it up made your head feel heavy. It was strange to have your hair up like that, but you were going to have to get used to it. For some reason, it felt nice to have that weight, signifying you were married, you honestly didn't want to take it out as much as you did. So, it stayed. You had bathed, rather, been washed by maids before going to the king's quarters. You presumed he too was washing up, and the longer he took, the more nervous you got. Finally, the side door that led further into the palace where the bath hall was, opened. Your heart thudded against your rib cage as you saw the King enter, also in white garments. He no longer had his headdress on, only the manggeon he wore under his crown was there. You wondered how long his hair was when down.

"My Queen." He smiled and you bit your lip, looking around almost like you were checking to see if anyone was around.

"What are you looking for, (Y/N)?" He stepped closer, hand going to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. All the lessons that had been drilled into you made you want to look away, but if he was okay with it…

"We're really alone?" Not even his Eunuch was there, he followed him everywhere as per his job description.

"Yes, my love." Your breath hitched, the term of affection hitting your heart, and you stepped just a bit closer.

"W-we-" He stepped once more, his lips placing a delicate peck on your forehead. Still not able to get any words out, his kisses moved to your cheekbone, the side of your mouth, then his hand cupped your jaw, tipping your head up. Your eyes met his and you couldn't keep yours from flitting to his lips. Chan smirked, and you gasped as he kissed you, hard. Your teeth clacked against each other at the force and your head swam, trying desperately to match his pace. You hadn't been kissed before, not like that. Chan himself had given you a few small pecks, but this was different. He was claiming you.

His strong hands gripped your waist, one sneaking down your back to pull you closer, the other sneaking up the ties of your sokchima. The hand on your back went even lower, gripping the flesh of your butt and you huffed, Chan's tongue sneaking its way in your mouth. When he withdrew, you heaved in breaths, heart racing and with a final tug, your sokchima fell to the floor, leaving you bare. You shivered, goosebumps rising on your skin, but his next actions distracted you from the embarrassment of being bare. He undid the ties of his own garments and as the white fabric pooled at his feet, your eyes rapidly danced over him. You were convinced he was molded directly by the deity of sex, because he was gorgeous.

"Oh." You sighed and he huffed a laugh, moving closer, taking your hands in his, and bringing them to the ties of his sokbaji. Your hands brushed over him through the cloth, and you froze.

"A-are you…?"

"No, love. But," his hands ran over the bare skin of your back, pulling you to him, your naked breasts pressing to him.

"I'll get there." Chan whispered in your ear, then he ran his tongue around the ridge, sucking on your earlobe. You whimpered, turning your head to allow him access, fingers clenching the hem on his pants. His lips then moved to your neck, laying searing kisses on the flesh, strong fingers digging into your skin, and when you were pulled even closer, you felt his cock hardening in his pants.

"Come with me, my love." He pulled away and you pouted in disappointment, making him laugh. The room spun as he yanked you to him, lightly shoving you on the raised bed. You huffed, then squeaked when he grabbed your ankles, yanking to the edge of the platform, kneeling on the floor below.

"W-Wait, Chan-!" You tried to close your legs, hide yourself from him, but he was too strong, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread.

"So cute." He hummed and your entire body jerked, back arching as you felt his tongue swipe through your folds, the sensation almost overwhelming. It was hard to get words out since you could barely take in air, your body immediately catching on fire, blood boiling. You heard him hum as he tasted you, and you flinched when his nose brushed your clit.

"C-Chan, it's too much!" You shuddered, not sure how to handle the sensation.

"I need to get you ready, love, I don't want to hurt you." He finished his statement by wiggling his tongue inside you. The foreign sensation made you clench, and he rubbed your tense thighs with his thumbs.

"Relax, pretty girl." You tried to do as he asked, taking measured breaths, whimpering when his tongue left you, flicking your button again. Heat pooled in your belly, rising fast and you logically knew what was coming, but had never felt it before.

"I-I…fuck!" Your head tossed back, and he groaned at the crass word leaving you. Chan kissed your clit and that sent you over the edge, wind roaring in your ears with your pulse, and you barely registered him filling you with a finger.

"You're so fucking tight sweetheart." The curse word riled you up more than it even did when you said it for him. He helped your ride out the orgasm with that finger, each press against your back wall seeming to draw out your climax. Finally, the waves dulled, then stopped, and you finally recognized his finger inside you. Because he did it when he did, it didn't hurt, but it felt weird.

"Oh, you're so good." He smiled wide, his normal warn grin was hot with lust. You mewled when he started to pump his finger, the wet squelch of your slick and release seemed to be louder than anything else.

"That got you nice and wet for me, but you're too tight." His thumb barely brushed your clit and your pussy clenched, body jerking again, it almost hurt.

"Sorry, love." He continued with the single digit and at some point, he decided to continue and you let out a shuddering breath when he added a second. That…didn't hurt per se, the slight burn of the stretch was somehow more pleasurable than painful, and you wondered how much his dick would make you sting.

"Oh, oh my." You tried to hold back a whiny moan when his fingers wiggled and spread, getting you further prepared, the same pleasurable feeling starting to build back.

"Ah!" Chan added a third finger, and you lifted your head to look at him, one knee resting on the bed so he could kneel over you. Eyes flitting down, you noticed the tent in his white pants, and you swallowed hard. You didn't have any metric to go by since you had never been with or even seen a man naked, but-

"That won't fit." You whimpered, not even seeing him bare yet. Chan huffed a surprised laugh, looking at himself.

"I promise it will." His fingers crooked up again, hitting some intense spot inside you and you shivered at the sudden intensity.

"N-no, no, no!" You whined when he removed his fingers, the pleasure had begun to crest and even if it was overwhelming, it did feel good.

"Hold on, love, I'll fill you back up." You propped on your elbows to watch him, the tie of his sokbaji coming undone by his fingers, then the garment fell. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen.

"Won't fit." You gasped out and he had a hard time controlling his smug grin.

"Let's see about that." He scooped you up in his arms, moving you up the bed so your head could rest on the pillow. The cool silk of the bedding did nothing to quell the fire Chan had set on your skin, especially not when he propped himself over you.

"I love you." He leaned down, nose rubbing over yours and you giggled at the innocent gesture.

"I love you too." Your hands cupped his face, and he kissed you again, gentler than the first. Distracting you with the kiss, he hitched one of your knees over his elbow, his free arm bringing his hands back to your slick cunt. His fingers ran through your arousal, then he pumped his fist over his hard cock, bringing the fat head to your entrance. Chan pulled back from the kiss, bringing your hands up to his shoulders.

"Dig your nails in if you have to." You should have taken it as a warning, not really sure what he meant. When his cock breached your core, the heated burn seared through not just your cunt, but all the way through you. Your back arched, and your mouth hung open in a quiet scream. You couldn't tell whether it hurt or was such an intense pleasure your body malfunctioned. His cock pressed deeper, and you could feel his pulse inside you.

"So tight, fuck, hmm, love your just perfect." He groaned, relishing the sting of your nails digging into his skin. After what felt like an eternity, he bottomed out, the head of his dick kissing your womb.

"Y-you're in my throat." You gasped, trying not to clench around him too much, cunt stinging but weeping, a drop of your slick hitting the bedding.

"Does it hurt?" His hand brushed some sweat-dampened strands of hair from your brow, and you shuddered through some breaths.

"I-I don't know." You had never felt anything like it before, obviously, and your brain seemed to be stopping and starting again over and over. He was being so patient, letting you adjust, but he shifted his weight differently, changing the angle slightly and the sting faded, pleasure rising, and you couldn't get words out again. He must have noticed the change in your gummy walls' pulsing, because he grinded into you slightly and, stronger than before, you came.

"Woah." Chan forced himself to breathe through your orgasm, the tight vice of your pussy nearly sending him over the edge and gushes of your slick shined on your skin as well as his. Your vision dotted with stars and your head swam, you finally were able to gasp for air, panting as you returned to reality.

"Are you okay, love?" He stroked your cheek with his thumb, and you held his hand to your face with your own. You nodded, swallowing a buildup of saliva.

"Y-yes, you…you can move."

"Are you sure?"

"Please~!" Your like whimper heightened into a moan as he pulled back just a bit, going slowly back in to make sure it didn't hurt. It didn't. Sure, it felt like he was carving his cock through you, but it was more than good.

"Tell me, sweet, if I hurt you." The next thrust, he pulled back a bit further, and back in harder.

"Please, Chan, you- fuck!" He had picked up the pace just a bit, still going fairly slow, but the stretch of his fat cock was more than enough stimulation.

"D-don't-"

"Don't what, love?"

"Don't…oh, fuck, please, don't stop. Just-!" Your toes curled, throwing your head back, nails digging into the bedding as he pulled out about halfway, then buried inside you hard. He sat up more, slinging your other leg over his elbow as well, rolling his hips against yours. Chan's eyes skated all over you, beautiful and bare below him, and when he got to your face he groaned. Your eyes were hazy, mouth open, drool pooling from the corners of your lips. You had never felt anything even close to the pleasure he was wreaking on you. You couldn't think, and you seemed to lose strength in your body, the crest of another orgasm building.

"Shit- can't hold back anymore love." He grunted and you didn't have enough available thought process to react. He moved his hands to your thighs, pinning your knees up by your shoulders, then he pulled his fat cock out nearly all the way, and started to pound into you. Tears rose in your eyes from the overwhelming feeling, little squeals of delight forced out of you with each thrust and your cunt spasmed. Chan just thundered through your orgasm, not stopping or slowing and your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck, you're just perfect love." He huffed a laugh, "oh, I can't wait to fuck you full!" All you could focus on was the heat of his dick and how much hotter your womb would feel full of his cum.

"Pl-please! Chan, please, fuck!" You gasped, his pace growing unsteady, and he finally fucked as deep as he could, hot ropes of cum filling you and painting your cunt white. Your belly was on fire and a combined glob of both of your releases dripped out from where your bodies met. As Chan panted, looking down at your fucked out state, he smiled.

"You're my wife now, only you."

Daenggi - the ribbon that was tied around a unmarried girl's braid. Sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over their heads. Mun - Joseon Era Korean currency Chon - historical unit of measurement, close to an inch. Dogil - Korean word for Germany, might not be completely accurate for the time. Hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. Goreum - the ties that fastened the top of a hanbok. Norigae - accessories that were tied to the goreum of women's handboks Sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. Binyeo - the long pin that would hold a woman's bun up, mostly used for married women. Manggeon - the mesh-like headband men wore to hold their hair in place. Sokbaji - pants-like under-garment, mostly worn by women actually…

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Taglist: @huldrelokken, @estella-novella, @astrobebba, @kayleefriedchicken, @rhonnie23, @cassandramrn, @qwonyoung23, @minghaosimp

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Love to Hate You [2]

Pairing: royal secretary!San x female scholar!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 10.7k 🤡

Summary: San prided himself on his knack for building easy connections with women, viewing himself as a trusted ally for the opposite gender. Thanks to his deep bonds with his mother and sister, he possessed keen insights into the female mindset. Never did he imagine facing the ire of a woman, until he encountered a resolute female scholar with a strong dislike towards men.

A/N: I'd recommend listening to Laufey's Valentine while reading this, the song is quite perfect for this spinoff.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"Now, tell me, why were you crying?" you inquired, halting at the doorway of your house, careful to shield your mother from the conversation. You understood that she would only blame herself if she knew he was upset, despite none of it being her fault. Deep down, you knew she carried the burden of not being able to protect her children, always feeling like an inadequate mother.

Siwoo shook his head, "It's nothing, noona. I just... I was just overwhelmed with all the schoolwork on my first day. But don't worry about me, I feel much better after letting it all out," he reassured, attempting to alleviate your concerns. Yet, you couldn't fully accept his explanation. While a part of you ached to think he might have been bullied by his classmates, as you had feared, another part of you swelled with pride at his resilience.

That's my boy.

"Is that so? Well, come on then, dinner might be ready," you responded, and he brightened at the mention of food. "Dinner sounds good, I'm starving! Mother, we're home!" he called out excitedly, darting into your modest abode almost immediately.

"How was school, Siwoo?" your mother asked, her fingers smoothing down his unruly hair as he dug into his meal with gusto. Siwoo grinned and nodded. "It was okay! Master Lee looked after me really well, just like noona said he would!" Your mother smiled warmly and wiped a stray bit of food from his cheek. "That's good to hear."

You couldn't help but smile at their exchange, though you sensed Siwoo's words were meant to reassure your mother more than convey his true feelings. While Master Lee might have looked after him in their presence, you knew all too well the dynamics of school life and the possibility of bullying when no adults were around. Unfortunately, he would have to learn to navigate those challenges, just as you had.

Finishing your meal, you tousled your brother's hair. "So, what did that man from earlier say to you?" Your mother raised a curious eyebrow. "Man? What man?" Siwoo perked up. "Oh, that kind hyung-nim! He was just making sure I was okay."

You scoffed. "Kind? You don't even know him. People can seem nice but have hidden motives. Don't trust too easily, or he might want something from you." Turning to your mother, you elaborated, "It's His Majesty's royal secretary. We had an unpleasant encounter at the palace. I had hoped never to see him again, but somehow he was at Siwoo's school when I went to pick him up. How many coincidences can there be? I'm certain he's up to something. So, you," you directed a stern look at your brother. "Don't entertain him if he shows up again, okay?"

Siwoo nodded reluctantly, his expression turning sullen. Your mother shook her head. "Or perhaps he's genuinely nice...? He's an important figure, after all. You shouldn't make an enemy out of him, dear. I worry for you." You offered her a reassuring smile. "I'll handle it, mother. Don't worry about me."

Later that night, as you lay in bed, the soft breathing of your brother beside you with a comforting rhythm, you couldn't help but feel a pang of bittersweet emotion. Siwoo, once the tiny bundle you cradled in your arms, had grown so quickly before your eyes. Memories of his infancy flooded your mind, the moments when you'd rocked him to sleep and comforted his tears.

Now, here he was, trying to shield his own emotions from you, not wanting to burden you with his struggles. Your heart swelled with both pride and a tinge of sadness as you gently stroked his head, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his forehead. How you wished he could remain your precious little brother forever, sheltered from life's harsh realities.

Yet, another part of you longed for him to mature, to become the pillar of strength this family needed. You yearned for the day when he would stand beside you as a protector, capable of shouldering the burdens that weighed heavily on your shoulders.

"Sweet dreams, little one," you whispered softly, your voice barely a whisper in the darkness. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, letting the tranquillity of the night envelop you as you drifted into slumber, your dreams filled with hopes for the future.

The next day unfolded much like the one before, with the familiar routine of dropping Siwoo off at school. Kneeling beside him, you tenderly adjusted his hanbok and smoothed down his hair, your actions a comforting ritual between siblings.

"Well, I have no new advice for you today, except to stay strong and not let the words of others affect you. Remember, they're just words, and you can choose not to let them bother you," you imparted, noticing the flicker of surprise in his eyes, as if he had been caught keeping secrets from you. With a warm smile, you gently pinched his cheeks to alleviate any worries he might have.

"Now, go on and get in there. And no causing trouble!" you teased, prompting a playful protest from Siwoo as he swatted your hands away and stuck out his tongue. "Bye, noona! See you later!" he called out cheerfully as he headed off to join his classmates.

As you watched him go, a soft smile lingered on your lips, filled with both pride and a touch of wistfulness.

He'll be fine; we've been over this.

You proceeded towards your educational institution to resume your own studies, putting aside worries about your brother for the moment. As you arrived at the entrance, you took a deep breath to ready yourself before entering, clutching your books tightly to your chest.

"Well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence. Miss Smarty Pants finally showed up. Heard she even resorted to borrowing books from the royal library," Namgil, the scholar with the wealthiest father and your longtime tormentor, remarked as he annoyingly strolled alongside you, trailed by his group of cronies. One of them chimed in with a smirk, "Poor thing can't even afford her own books. Maybe if she catches the eye of some high-ranking officials in the palace, she won't need to study so hard at all."

Maintaining a neutral expression, you continued walking towards the foyer, where you could begin your studies undisturbed with the presence of teachers. Despite the taunting remarks being a regular occurrence during your journey from the outside to the inside of the institution, you had grown accustomed to them.

Reaching the foyer, you pivoted to face the group with a wide, sarcastic grin. "Well, boys, have you had your fill? If we're done wasting precious time trying to bring others down to boost our own fragile egos, maybe we should focus on our studies. After all, if we want to avoid squandering dear old daddy's money, we'll need to graduate. Time's ticking, gentlemen. Are we going to remain stuck in this childish behaviour forever?"

The satisfaction was palpable as you flashed a victorious smile and turned to stride into the foyer, leaving them no room for a rebuttal as a teacher emerged to greet the group. They hastily composed themselves, offering respectful bows and pretending as though nothing had happened.

Fools, you thought to yourself. This was precisely why you harboured such disdain for men. They were simplistic creatures, falling into one of two categories. The first, like Namgil and his cronies, were openly mean-spirited, condescending, and misogynistic. The second, exemplified by Royal Secretary Choi, was the cunning, duplicitous types who sought to earn your trust through false kindness before exploiting you. In the end, they were all cut from the same cloth.

At the end of the session, following a quiz intended to assess everyone's preparedness for the final examination, you unsurprisingly emerged as the top scorer once again. The teacher's announcement was met with the usual mixture of reactions, but your attention was drawn to his subsequent remarks.

"Miss Moon, once again, you've secured the top spot. Namgil, while second place may seem like an achievement, you should feel nothing but shame. All of you should. It's unacceptable to be outperformed by a woman. Study harder; I expect to see a different outcome in the next quiz."

You shook your head in disbelief at the teacher's words, seething inwardly at his ingrained bias. The implication that a woman should not surpass men in intellect spoke volumes about his archaic mentality. You were tired of being spoken about as if you weren't in the room, tired of the inherent sexism that permeated every aspect of your academic life. Graduation couldn't come soon enough; you were determined to prove these narrow-minded individuals wrong.

I'll show you morons.

"Oh boy, I know that look," Haneul remarked, shaking her head with a disapproving sigh as San emerged from his room the next day. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, his usual enthusiasm and determination shone through. She suspected her discouraging words from the previous evening had backfired, knowing her brother was just an optimistic idiot like that.

He scoffed, "What do you know? Go home already, noona. Your husband might start to worry if you keep visiting so often."

With a smirk, she lightly whacked him on the head. "I'm leaving today, don't you worry. But don't say I didn't warn you when whatever silly plan you might have ends up falling through. You men just love learning things the hard way, don't you? Let her be, Sannie."

"Yeah, yeah. Safe travels. I'll catch you later."

Haneul rolled her eyes in defeat. "Fine, fine. Send me away like I'm a nuisance. You should learn something from little Siwoo."

Turning back with a sarcastic grin, the royal secretary teased, "If you say so... love you, noona!" and blew her exaggerated kisses, earning a mockingly disgusted reaction. "Yuck! Save that for your future wife, gross!" she exclaimed, pretending to gag.

San strode through the palace corridors with newfound determination, his mind buzzing with plans and possibilities. He greeted the palace staff with a bright smile and a confident demeanour, earning curious glances from those he passed.

As he approached the royal study, he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. Today was the day he would begin executing his plan, the day he would show Scholar Moon that he was different from the rest, that he was sincere in his intentions.

Entering the king's presence, San found himself greeted with the warm smile of His Majesty. The elderly man's eyes twinkled with amusement as he observed his secretary's energy.

"You seem quite cheerful today, Royal Secretary Choi. Anything exciting happening in your life?" the king inquired with a chuckle as their daily meeting concluded.

San's grin widened, his heart racing with anticipation. "I suppose so, Your Majesty. I won't say more until I see positive results," he replied cryptically, unknowingly leaving the king to interpret his words as he wished. Little did the fool know, his vague response led His Majesty to believe he was referring to romantic pursuits.

The king's face lit up. "Oh, I can't wait to hear the good news. Best of luck, my boy. That's all for today. Carry on with your tasks," he said with a playful wink, dismissing San with a clap of his hands.

Secretary Choi bowed deeply, feeling grateful. "Thank you, Your Majesty!" he exclaimed before leaving the royal study, his mind already buzzing with plans to win over the female scholar.

He made his way through the library, exchanging nods with a few scholars absorbed in their studies. As he searched the aisles, hope waned with each passing moment. Nearly ready to give up, he reluctantly admitted to himself that you might not be there today. With a resigned sigh, he turned to leave.

But as he moved to exit, a flash of movement caught his eye. Turning back, he was stunned to see you tucked away in a quiet corner, fast asleep amidst a pile of borrowed books. A wave of tenderness washed over him at the sight of your peaceful form, and he approached you with silent steps, not wanting to disturb your rest.

He couldn't resist the urge to approach and observe you, struck by how serene and angelic you appeared in your slumber, a stark contrast to your usual tough and guarded demeanour. Seeing the sunlight streaming in from the nearby window and casting a glare on your face, he settled into the seat opposite you. With a gentle touch, he lifted his hand to shield you from the brightness, intent on preserving your peaceful rest.

Looking down at you like this, perhaps it was his innate sense of chivalry, but it stirred an intense urge to protect you, to help shoulder some of the burdens you must be carrying on those delicate shoulders of yours. He couldn't shake the feeling of admiration mingled with empathy as he watched you, lost in tranquil slumber amidst the chaos of the world around you. With a soft sigh, he longed to offer you more than just protection from the sun's glare, yearning to provide solace and support in any way possible.

As he watched you stir, letting out a small groan before readjusting your head and settling back into sleep, he felt a slight panic. However, his worry melted away when he realised you were merely shifting in your slumber. A soft sigh escaped him, accompanied by a gentle smile and a flutter in his heart at how endearing you looked.

Gosh, she looks adorable.

Resting his head on his palm, he continued to observe, noting the subtle signs of exhaustion etched across your beautiful face. Unlike other girls or women who likely had access to luxurious skincare products or ample rest to maintain their beauty, it was evident that any resources you had were dedicated to supporting your family and pursuing your studies. His gaze drifted to your hands, noticing the dry skin, blunt nails and paper cuts, evidence of both physical labour and tireless studying.

Gazing at you, his mind wandered to the challenges and hardships you must have faced throughout your childhood, shaping you into the resilient and guarded person you are today. He pondered on the beliefs you held about men, likely influenced by your past experiences. Working in the palace, San was all too familiar with the despicable behaviour of some men, having witnessed their deceit and manipulation firsthand. He understood, perhaps more than most, your strong aversion and distrust of men.

Yet, in his heart, he believed that you hadn't met men like him and his friends—men of integrity and genuine kindness. Determined to prove to you that good men existed, he resolved to show you through his actions. He was determined to be the exception, to demonstrate that not all men were as duplicitous as those you had encountered before. And in that moment, as he watched over you, he silently vowed to be the beacon of goodness and sincerity that you deserved.

Lost in his contemplations, he was jolted back to reality when he felt your hand push his away. Startled, he blinked, realising that the sun he had been shielding you from was now obscured by clouds. Your voice, sharp and incredulous, pierced through his thoughts.

"What in the world do you think you're doing, Royal Secretary Choi?" you demanded, your tone laced with annoyance and curiosity.

Flustered and caught off guard by your abrupt interruption, San quickly cleared his throat and straightened in his seat, feeling the weight of your scrutiny upon him. He could only imagine how his actions must have appeared from your perspective: waking up to find an uninvited man seated across from you, hand raised in an attempt to shield you from the absent sun.

"I-I can explain," he stammered, scrambling to find the right words to justify his actions. "I was just trying to—"

But before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off with a sarcastic smile, your words dripping with disdain.

"Let me guess," you said, your tone biting. "You just wanted to help? I thought I made myself very clear yesterday, but it seems I might not have. In case you missed the point, I'll repeat it again: I don't need your help. Thank you very much."

With that, you gathered all the books in your arms and swiftly exited, leaving him feeling chastised and uncertain of how to proceed.

As he sat frozen in his seat, watching your retreating figure, the royal secretary couldn't help but admire your firm resolve. Instead of feeling discouraged by your rejection, he found himself respecting you even more for it. Your unwavering stance showed him that you weren't one to let someone into your life easily, and in a world where men could be deceitful and manipulative, that was a reassuring trait. He couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for you, even as he remained seated in the library, contemplating his next move.

Making your way out of the palace, your heart still raced from the encounter in the library as you clutched the stack of borrowed books close to your chest. Unbeknownst to Secretary Choi, you had been awake for some time, waiting to see what he would do, ready to catch him red-handed if he attempted anything untoward.

To your unpleasant surprise, you found that the glaring sun that had once been on your face was gone. Peeking through your lashes, you observed San going to great lengths to shield you from the brightness, even though he must have assumed you were still asleep. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about his character.

Even with his apparent kindness, you couldn't bring yourself to believe that he had done it without any ulterior motives. There had to be something he wanted from you; you were sure of it. You refused to let your guard down, you remained determined to stay wary of his intentions.

Despite your hopes that San would quit his efforts after the incident in the library, he proved to be annoyingly persistent. However, to your surprise, he no longer offered unsolicited help, seemingly aware that you had not asked for it. Instead, he chose a different approach to get closer to you.

Every day as you entered the palace, he greeted you with a bright smile and a friendly "good morning." You found his amiable demeanour irritating because it made it challenging for you to be rude to him when he was simply being a nice and sociable person. With no choice but to reciprocate his greetings, you returned them with a forced smile of your own, not wanting to appear impolite in front of other palace staff.

Today was no different, much to your dismay. Despite your multiple attempts to arrive either earlier or later than your usual time, he always seemed to be there. Deep down, you wanted to bluntly ask him if he had nothing better to do. Shouldn't a royal secretary be busy? Why was he always lingering around?

Approaching the entrance and spotting him, you couldn't help but slap a hand on your forehead in frustration. You tried to turn away, but he called out to you before you could make your escape.

"Scholar Moon! I see you're here early today. Good morning!" he exclaimed cheerfully.

You cursed under your breath and reluctantly turned back to feign a smile, bowing respectfully. "Indeed, I am... Good morning, Royal Secretary Choi," you replied through gritted teeth.

He beamed at you and gestured for you to join him. "Come, let us head in together!"

Letting out a sigh of disbelief, you put on your best fake smile and complied, knowing it wouldn't be in your best interest to be rude to someone of such high importance in front of other people. Damn it, you couldn't wait for the day to be over already.

Walking beside him, you sought a moment of tranquillity, but as expected, he initiated an unwanted conversation like always.

"How's Siwoo adjusting to school?" he asked, his tone overly chipper.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you briefly squeezed them shut before replying, "He's doing well. Thank you for asking."

His smile widened at your response. "That's great! I just hope he's feeling better than the last time I saw him. Poor boy was so upset."

You sighed, cutting him off before he could continue. "Yes, but he'll live—"

Before you could finish, a group of rushing court ladies surged around the corner. "Out of the way! Concubine Eom Heebin is giving birth!" Amidst the commotion, you were shoved aside, but a firm pair of arms caught you, guiding you to safety—San's arms.

You landed against his chest with a huff, and he peered down at you with wide eyes. "Careful there, watch your step! You alright?" His words lacked their usual formality, driven purely by instinct.

San gulped audibly, his gaze lingering on your features as if trying to memorise every detail. He marvelled at how beautiful you looked up close, relishing the sensation of holding you tightly against him. It felt strangely satisfying to shield you from danger, to have you vulnerable in his arms. There was an inexplicable desire within him to be the only one who knew how it felt to hold you like this.

Meanwhile, you felt a conflicting array of emotions swirling within you as you found yourself in his embrace. Despite your best efforts to maintain your dislike for him, you couldn't deny the unexpected sense of safety and comfort you felt in his arms. It unsettled you, this lack of disgust, and you hated how nice it felt, how it threatened to unravel the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart.

Realising your proximity, you blinked rapidly and pushed yourself away. "Y-yes, I'm fine. Thank you..." For once, you meant it.

Days passed, and you found yourself in a state of inner conflict whenever you were around him. Previously, you had to force yourself to maintain politeness and hide your disdain for him, but now, it was becoming increasingly difficult to be unpleasant.

You despised this newfound feeling of guilt he stirred within you, as if he was silently reproaching you for your past behaviour. Moreover, he continued to prove himself to be just as kind as everyone claimed, further complicating your emotions.

Hate brewed within you—not for the royal secretary as a person, but for the way he was challenging your beliefs about all men being alike. He made you start to doubt the certainties you once held dear, and you resented him for it. Most of all, you detested how he was making it difficult for you to maintain your animosity towards him.

Regardless of the swirling new emotions within you, one thing remained constant: your determination to avoid him at all costs. You were sick and tired of the conflicting feelings he stirred within you, and you knew that indulging in them would only serve as a distraction from your studies.

You needed to maintain your focus and drive, especially now when your responsibilities weighed heavily on your shoulders. The last thing you needed was to be sidetracked by unnecessary emotions brought about by a man, of all things.

But of course, life seemed determined to defy your efforts. Despite your best attempts to avoid him, it felt like he was everywhere you turned. With each passing day, you found yourself encountering him more frequently, almost as if he were purposely crossing your path.

The realisation was hard to swallow: you were seeing him more often than your own mother and younger brother combined. It was infuriating to admit, but no matter how hard you tried to evade him, he seemed to find a way to appear wherever you were.

As you finished up your studies and prepared to leave the palace, a sense of relief washed over you. Today had been the first in what felt like an eternity without a sighting of Royal Secretary Choi. Hope flickered in your heart as you packed up your belongings, eager to leave the palace behind and reunite with your little brother.

But just as you approached the main entrance, the sky darkened ominously. Thunder rumbled, and lightning streaked across the sky before a torrential downpour engulfed the area. "No, no, no, not now! Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" you muttered under your breath, feeling frustration bubbling up inside you.

With no umbrella to shield you from the rain, you hurried to seek refuge under the closest shelter you could find: the awning of a nearby building. The sudden change in weather dashed your hopes of a smooth departure, leaving you stranded and drenched.

The thought of Siwoo waiting for you added to your unease. You cursed your lack of preparation, knowing that he would now have to endure more time with his bullies. It was another setback in a day that had promised to be free of Choi San's presence.

Yep, I'm convinced god hates me.

While you sheltered under the awning, your gaze remained fixed on the entrance, torn between the desire to run out into the rain to your brother and the realisation that falling sick was not an option. Too many people depended on you—your mother, your brother, and all the women in need of your assistance. You couldn't afford to be unwell, not with so many responsibilities resting on your shoulders.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice a figure approaching from behind until the raindrops abruptly ceased falling around you. Looking up, you were met with the sight of an umbrella being held over your head. Startled, you turned to see San standing beside you, concern etched on his features.

"Are you alright, my lady? Please allow me to escort you to your destination," he said, his voice gentle and sincere.

The royal secretary's surprise was evident when he realised it was you, causing him to stumble over his words in an attempt to explain himself. "O-oh! It's you, Scholar Moon! I swear I didn't realise it was you, I thought you were a palace staff or someone else! I mean, I wasn't trying to offer help when you didn't want it, or maybe I was..."

He paused, then continued, "But I promise, I'm not making any assumptions! I can leave if you want me to... I'll leave the umbrella with you, of course, because obviously little Siwoo is waiting for you. Sorry, I don't mean to ramble... I just— here you go." Without waiting for your response, he thrust the umbrella into your hand and hurried off into the rain, leaving you standing frozen in bewilderment, trying to comprehend the unexpected encounter.

As you stood there, still holding the umbrella he had left behind, you couldn't shake off the words he had said. They lingered in your mind, his voice echoing gently, making you question your own feelings. For the first time, you understood why women might find him charming. Despite your resolve to dislike him, you couldn't deny his physical attractiveness and his gentlemanly nature.

But as you thought about it further, a new emotion crept in—an unsettling realisation that his kindness wasn't reserved for you alone. He would be just as sincere and helpful to anyone in need. Suddenly, a twinge of jealousy stirred within you. Why did it bother you that he treated others with kindness? Why did you feel upset that you weren't the only one receiving his attention? What was wrong with you?

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you grappled with these unfamiliar feelings. You couldn't understand why it mattered to you whether he was nice to everyone or not. But the fact that it did matter left you feeling even more bewildered. What were these emotions, and why the hell were they stirring within you now?

Lord, I must be out of my damn mind.

In the days that followed, your annoyance with San returned, but this time it was for a new reason—one you stubbornly refused to acknowledge. Despite your efforts to keep your distance and maintain your walls around him, you found it increasingly difficult to do so. His presence seemed to linger in your mind, his gentle demeanour and persistent kindness chipping away at your defences.

Meanwhile, the royal secretary remained hopeful after his recent encounters with you. He noticed the subtle changes in your behaviour—the once sarcastic smiles and curt words slowly giving way to genuine attempts to interact with him. He knew your pride was likely the barrier keeping you from fully opening up to him, but he was determined to break through it.

Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment he felt, but he found himself increasingly consumed by thoughts of you and the challenge of breaking down your barriers to earn your trust. Each day, he eagerly anticipated going to work, knowing he might catch a glimpse of your beautiful face. Lately, he noticed it revealing more than just anger and disdain—it showed hints of other emotions too. He longed to witness them all, to be the first and perhaps the only one to see them. He felt a swell of pride, both in himself and in your progress, even if you were unaware of it.

"You like her, don't you?" San's gaze snapped up to meet his mother's, his chewing momentarily halted as he raised a questioning brow. "What are you talking about, eomma?"

She grinned, gesturing towards the additional lunch box he had instructed the servants to prepare for work that day. "Oh, you mean Scholar Moon? I mean, yeah, I guess I do...? I like everyone," he responded with a cheerful beam. However, her expression shifted to one of knowingness as she crossed her arms over her chest. "That's not what I mean, you silly boy. You have feelings for her, don't you?"

He choked on his food in surprise at her assertion. "Huh? Wh-what makes you say that? You know about my mission to prove her prejudice wrong, that's all there is to it. I don't feel any differently about her than I do about any other lady."

With a knowing smirk, the elderly woman caused him to wince. It was the same sarcastic expression his sister always wore before delivering a harsh truth. "Oh yes, because you make a point to greet every female palace staff member every morning, ask about all their family members, never stop talking about them, and ensure to pack extra lunch for them all just like you do for Scholar Moon, isn't that right?"

As his mother's words settled in, a sudden revelation struck San like a bolt of lightning. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth that had been hidden from him until now. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had begun—perhaps it had lurked beneath the surface from the start, waiting for the right moment to surface.

He had been so preoccupied with proving to you that he was different, so focused on challenging your prejudices, that he hadn't stopped to consider his own feelings. What had started as a mission might have morphed into something more. The concern and care he felt for you went beyond mere kindness; it was a genuine desire to protect and support you.

Reflecting on the moments when you had occupied his thoughts—the incident in the library, the near-accident with the court ladies—he realised that his feelings ran deeper than he had admitted to himself. Even as he grappled with the conflict between wanting to take care of you and respecting your independence, he couldn't ignore the truth any longer. Choi San was a man with a lot of love to give, and he wasn't shy or ashamed to admit that he had developed feelings for you—feelings that transcended friendship or admiration. It was a realisation that both surprised and invigorated him, filling him with anticipation for what the future might hold.

But he wasn't stupid; he understood that acknowledging his feelings didn't equate to knowing yours or if you could ever reciprocate them. Despite this, he chose to find contentment in this understanding. He wouldn't expect anything from you in return. Your happiness would suffice to make him happy, even if it meant remaining mere acquaintances.

With this resolve, he bid his parents farewell before heading to work, his heart fluttering at the prospect of seeing you once more.

Later that afternoon, San strolled around the area where you often spent your lunch breaks. Spotting you in the secluded pavilion near the royal library, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. Instead of your usual packed lunch, you were nibbling on a meagre steamed bun. Approaching you with a grin, he greeted you.

"Good afternoon, Scholar Moon. I see you're having lunch as well," he greeted, and you nodded quickly, feeling self-conscious and embarrassed about your modest meal. Just as you were about to ask him what he wanted, he revealed the bag of lunchboxes he had been hiding behind his back.

"That's wonderful then. My family estate kitchen staff seemed to have made an extra set of lunch, and I was just wondering if maybe you would like to have it," he offered. You raised a sceptical eyebrow. "An extra set? That seems highly unlikely to happen."

He tried to maintain his composure despite being caught in a fib. "Fine. If you're not interested in it, I'm sure there are other palace staff who would enjoy it," he said, turning to leave. Panic surged within you as he started to walk away. "W-wait! I'll take it... please," you pleaded, reaching out to grasp his arm. With a satisfied nod, he settled down beside you.

That's what I thought.

As you opened the meticulously prepared lunchbox, a look of awe graced your features. The royal secretary chuckled at your adorable expression. He observed as you hesitated for a moment, glancing at him as if seeking approval before starting to eat. With a nod of encouragement, he joined in.

Little did you know, he had overheard some court ladies discussing the struggles faced by a female scholar, which could only be you, as you were the only one known. They recounted your struggles to afford essentials at home due to your brother's school fees and your own lack of income, all because of your dedication to your studies.

As you both began to eat, you didn't notice San biting his lip to hold back his laughter. Your eyes had widened and sparkled with innocent amazement at the flavours, a look he had never seen before. The sight made his heart flutter, confirming his feelings for you. He wanted to protect that innocence forever and be the only one to witness this endearing sight. He could easily picture spending time with you like this for life, and he knew he wouldn’t complain.

When you looked up and caught him staring, he quickly returned his gaze to his food. You blushed and checked your lips for any stray rice, wondering why he had been looking at you like that. Like a creep.

How annoying.

Relieved that there was nothing on your face, you continued eating. However, you furrowed your brows as you noticed the secretary picking at his food from the corner of your eye. Unable to contain your curiosity, you turned to see him pushing aside all the greens in his container. Raising an eyebrow, you asked, "Saving the best for last?"

He chortled, "Like hell I am."

Realising what was going on, you scoffed, "Seriously? The great Royal Secretary Choi doesn't eat his vegetables? Even my brother eats his. You should be ashamed of yourself."

He sputtered, clearly embarrassed, and you snickered at how flustered he appeared over your teasing. Glaring at you, he retorted, "Is that any way to talk to the kind samaritan who just treated you to lunch?"

You shrugged. "I'll treat anyone who doesn't eat their veggies the same way, with discrimination. If you won't eat them, give them here, you big baby."

He pouted, about to hand them over until you added, "Siwoo's going to be so disappointed when he hears about this. He looks up to you and thinks of you as his role model, you know." You gasped, realising you had revealed something you hadn't meant to share, but all your regret dissolved when you saw his reaction to your words.

San's jaw dropped, and he quickly snatched the greens back, stuffing his face with them. "There, I finished them. You happy now?!"

You couldn't help but burst into laughter. In moments like this, you wondered how wonderful it would be if all men were like him. You admired how his eyes crinkled as he joined in your laughter. He could be so annoyingly cute and likeable. Gosh, you hated it. You hated how warm he was making you feel, hated how good it felt.

As the two of you calmed down from your giggles, the smiles remained on your faces. You finished the last of your food, neatly wrapped the lunchbox back up in his bag, and handed it to him. "Thank you, Royal Secretary Choi," you said, your voice sincere.

His heart skipped a beat at your genuine gratitude. With a nod of acknowledgement, he reached out to take the bag from you. Both your breaths hitched when your fingertips brushed against each other. The unexpected contact sent a small, electric jolt through you both, causing you to momentarily lock eyes.

San's eyes softened, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite place. The world seemed to pause, and for a fleeting moment, the two of you were the only ones that existed. You could feel your pulse quickening, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin.

"You're welcome," he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He took the bag, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary before pulling away.

You quickly looked down, trying to steady your racing heart. "I should get back to my studies," you said, standing up and smoothing out your clothes.

"Of course," he replied, standing up as well. "Take care, Scholar Moon."

With a final nod, you turned and walked away, feeling his gaze linger on your back. A small smile tugged at your lips as you wondered what it would be like if moments like these with him became a regular part of your life. You found your own thoughts baffling, as no man had ever made you feel such emotions before.

Could he possibly... be the only exception?

No, he could not.

You should have known better. Should have recognised the trouble he brought along despite his constant insistence on helping. Initially, you felt grateful for his frequent gestures, like bringing you lunch and accompanying you to pick up your brother from school during the rainy season, the three of you huddled under his umbrella—a sight that warmed your mother's heart.

For a while, it felt like being on Cloud 9. But in hindsight, you must have lost your mind to let him get so involved in your life. It seemed foolish to rely on him so much, to let him become so close to you and your family.

And inevitably, there were consequences.

You reached your breaking point when the bullying at your educational institution intensified. Rumours about you and the royal secretary spending time together spread like wildfire among your fellow scholars, leading to endless torment.

As you tried to leave the institution, hoping to find solace at home after enduring what felt like hours of torment, Namgil and his cronies blocked your path, their mocking laughter echoing around you like a cacophony of cruelty.

"Leaving so soon, Miss Smarty Pants? Off to see your beloved Royal Secretary Choi, I presume?" he jeered, his voice dripping with malice. "Who would've thought your success was all thanks to him? Must have made quite the deal to get him to treat you so well. Bet you're not so innocent anymore, huh?"

His words cut through you like knives, causing your steps to falter as you froze in place, the implications of his cruel insinuations hitting you like a ton of bricks. "Should've known," Namgil continued, his tone laced with venom. "All you women are good for is spreading your legs."

You felt a wave of humiliation wash over you, a burning rage rising up within you as you struggled to hold back tears. They had no idea what you had been through, the sacrifices you had made to get to where you were. But at that moment, all you could do was stand there, feeling utterly defenceless against their relentless cruelty.

Meanwhile, San couldn't shake off his growing concern for you. He hadn't caught sight of you all day, and his inquiries around the palace yielded no sightings of you either. The court ladies confirmed that you hadn't visited the palace at all, which only deepened his worry. You had never missed a day before, and the thought of you being sick or in trouble made his heart sink.

Leaving work that day, the extra lunch he had prepared for you still in his hands, he hurried over to your brother's school in hopes of finding you there. However, his heart sank further when he only found Siwoo waiting by the entrance as usual. The child's face lit up when he spotted the royal secretary.

"Hyung-nim! Did my noona send you here to pick me up today?" Siwoo asked eagerly. The royal secretary shook his head, his concern evident in his expression.

"No, Siwoo-yah. She hasn't been to the palace either. Do you know where her institution is?" San inquired. Your brother's expression turned worried, but he nodded.

"Yes, I do! Let's go find her!" Siwoo suggested, but San gently shook his head.

"No can do, you tell me where and I'll go. Your mother will worry if neither of you are home," San explained. The child reluctantly agreed, but not without making a request.

"Okay, but promise me you'll bring her back," Siwoo pleaded. The secretary gave him a reassuring smile and pinky promised him.

"Don't worry, I will."

As San approached your institution, relief washed over him when he spotted your familiar figure not too far from the main entrance. However, his relief quickly turned to concern when he noticed you weren't alone. Surrounding you were a group of male scholars, their expressions and body language indicating that the conversation was far from pleasant. His heart twisted uncomfortably at the sight of your wet eyes and defeated look. Were you being bullied?

With clenched fists, he stepped closer, his brows narrowing in anger as he overheard snippets of the conversation. It was clear that the group was making disparaging remarks about you. His blood boiled when he heard the leader of the gang suggesting that you had been selling your body in exchange for your success. How dare they?

These bastards.

While San understood that your previous encounters with men must have been unpleasant for you to harbour such a strong dislike for them, witnessing you being treated in such a manner was a first for him. It was no wonder you hated them so much; who could blame you? But he was here now, and he was determined to change that.

He stalked over, his towering and intimidating presence startling the scholars. "Are my ears deceiving me, or did I truly just hear such vile words coming from a scholar?" he demanded, his voice icy and authoritative. "Watch your words because rest assured, your headmaster will hear about this. Not only were you being misogynistic, but how dare you insinuate such despicable things about Scholar Moon? This woman has more integrity than all of you combined. She doesn't need any man's backing—not even mine—to get where she is today. She is fully capable of achieving that on her own, and I think you know that, given how your insecurity and jealousy are blatantly showing through your nasty actions."

The scholars' faces turned pale, their bravado evaporating in the face of the royal secretary's fury. He stepped closer, his fists clenched, ready to defend you from any further insults. The leader of the gang opened his mouth to retort but quickly thought better of it, swallowing his words and casting a nervous glance at his friends.

"L-let's go, guys," Namgil stuttered, bowing before scrambling away. They weren't stupid. This was His Majesty's royal secretary, and if he reported them to the king, they would face dire consequences. There was nothing to gain from angering him.

San turned his gaze to you, his eyes softening. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, his voice a stark contrast to the harsh tone he had just used.

Instead of a grateful nod like he had expected, you met him with a darkened expression. Taking deep breaths, you tried to hold back your tears and calm yourself down. When you remained silent, glaring at him, he sighed. "Was that too much? I—I'm sorry, I know you can defend yourself, but I just—"

You cut him off, speaking in a low voice, "This is all your fault, Choi San."

He froze, his heart clenching painfully at the last words he expected to hear from you. You continued, harshly wiping away stray tears with your sleeves, "If only you'd just leave me alone like I asked from the beginning… I've been bullied all my life, but the usual nonsense I could endure. Not once—never—had anyone ever implied something like that," you whispered the last part. "And it's all because of you. Haven't you done enough? If you truly want to help me, then please—god—please, just leave me alone."

With that, you walked out of the institution, leaving him reeling in shock and hurt at your words. This was not how he had imagined things would turn out.

San finally realised that maybe his sister had been right. If distancing himself would make you happier, he’d do it, even if it meant suffering from being away from you. From that day onwards, he would make sure to keep his distance, honouring your wish.

You went to your younger brother’s school that evening and were surprised to hear that he had already been picked up. Panicking, you rushed home and were relieved to see Siwoo safely at the entrance, waiting with your worried mother. He clung tightly to you as you stroked his hair.

"Who brought you home?" you asked softly.

He sniffled, "Sannie hyung-nim… he promised he’d bring you home, but he lied. You came home alone."

You sighed, holding the child closer as guilt slowly crept into your heart. "He didn’t lie, Siwoo-yah. He did come to me, but I was the one who left him."

Your mother watched you with concern, her eyes reflecting relief and confusion. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "What happened, dear?"

You hesitated, the weight of the day's events pressing down on you. "I— I just... he won't bother us again, mother. I made sure of that."

Siwoo looked up at you, his eyes wide with innocence and confusion. "But why, noona? He was so nice to us."

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you hugged your brother tighter. "It will protect us. It will make things easier."

You were aware that you were trying to convince yourself more than anyone else. But you would rather die than admit it. You were Scholar Moon, the first female scholar in Joseon, and you didn't need a man to survive. You never did, and you never would. Choi San was merely a hindrance, but he was now in the past. Things would finally return to normal. You would excel in your exams and fulfil your dreams. Everything would be fine.

Or would it really?

Days following that proved much harder than anticipated. The royal secretary had indeed left you alone, as you'd requested. While you should have been glad, a part of you felt irritated by his obedience. You resented that he hadn't fought harder, but you knew you had no one to blame but yourself. You felt difficult to deal with. Surely, a man as good as Choi San deserved someone better than you. He had gone above and beyond to help you for the past few months, yet all you gave him in return were harsh words you... likely didn't mean at all.

Wait, what even are these thoughts? None of that should matter; it's all in the past. You needed to focus on your studies.

With a massage of your temples, you attempted to reread the same sentence you had been struggling with for the past hour. However, endless thoughts of that stupid man kept resurfacing, haunting you and weighing heavy on your heart with an unpleasant feeling you wished would disappear. God, did you hate him. Why was he so annoying even when he wasn't around?

You hated how he consumed your thoughts.

Everywhere you turned in the palace, he lingered in your mind. Each time you picked up your brother, he intruded into your thoughts, and even passing by your educational institution's entrance reminded you of him. What was wrong with you? What had he done to you? You were fine before meeting him, and you would be fine now. You kept repeating this to yourself, but all resolve crumbled when you saw him approaching one morning in the palace. It was the first time seeing him since that day—the day you'd uttered those cruel words to him.

You froze, clutching your books tightly to your chest, bracing yourself for whatever words or actions he might deliver. However, your heart sank when he simply passed by with a respectful nod. Why did that sting so much? You had brought this upon yourself. The urge to chase after him was overwhelming, and you squeezed your eyes shut to suppress the longing.

Pull yourself together, this is for the best.

You didn't need him.

Or did you?

Why does it hurt so much?

The atmosphere between you and the royal secretary had shifted, turning awkward and strained. Everyone in the palace could sense the change, the tension that now defined your interactions—or rather, the lack thereof. The once easy camaraderie had vanished, replaced by uncomfortable silences and fleeting, cautious glances. It wasn't long before word reached Namgil, who seized the opportunity to make your life even more miserable. The bullying intensified, but you endured it all, determined to pass your final exam without incident.

Time flew by, even as you suffered.

You buried yourself in your studies, hoping to push him out of your mind. Every page you turned, every line you read, was an attempt to forget the way he made you feel. The palace corridors, once filled with the warmth of his ever-comforting presence, now echoed with your lonely footsteps and the quiet rustle of your books.

Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, your final examination was approaching. The weight of the upcoming test pressed down on you, but it was a welcome distraction from the pain in your heart. You could still see him in the palace, still catch glimpses of his familiar figure in the distance, but the gap between you felt insurmountable.

On the eve of your exam, you found yourself in the palace library, surrounded by stacks of books and scrolls. The dim light of the lantern cast long shadows across the room, mirroring the shadows in your heart. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

Then, without warning, the door creaked open, and there he was. San, standing in the doorway, looking just as conflicted as you felt. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

"Scholar Moon," he finally said, his voice low and hesitant. "I heard your final exam is tomorrow. I wanted to wish you luck."

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. "Thank you, Royal Secretary Choi."

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I know you asked me to leave you alone, but I just want you to know that I believe in you. You are more than capable of achieving your dreams."

Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "I appreciate that," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, it seemed like he might say more, but then he simply nodded and turned to leave. As the door closed behind him, you felt a pang of regret. You had to fight everything in you to resist running after him, holding onto him, telling him how much you regretted everything, how wrong you had been, how much you… missed him.

No, stop it.

You took a deep breath and returned to your books, knowing that tomorrow's exam was the key to your future. You had to stay focused. You had to succeed, even if it meant pushing aside the feelings you couldn't quite shake.

The next morning, your mother smoothed your robes as you prepared to leave for the palace where the final examination would take place. Her hands were gentle, but the pride in her eyes was unmistakable.

"This is it," she whispered, a soft smile on her face. "All your hard work will pay off today. You will finally be someone in this land. The first female scholar-official in Joseon."

You nodded, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. Today was the day you had worked so tirelessly for. Today, you would prove yourself.

"You look beautiful, noona!" Siwoo cheered, his excitement contagious.

You smiled down at your little brother, ruffling his hair. "Thank you, Siwoo-yah. I'll make you proud."

As you stepped outside, the morning sun casting a golden hue over the palace grounds, you felt a surge of determination. You wouldn't have time to think about a certain annoying man who had been invading your thoughts more than you cared to admit. You wouldn't let the memory of Choi San torment you more than Namgil and his friends ever could.

With each step towards the examination hall, you reminded yourself of your goals. You were Scholar Moon, the first female scholar in Joseon. You were about to make history.

As you entered the courtyard, the confident bounce in your step reflected the culmination of years of hard work and determination. You were oblivious to the devious grins Namgil and a few other scholars exchanged as their gazes followed your figure.

"There she is," Namgil sneered, nodding toward the bridge above the large pond that everyone would later cross to reach the examination hall. A wicked idea formed in his mind. "Remind me, boys. It would be impossible for someone with drenched clothes to participate in the final examination, is that correct?"

They snickered, immediately understanding his implication. "Yes, I think that is right."

You moved through the crowd, nodding to a few familiar faces, your mind already focused on the examination ahead. You had no idea that behind you, Namgil and his cronies were plotting to ruin everything you had worked all your life for.

As the time approached for the scholars to cross the bridge and enter the hall, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenge ahead. This was your moment, and nothing would stand in your way.

Or so you thought.

As you stepped onto the bridge, Namgil and his cronies moved into position. With a quick, coordinated push, you were sent plummeting into the pond below. The cold water enveloped you, and panic set in immediately. You flailed, trying to keep your head above water, but it was futile. "H-help! Please!"

Laughter erupted from above. Namgil and his friends stood at the edge of the bridge, their mocking laughter ringing in your ears.

"Oops! Looks like Scholar Moon won't be making history today," Namgil taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

"I... c-can't swim..."

Everyone froze, the courtyard falling silent as your bully's laughter ceased. The realisation hit them like a ton of bricks: the pond was much deeper than they had anticipated, and you couldn't swim. Your desperate cries for help echoed in the sudden stillness, turning their malicious prank into a potential tragedy.

Panic spread among the scholars as they realised what they had done. What began as sabotage could now be seen as attempted murder, and their futures hung in the balance. Namgil's face drained of colour as he watched you struggle, knowing full well the consequences of their actions.

Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for them, San happened to be dropping by to observe the examination. His heart plummeted at the sight before him. Without a second thought, he pushed through the panicked crowd of useless men and plunged into the pond, desperate to save you.

His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you up from the depths. He swam with determined strokes, bringing you to the safety of the pond's edge. As he hoisted you onto solid ground, he checked for signs of life, his own breath coming in ragged gasps from the effort and fear.

You coughed and sputtered, expelling water from your lungs as you gasped for air. San's relieved expression melted into one of fierce protectiveness and anger. He turned to face the group of terrified scholars, his eyes blazing with fury.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Do you have any idea what you almost did?"

Namgil and his friends could only stammer incoherent excuses, their earlier bravado replaced by sheer terror. The royal secretary's intervention had saved you, but it had also sealed their fate.

A few examiners rushed out just in time to witness the chaos, their expressions darkening at the sight of the guilty, terrified faces of Namgil and his cronies. Realising the gravity of their actions, the bullies pleaded for mercy as they were escorted away to face the consequences.

The royal secretary turned toward you, gently brushing aside the damp strands of hair that clung to your face, his touch tender. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his concern evident in his expression.

Your lips quivered at the tenderness in his voice and the worry etched on his face. He was the first and only man to care so deeply for you, and you couldn't fathom how you had repeatedly pushed him away. But now, tired of denying your feelings, you couldn't hold back the tears that welled up in your eyes. With a broken sob, you shook your head. "No… I'm not," you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder.

He hesitated for a moment, startled by your sudden embrace, before returning it, enveloping you in his arms. "What's wrong? Tell me," he murmured, his voice laced with concern.

You sobbed harder, weakly hitting him. "It's you… y-you're so annoying, you know that? I hate it so much… hate that I love you."

He pulled back, wide-eyed, holding your shoulders at arm's length as he gazed into your tear-filled eyes. "Wh-what did you say…? This isn't a dream, is it?"

Through your tears, you chuckled at his reaction. "I finally muster the courage to confess to you, and that's your response?"

His smile broke through, the one you adored so much, the one where his eyes disappeared into slits, bringing warmth and comfort no matter how hard things got. Pulling you back into his arms, he stroked the back of your head. "I love you too..."

"How's your first day as a Scholar-Official, Moon?" inquired the royal secretary as you grinned at him. "It's going well, Royal Secretary Choi. Thank you for asking."

After he assisted you in petitioning His Majesty for another chance at your final examination, arguing that you were merely a victim of foul play, you were granted the opportunity. As anticipated, you passed with flying colours, ranking at the top of the batch. Finally, you held the prestigious title of scholar-official.

However, that wasn't the only change in your life. Choi San openly courted you, much to the king's approval, solidifying your status as a formidable power couple.

Leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead, he smiled, "I'll see you after work."

You blushed and gently pushed him away. "Not here, please. But yes, I'll see you later."

As you left the palace after your day's work, you spotted a familiar face. Smiling, you greeted her, but your steps faltered when she bowed respectfully.

"Hi there. I remember you," you said, trying to recall where you had met her before.

She grinned knowingly. "Yes, it's good to see you again, Scholar-Official Moon. I suppose you believe my words about the royal secretary now, don't you? After all, you and he are the talk of the palace."

Your cheeks flushed, recalling that she had been the court lady to disclose San's identity during your initial encounter. You nodded awkwardly, trying to recover from your embarrassment.

She chuckled softly. "Well then, don't let me keep you. Royal Secretary Choi is waiting for you by the entrance."

Your heart soared at the sight of San standing by the entrance, just as the court lady had claimed. He was waiting for you, and the realisation filled you with an indescribable warmth. This wasn't just any man; this was your man. Yours alone. The sight of him, tall, handsome, kind, and caring, reaffirmed your feelings.

Without a second thought, you ran over, calling out, "Sannie!" He turned towards you, his face lighting up with that beam that never failed to make your heart race. His arms opened wide, and you leapt into them, feeling a rush of joy at being in his embrace.

"I missed you, honey," he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

You pressed your lips against his, relishing the moment as his response came swiftly, his kiss soft and reassuring. Pulling back slightly, a smile played on your lips, your heart dancing with joy. "I missed you too, my big baby," you teased.

"Come on, remember you wanted to learn more about my past?" you said, chuckling at the pout on his face as you pulled away.

He nodded eagerly, and you took his hand, leading him towards a place you hadn't visited in a long time.

"So, this was the root of your hatred for men…" he murmured, his gaze fixed on your father's grave as you stood beside him. You had just finished recounting everything that had transpired, from the beginning of your existence to the hardships you endured to reach where you are today.

"Yes, but you showed me that not all men are the same," you replied softly, your voice tinged with gratitude.

He gently squeezed your hands, turning to face you with a serious expression. "And I won't stop showing you. I promise I'll be different from your father and every other man you've encountered. I'll protect you and your family as if they were my own. I'll strive to be the best husband to you and father to our future child. You'll never have to suffer alone again. I'm here for you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

You chuckled softly through your tears, nodding in response. "That's amusing… I don't recall agreeing to be your wife just yet. What are you talking about, Choi San?"

He let out a playful whine, "Hey! You—wait... you said 'yet' though, so that means... you will eventually, right?" he asked hopefully.

Teasingly, you stuck your tongue out at him before turning and running away. But deep down, you knew that no matter how far you went, he would always be there to catch you.

Of course, you idiot.

Holy crap, I was gone for like 2 weeks and I return to 1.85k+ followers?! ASDFGHJKL thank you all so much😭

Anyway, I hope this was decent, y'all... I swear, I didn't plan for this part to be so freaking long HAHA but I just felt like it would take quite a bit for her hatred to turn into love hehe I hope the ending didn't feel rushed or anything :3

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! ❤️

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[kiachiako]

september nct recs

my library of favorites from SEPTEMBER <3 all creds to authors

[ sorted by word count ]

series

[m] HAECHAN | settle down pt. 1 | pt. 2 | @hyuckmov — rockstar!hyuck, genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff

oneshots

[m] MARK | sweet cream, cold brew | @lucyandthepen 26.4k — something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

[m] MARK | my little doll | @haechansdoll 20k — Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

HAECHAN | one, two, three | @cherryeoniis 19k — In which you devise three different ways to get your best friend to fall in love with you, but things never really go quite as planned.

[m] JENO | summer hair = forever young | @setsugekka 18.1k — Only three weeks after being broken up with by your long time partner, you’re dragged along for your friends summer vacation plans despite your best attempts at staying home to do little more than feel sorry for yourself. Day one? Dinner and a movie. Day two? The bar down the street that smells like old socks. Day three? Well, that’s the waterpark, and the cute, blonde lifeguard that seems to make the lazy river his mainstay is a bit of a sight for sore eyes.

JAEMIN | written in ink | @cherryeoniis 15.3k — professor!jaemin, historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

[m] MARK | watch me | @sluttyten 14.6k — you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?

TAEIL | in earnest | @neonun-au 12k — a letter written in haste when you were fifteen and in love with your best friend gets sent out in the dawn of your engagement. when a reply is sent, revealing feelings you had long thought forgotten, you are left with a choice to make amidst a rather awkward visit. 

[m] JENO | fight club | @tyonfs 11.9k — after park jisung introduces you to his shady after-school activity, you realize it’s far too dangerous to be involved with the underground fight club in any way. their members are rough around the edges—except for lee jeno, who keeps you coming back for more.

MARK | a series of white lies | @tyonfs 10.5k — in which it takes you six years to accept that you’re in love with mark lee. (it takes him one.)

HAECHAN | wicked games | @cherryeoniis 10.1k — angst, fluff, suggestive, university! au, friends with benefits, fuckboy! haechan

MARK | baseball (& other disasters) | @tqmies 10k — Everyone admired Mark Lee, starting pitcher of your school’s baseball team and famed ladies man. You, on the other hand, only know him as the boy who broke your dorm lobbies microwave the first time you met.

[m] JAEHYUN | dive | @yougotthatbilly 9.2k — frat boy!Jaehyun: Jaehyun calls shotgun.

[m] RENJUN | high-waisted shorts | @tyonfs 7.8k — huang renjun might be the least committed to all this “bitch hunting” bullshit, and he doesn’t want to stoop to the level of stupidity his friends are at. that’s why he’s pissed when you’re strutting around in those high waisted shorts wherever you go, making renjun lose all sense of reason.

[m] JAEMIN | blur | @jaeminvore 7.5k — Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face and hungover was one thing. Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face, hungover and in a bed that wasn’t your own in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not yours, was another and a punishment specifically made for you—your own personal hell.

[m] JAEHYUN | racer | @smileysuh 6.7k — street racer!Jaehyun, star-crossed lovers, secret relationship, step-brother!Johnny

[m] HAECHAN | tattoos together | @cherryeoniis 5.4k — rockstar!haechan x reader

[m] DOYOUNG | hungry for you | @sluttyten 4.9k — doyoung is your best friend’s older brother, and you hate each other until one evening you’re alone together and the tension finally breaks

HAECHAN | dance to this | @cherryeoniis 3.8k — dancer! haechan x dancer! reader, university au, slight enemies to lovers

. . .

drowning in college rn :((

xoxo <3

[daydreams-after-dark]

After Dark Master List

all stories are nsfw / 18+

↠Full Fics ↞

Ot8 free use jail cell (incomplete) inspired by the police station skz code.

"What's Your Fanfic Fantasy" (Complete)

Pairing: fem reader + Chan + Jisung // This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

↠Han Jisung↞

Sub police officer Han x con artist fem reader

Hannie wants to play with your ass but you’ve never done this before.

Back in Ten: soft dom CEO Jisung wants you to wear a strap and fuck his ass, after an important function.

Jisung Kinks // after dark hard thoughts

If Han was as small as a barbie doll

fem!Hannie freaky roller skater girl and fem!hannie double pen at a party

Drabble: Can I watch you, Sungie?: posted on my main blog. You come home from work early to find Jisung on your bed fucking himself with a dildo.

↠Bangchan↞

Masterlist Scientist Chan (Chris) x science!subject reader - feat. other members along the way.

↠Minho↞

Male escort Lino x fem birthday girl reader.

Stop Lift Button your work colleague Minho has moved into your apartment. What happens when he jumps in the lift with you.

Star Student Part 1: Pairing: professor/teacher Minho x adult female reader. You put on a show for your hot Professor while he’s trying to teach a class. (This is an adult classroom situation.) (5 min approx read)

Star Student Part 2: Pairing: professor/teacher Minho x adult female reader. Professor Minho makes you stay after class to fix the problem you caused.

Show Mommy: Lee Know dressed as Aunt Lina was doing things to you as you watched him on set. But what happens when you are invited to an after party and accidentally end up in Lee Know's room, and he's still in costume?

Billionaire Lee Minho and his Little Plaything You're at billionaire Lee Minho's extravagant party at some fancy historical manor, where unbeknownst to you he want to make you his "Plaything". Before you know what's happening you find yourself in a room with Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin. Minho has plans for you but he doesn't know you can play games too. Pairing: Lee Know x fem reader, Changbin x fem reader, Hyunjin x fem reader. Word count: 8k approx

Submission: Lee Minho x fem reader. You're billionaire Lee Minho's "plaything", but tonight the tables have turned and he let's you dom him. Approx word count: 3.4k

Ask: Minho face f^cks male!reader 🫠 this was so fun to write 🥵

↠Minsung / Minsung x reader↞

Minsung Saves the Day Minsung x fem reader (5 minute read) You've just been fingered to the brink of orgasm by Chan and Hyunjin in the back of a car, whilst Minho and Seungmin sit up front. Now you've arrived at the club and there's only one thing on your mind.

Behind the Curtain: mean!Han x bratty!reader + helpful!Minho. You tease your boyfriend Han before a show and he's not happy. So he punishes you, leaves you in a needy mess, and sends Minho to look for you. What happens when Minho can't resist your needs?

Kidnapper Clowns: clown!jisung x fem reader + Minho (5 minute read). dark smut // reader is "kidnapped" and tied up in the basement of two men in clown masks. Everything is planned/consensual.

Pretty Little Kitties: Jisung x reader x Minho. Jisung buys you and him matching kitten ears and tails. Minho joins in.

The window across the street: Han x fem aunty Lina x fem reader.

Private Show v.1 minsung x fem!reader | version.1 - you're a dancer at an exclusive establishment where you perform for kpop idols in masks. Minho and Jisung are after a specific kind of private show from you.

Private Show v.2 similar to v.1 but Minho and Jisung are in masks and reader doesn’t know it’s them (or does she?). This version plays out differently to v.1 and is super unhinged.

Minho edges Han

bratty fem!reader, Minsung must punish you

↠3Racha↞

We’ll make it fit: 3Racha Chan x Changbin x reader w/han for 2secs. They want to use her like their little toy. Dp.

3 racha c^m dump: Han asks you to meet him in the corridor at the bar. Bartender Chan and Security Guard Changbin join in.

3racha free use hard thoughts 1/♾️

3racha free use hard thoughts 2/♾️

3racha free use hard thoughts 3/♾️

↠Other Members / Mixed pairings↞

Werewolf chan turns inside you

Massage Therapist Changbin

Good cop Han / Bad cop Minho

Dom Seungmin and Jeongin x fem reader

Who in skz likes anal? ask

Taken: Drabble - Ot8 x gn reader. You’re snatched after work by 8 sexy men and taken to an abandoned warehouse… exactly what you’d paid for.

Middle-aged neighbour Chan and his friends x fem!reader

Skz reaction to you wearing a butt plug

All Stops to Cumville Station ot8, but featuring Minho, Seungmin and Chan

If skz worked at an adult shop what would each member recommend?

Let Daddy Take Care of it chan x hyunjin x fem reader (5 min read) Fem!reader is horny on the way to the club. Chan and Hyunjin help her out with their fingers in the backseat of the car.

After Hours: Felix; personal assistant | You; Corporate Boss. You're a corporate boss, he is your personal assistant. You're his boss by day, but after hours his soft dom side gets you weak.

Sweet Sweet Punishment: Bratty Han convinces you to let him go down on you without permission from Chan and Lino. They punish you both in front of everyone when they get home. features ot8.

Little Deaths (posted on my main blog) ot8 x reader. You’re stranded at a mansion where 8 horny ghosts must pleasure you.

Fuckbois Jilix: thoughts on how they pick you up and take you home.

Fuckbois Jilix version 2

The Sunshine Princesses

Concept: Freeze: gangster boss fem reader x Chan x Hyunjin

Male reader x Han x Jeongin: you’re the meat in this delicious sandwich / dom top Han, Jeongin bottoms for the first time.

Thing dom chan likes to do to you (posted on my main blog)

Who in skz will share you (ask)

↠Fem!skz Universe↞

↪ Enter here

[hangup119]

tale as old as time | series masterlist

the six ways you fall for someone you can never have.

or, a boynextdoor series about royals and not-royals who don't get the happy ending they think they deserve.

pairings. boynextdoor x fem. reader

genres + warnings. historical au, royal au, angst + general themes of royalty, hierarchies, unrequited love, betrayal, jealousy, religion, class division, family feuds

initially was one (1) idea for riize's wonbin but then it tangled out into this whole big idea, now here we are! no update schedule and not published in order of list - just some swag and vibes and hopefully i will complete it. enjoy :)

main masterlist | @onedoornet | riize ver.

without a trace | myung jaehyun

the world must have been playing a cruel joke on you when the nation's beloved prince suddenly confessed his love for you.

prince!jaehyun x maidservant!reader

envy | park sungho

when sungho falls for the princess of the royal castle he works at, he does everything in his power to deny it. because how can he want someone and also want to be them?

servant!sungho x princess!reader

if only | lee riwoo

there was a difference between risking your life for someone out of duty, and risking your life for someone because you loved them. riwoo, your dutiful knight, finds the middle-ground.

knight!riwoo x princess!reader

losing dogs | han taesan

the answer should be obvious, but you still don't know what's worse: betrayal from your most trusted aide, or losing the love of your life.

spy!han taesan x queen!reader

mulberry | kim leehan

only do you ever see the prince of joseon within the confines of the royal palace, and only do you ever love him when no one else is looking.

prince!leehan x noble!reader

seesaw | kim woonhak

woonhak has always thought that princesses were graceful and kind, but when he actually meets one, he is faced with pompousness and arrogance. how can he ever get along with someone like that?

newspaper boy!woonhak x princess!reader

story by hangup119. do not steal.

[kimingyuslover]

DOKYEOM FIC RECS

f*ck my thighs by @ourdawnishotterthanourday (smut, workplace!au, fluff, slight angst)

Ever since you started working at XTREMEGEAR, you’ve been hopelessly obsessed with Lee Seokmin...god damn Lee Seokmin and his fucking divine thighs. You didn’t think you’d ever stand a chance with him. But when your company forces you to go to a sports and wellness retreat with the whole HR department, you discover that you haven’t been as discreet about your little crush as you thought you were.

please sir by @starryseokmins (smut, college!au, professor!dk)

summary: you fail your favourite professors class and you make a deal with him to help you pass.

best neighbor of all time award by @drunk-on-dk (slight fluff, smut)

✦summary: Seokmin is the best neighbor you've ever had, making it impossible not to fall for his charms.

open wide by @kittyhuii (smut)

synopsis:  It's been months the last time you've been with your boyfriend since he's been on tour with the members, or in other words — it's been months since the last time you’ve gotten off with your boyfriend. Finally, after such a hectic time for your boyfriend, he takes you out for a date. You haven't even gotten out of your house yet you were already fighting unwanted thoughts upon seeing how your boyfriend was dressed. A pair of jorts that perfectly hugs his muscular pair of thighs and a polo shirt with its sleeves rolled up, accentuating his vein-covered arms. You try your best to avert your gaze and survive this date. However, your efforts will soon be in vain as your boyfriend drags you to the nearest comfort room to stuff you with something else other than food. 

tipsy by @onlyseokmins (smut)

epistolary yearning by @himbocoups (epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut)

synopsis: a series of letters, speckled with notes of budding romance and longing, exchanged between a newly married couple separated by seas and the ongoing war the emperor sent his commander to end.

amanda? by @gyupinkys (smut, reader is not amanda, that's just the question dokyeom asked when he first met her)

"DK, I know you're trying to kill me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

crazier for you by @onewmin (smut, husband!dk)

Summary: While getting ready to your husband's work gala, you get startled by how amazingly he looks in a suit.

werewolf!seokmin by @multi-kpop-fanfics (smut)

christmas favour by @xddaengx (romance, smut, christmas, ceo!seokmin, fake dating)

🎄 Summary: You just wanted to avoid your creepy boss, you didn't know you would have to rely on an old friend to be your imaginary boyfriend.

dad!dk by @number1mingyustan (fluff, dad!dokyeom, smut drabble)

professor, who? by @sunnylovespickles (smut, fluff, college!au, professor!reader)

⋆ summary| You’re his muse, he’s your student. You’ve gotten exceptional close to Lee Seokmin, a star student in your photography class. His eye is above else’s and he’s able to recognize the inner beauty in the little things, even you. The artistry becomes stronger between the two of you, exceeding the camera’s lense. 'Through his lens, I saw myself in ways I hadn't before—strong, sensual, and beautifully imperfect.'

pediatrics department by @taeyegu (smau, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers? nurse!seokmin)

“to me, you became the one ray of sunshine that lit up my lonely hours gone by and became the promise of eternity that glitters like a jewel upon your small white palm… ” (me to you, you to me, mido and falasol)

trivia 承 : love by @viastro (enemies to lovers!au, humor, fluff, band!au)

ミ★ synopsis: who thought it was a good idea to be in a band with your sworn enemy? that’s right. absolutely no one.

memories of us by @wongyuuu (angst, fluff)

summary: every night seokmin dreams of his past lifes, when he met and fell for his soulmate countless times.

too sweet by @gyuzgrl (smut, dom!seokmin y'all....)

summary- when Jeonghan brings up BDSM at dinner, your boyfriend is keen on trying it out for himself. you laugh it off, telling him he doesn't have the stomach for it, and he decides to show you just how capable he is in bed.

[changbunnies]

Aurora (18+)

♡ Pairing: Prince!Felix x Duke's Daughter!Reader

♡ Genre: light angst, fluff, arranged marriage au, royalty au, historical au, one sided pining to eventual mutual pining, slow burn-ish ??, eventual smut

♡ Word Count: 21.8k

♡ Summary: Y/N, a duke’s daughter in the southern territories of Miroh, is promised to crown prince Felix in the north in the hopes that the dueling territories will reach peace. Yet, despite how much she initially loathes the idea of being married and away from her family, she can’t help but fall in love with the prince she was promised to.

♡ Warnings: outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, felix is nothing but sweet but it takes the reader time to trust him, attempted cheating (not from reader or felix, you'll see), 1 mention of having children, kind of possesive felix? but not too much, i think that's it but lmk if i missed something!

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): felix calls reader "my love" (yes this needs a warning), so much kissing!! so many "i love you's!!" (a changbunnies smut staple), reader and felix are virgins, nipple play, oral (f + m receiving), handjob, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: you can also read the story on my ao3 where it is divded into chapters here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You knew well the day would come where you would be married off to a family looking to expand their power. You knew that you would have to leave behind all things you found familiar and comfortable to live in your husband’s estate.

You knew that your responsibilities as a nobleman’s daughter would catch up with you sooner rather than later. And despite knowing all these things in your mind, your heart had not felt prepared for the reality of your fate in the slightest. 

Your night was spent in a grand ceremony of music and laughter as two families, one yours and the other your now husband’s, as well as commoners from all over the bustling town you would now call home, celebrated your new union. You were now Lee Y/N, wife to the northern king’s one and only son, Felix.

And while there was high likelihood that Felix would not sit on the throne for decades, the choice of who would become his wife was still something that had to be decided with the utmost care in the event that an unexpected tragedy befell his father. 

Though you were not a princess, you were the eldest daughter of a grand duke. You were raised in elegance and novelty that most would never have the privilege of living in. You were also graceful, well mannered, and adored by your father’s people in the south, which was something the king valued when seeking out the ideal partner for his only heir. And with your union to the prince now solidified, the country was ever closer to a more unified and prosperous existence. 

The ceremony itself consisted of fake smiles you had long practiced from a young age; a mask of joy and grace to hide your inner tumultuous feelings. When the celebrations had come to a close, and the time came to bid your farewells to your family as they made the long journey back home to the south, you did your best to hold back the tears and see them off with a smile.

You played the role you had been taught by your elders well, giving polite words of parting to the commoners who made it the ceremony and maintaining an elegant air around the royal family that you were now a part of. Felix let out a relieved sigh when the last of the guests departed, turning to you, his now wife, with a gentle smile afterwards.

“Shall we retire for the night as well?” he asks as he holds out his arm, clearly offering it to be linked with yours. You accept the offer easily, deciding that if anyone saw you reject your husband on such an offer it would reflect badly on your family’s manners. The last thing you needed were rumors to circulate about your parents ‘not raising you right.’ 

“I hope you’re not too ill at ease,” he says as you exit the ballroom together, “meeting your betrothed on the same day as your ceremony is quite a shock.” He’s certainly not wrong about that; it was easily the greatest shock of your life. In fact, you spent much of your month-long journey to the northern lands in denial, utterly convinced it must be a falsehood, or some manner of prolonged bad dream you would surely wake from. 

Only on your arrival in the morning, when you had finally seen the royal castle with your own eyes and met your suitor and his family face to face, did your reality smack you squarely in the face. The truth of things could no longer be rejected; you were going to be married this evening whether you wished it so or not. You were left with no choice but to conform in that very moment, to accept your fate for what it is. 

“Yes, it took me no small measure of adjustment, but I am grateful that you and your family have spared no effort in accomodating me.” You offered a kind word– after all, it was no lie that his family were much kinder people than you had expected them to be.

Once you reached the age of maturity, your family received countless marital requests from various suitors, many of whom were vile men beneath a mask of sincerity. You had watched your cousins marry into many such families, and found yourself dreading the day it would happen to you as well. 

While it was undoubtedly unfortunate that you were forced into a marriage, the fact that Felix and his family seemed to hold genuine kindness in their hearts made you quite lucky. However, your luck being better than most did not mean you were happy about any of this.

Sure, the fact that you weren’t wed to a boorish man who felt the need to treat you like an object was a good thing, but that didn’t change that the freedom of choice was stripped away from you. You should feel relief that Felix seems to be a sweet person, or some sort of joy that your new family is seemingly considerate and caring, but you don’t.

What you feel instead is.. Well, you aren’t quite sure what name to put to the feeling, though dread felt the closest. Yes, you felt a looming dread over knowing that this was your life now, and you were never, and will never, be given a choice for something different. 

“If there is anything at all I can do to help you in this transition, I ask that you do not hesitate to tell me.” Felix’s voice, while still much deeper than you had anticipated it to be, was soft and kind as he made the offer.

You could feel a hint of guilt for not appreciating such a thing as much you knew you should– he’s obviously trying his hardest to be kind to you, and despite that you’re just.. Unhappy. There was no other way to put it. 

“I will, thank you,” you reply in your perfectly rehearsed well-mannered tone. You may hate the situation you’re in, but you won’t take it out on him. After all, he likely didn’t have a choice in this matter either, and he’s been nothing but sweet and accommodating to you thus far. As much as the rebellious part of your brain wishes to kick and scream and throw a tantrum, you don’t want to do anything that would hurt or reflect badly on your new husband. 

“This is my– well, our, room,” He says as you approach two large, ornate doors, decorated with a wood carving of the royal family’s emblem standing proudly in the center: two soldiers mirroring each other with swords raised skyward, and a beautiful, intricately drawn phoenix beholden in the center. “We can enter if you wish, but I do not intend to force you to lie with me when you are not yet comfortable being next to me.” 

“Truly? Is such a thing alright?” You nearly exclaim, unable to disguise the surprise in your voice at his statement. Felix smiles in the same sweet manner he has all night as he answers, “Of course! I know it’s.. Customary for newlyweds to lie together right away, but I have no desire to force you into an uncomfortable situation. And well.. I do hope that we’ll share a bed in the future, but I am more than willing to wait until you are ready.” 

You felt truly taken aback as you stared at him. Sad to say, you half expected his tune to change once the two of you were alone. You'd heard many awful tales of men who are sweet and doting in the eye of the public, but change the moment they are behind closed doors, their true natures and selfish desires exposing themselves once there is no one they have to impress or keep up appearances for.

And also sad to say, it wouldn't have surprised you if the crown prince was one of those awful men; men in positions of power love to flaunt and make use of it, flashing their wealth and their status and forcing those beneath them into submission. You were lucky that in your father's lands in the south, you had enough status to prevent those men from harming you explicitly. 

But here you were, in a forgein land, married to a man who was second only to his father, the king. A man who held substantial power over you in every regard now that you were wed, but was giving you the freedom of choice.

And then there was the statement that followed– he wants to lie with you, would likely be pleased if you did so this very night, but is willing to wait until you want to of your own regard. It's possible he is simply a smooth talker, years of diplomatic lessons and high social status turning him into a charasmatic liar, an effortless charmer. 

Was it in his true character to treat women with such consideration, or were you an exception until he got you where he wanted you? Did he sincerely view you are more than an object to be had, or was he going to play the long game, waiting until the moment you lower your guard and become comfortable to strike?

Regardless of the answer, you feel truly thankful in the moment. You've had a whirlwind of emotions today, and not needing to immediately lie with your new husband takes an immense weight of your weary shoulders. You're happy to have the space to decompress alone in your own private space offered to you. 

“The maid’s have prepared a room for you further down the hall. Shall I take you?” he asks, the sweet smile having not at all faded. You hesitate a moment before you nod, not wishing to offend him should you appear too eager or if this part of a game he wishes to play, using your vulnerability as a pawn. “Yes, please.”

“Very well,” he replies as he leads you further past the room that you are supposed to share together. The walk down the hall is rather quick, ending just a few yards away from your starting point. “I hope you don’t mind, I wanted your room to be in proximity to mine in case you have need of me,” he clarifies as you approach the door to what will be your bedroom for the foreseeable future. 

“Truthfully, it’s more than I was expecting. I appreciate it,” you smile your first genuine one of the night, truly relieved to not have to share a bed with a relative stranger right away, and to have the space you need to process what your life will be like from this night onward. Felix unlinks your joined arms and opens the door for you to enter, his apparant kindness unfaltering. 

The moment you step inside your new room, you are in awe. Even for what is likely a small guest room, it’s still much larger than your bedroom back at your family’s modest estate. The furniture is well crafted and beautifully adorned in gentle blue and white shades. In the corner of the room, you see that your belongings from home have been neatly placed, with essentials on top and personal comforts at the bottom.

This surprised you most of all; not only was he kind enough to prepare a separate room for you, but he had all your belongings brought here ahead of time, as if he already knew this would be your answer. 

Behind you, Felix stands in the doorway, having not followed you into the room. He wore an expression of anxious anticipation, waiting to hear what you thought of where you’d be sleeping. He was as patient as he possibly could be, hoping silently that whatever opinion you held would be positive. He truly wanted you to feel safe and comfortable here, so that one day you could grow to have a genuine connection with him. 

When you turned back towards him, your soft smile made the anxiety welling within his breast wash away in an instant. “It’s to your liking?” he asks, and you respond with a nod. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

Truthfully, you felt another tinge of guilt for doubting his pure intentions just moments prior. The way relief instantly washed over his face was a clear indicator that he was truly trying his best to make you comfortable. 

“Ah, I’m relieved to hear that!” Felix holds his hand over his heart, as if it had just been racing in his chest; and to be fair, perhaps it was– he did seem genuinely considerate in all his actions, and he must’ve been nervous up to this point. “Before I go, should I call some maids to help you remove your gown? It looks rather intricate, so..”

Felix’s observation wasn’t wrong; getting your wedding gown on early this afternoon required the help of your mother, sister, and many others, and you didn’t feel you’d be able to remove everything on your own. 

So, you gave your approval to receive the maid’s help, and Felix nods, “I’ll alert them quickly so you can get your rest soon. Knights will also be posted in front of your room at all times starting now, and maids will come to your room routinely, so please notify them if anything is needed urgently.”

He was about to turn to leave but stops, hesitantly meeting your eyes one last time before he departs. “Uhm– good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.” His smile was bashful, and you found his subtle, soft change in demeanor oddly endearing.

While you were still very much uneasy about being in this place, and had your issues with being married, it’d be a lie to say that Felix’s earnest efforts to make you happy and comfortable weren’t helpful, and that maybe with him as your husband, you could be happy someday. 

You groan as you are wrestled from sleep by a quick succession of knocks on your door; not urgent in any way, but loud enough to rouse you out of the pleasant dream you were having. Groggily, you stand from your bed, rubbing your eyes as you step toward the door.

You open it slowly, and come to see Felix standing before you with a tray of various foods in hand. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I brought you breakfast. May I come in?” You nod and step to the side to allow him entry, letting your assigned guards close the door behind him.

“The maids said they couldn’t wake you, so I decided to give it a try at my first available moment,” he explains as he sets the tray down on your bed. “I’m still unsure of your preferences, so I got a little of everything. I hope there’s something here you enjoy.” 

It has been just a few weeks since you officially became a member of the royal family and Felix’s wife, but you still often found yourself being taken aback by just how thoughtful and earnest he was towards you.

He seemed to have even the little things in mind when trying to accommodate you, and you often found yourself unsure on how to react to such kindness. In the end, you settle for a simple thank you as you climb back to your spot in bed to eat under the comfort of the blanket. 

“When you’re finished, I would like to take you on a tour of the castle if you’re not opposed. I believe getting familiar with your surroundings will aid in your adjustment,” he says, watching you carefully for any change in expression. It is true that since your arrival, you’ve spent most of your time holed up in your room, not coming out unless there was need for it. 

And though you were perfectly content to continue to do so, you could understand how it would become a problem, not just for Felix but for yourself as well. You can’t spend the rest of your days hiding away in your guest room, and you won’t adjust to your new life any easier if you don’t at least try to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. 

Besides all that, Felix has been incredibly sweet and patient thus far. You owe it to him to try, at the very least. His face lights up when you give your agreement, an earnest delight painting his face. You weren’t sure why he was so eager to offer you comfort, or why he always seemed so happy when you returned his smiles, but that pleasant quality of his was undeniably helpful in easing the ache in your heart. 

"I still have some things to take care of with my father before we begin, so take your time finishing your breakfast and getting ready. I'll be back later," he continues to smile as he stands, seemingly excited about what the afternoon will hold for you (and he is excited! There is so much to show you, and he hopes you love everything the castle has to offer.)

Your maids enter the room shortly after Felix departs, ready to help you with whatever you may need, and to begin tidying up once you've finished eating. You're not sure how long Felix will be, so you follow his advice to take your time, leisurely eating your breakfast and making small talk with the maids as you do.

You were nervous to speak with them your first few days here, unsure of what sort of dynamic they had with the royal family, but you all warmed up to eachother rather quickly. They were kind, playful but still professional, and the ones around your age were especially excitable when it came to the prospect of gossip and dressing up. 

Even when you weren't interjecting into conversation, you enjoyed listening to them talk about romance, what they think of the working men in town, what dresses they plan to buy with their savings and what they'll do when they have a free night to spend out. You especially liked to listen to them talk about Felix.

Some of them had been here for years, and they knew much about him that you hadn't come to learn yet. It seemed that he'd always been sweet and kind, gentle and shy as a boy, but grew more confident with age and experience. Despite that, according to them, there were still many times where you could catch him becoming pink in the face, shyness blooming over it the way it had when he was still small. 

It made you curious– what did Felix look like when he was shy? You were sure he must be beautiful; you're not blind after all, you can clearly see that the man you married is handsome beyond what words could describe. Being against an arranged marriage is completely seperate from recognizing that the man you were promised to looks like he was sculpted straight from God's own hands.

But it takes more than beauty for you to have feelings for someone, and that's why you liked hearing the tales of his youth, moments that reflected that the Felix you met is the genuine him, no tricks and no falsehoods. And maybe one day, you would see him be shy, and seeing it would spark feelings in your gut that you hadn't felt since the time you were a child with your first crush. 

“Are you ready to begin the tour?” Felix smiles brightly as he holds out his arm for you the same way he had on the night of your marriage. You had just finished taming your hair and tying half of it behind you with a ribbon when he arrived back at your room, free of whatever his duties were and ready to dedicate the rest of his afternoon to you.

When you first stepped out, Felix’s timid stare didn’t go unnoticed by the maids, who insisted on helping you despite being told you were capable of getting ready on your own. 

You chose a simple, muted yellow gown with white trim accents to wear from the clothes you brought with you from home. It was one of your favorite dresses to wear casually as it was light, airy, and easy to walk in. You had no plans to do anything extravagant, but your assigned maids insisted on you wearing at least some jewelry, so you let them place a pearl necklace on you with dainty earrings to match. 

And so, the maids secretly beamed with delight at Felix’s reaction to your appearance (though it wasn’t their added accessories that caught his attention in the first place; it was simply you.) “I’m ready, thank you,” you say as you accept his invitation to link your arms together.

Felix shifts his gaze from you to the maids, giving them instructions to finish tidying your room while the two of you are out. They bow politely, getting straight to work on cleaning as you step out of your room, and you can hear their soft, delighted giggles even as you are led down the hall. 

The tour started about as you expected, with Felix leading you from room to room and stating simple facts such as 'this is where my older sister and her husband sleep’ or ‘this is the hall where your family will stay when they next visit’ and so on.

Typically, daughters move out of their family homes upon being wed, their entire purpose to give their husband’s family a successful lineage and ideal heir, but you suppose a special exception is made when you’re part of the royal family. You wonder how different your life would be if the expectation to leave your family behind wasn’t placed upon you from birth. 

He has a younger sister as well, one who has yet to be wed and who you met only briefly, but you wonder if she’ll be allowed to live in the castle as well when her time comes, if her husband’s family will have guest rooms just as yours will, and if she’ll have the luxury to stay in the place she’s familiar and comfortable for her entire life.

You know his sisters aren’t much different from you, really. Women often don’t have freedom of choice, and you especially doubt the princesses ever get a say in what comes next for them (even if the king and queen are caring people), but at least they still have their home, and their family right there with them. 

You were envious of that; you missed your home and your family so much. Would there ever be a day where you could see the place you grew up in again? How much older would your family be the next time you saw them?

Your younger sister, who was still small and naive– how different would she be? How much taller, how much more mature? It saddened you to think about, and you had to consciously make an effort to not think about it any further, and focus instead on the things Felix was showing to you. 

He skips past the dining hall and ballroom since you’ve already become well acquainted with them from the wedding ceremony, and instead brings you to the royal library as your next stop. It was an understatement to say it was gorgeous, but you could find no words to do it justice.

It was the largest library you’d ever seen, equipped with grand staircases and beautiful handcrafted spandrels carved into the arches. The bookshelves reached up the ceilings and covered every wall, apart from the back section where large ornate windows filtered in sunlight from the gardens outside (which Felix assured you that you’d be seeing soon.) 

“This is incredible, I’ve never seen such an impressive library!” you practically beam, unable to hide your excitement at the impressive collection of books. You’ve always been a fan of literature, spending countless hours losing yourself in fantasy worlds and star-crossed romances.

“I could spend all my days here and still not read everything,” you muse with a smile as you wind your way through various bookshelves, taking note of every title that peaks your interest. 

“With such an extensive collection, there’s bound to be something that suits your tastes,” he says with a smile of his own as he follows you through the winding path of bookcases, “feel free to grab anything you’d like! You are allowed to take from the library as you please.”

Oh, you intend on doing just that. You suppose you should start with just a few for now though; the library isn’t going anywhere after all, and neither are you. 

It takes some time, but you eventually decide on a handful books to bring back to your room first, mostly fantasy romance titles (because how can you resist the call of your favorite genre?) Felix, who had been watching fondly as you made your selections, quickly instructs a nearby maid to bring your selections back to your room before asking if you’re ready for the tour of the castle to resume. 

In much higher spirits than when you began, you happily link your arms with Felix again, eager to see what else the castle has to offer you. There’s not much more for you to see on the inside; you’re briefly shown the knight’s barracks and the maid’s quarters, as well as the informal living space his family prefers to relax together in when they have the time. (It’s still extremely elegant and beautiful for an “informal” space, but you digress– they’re royalty, after all.) 

He leads you to the gardens next, which until now you had only seen briefly from the windows, and wow, is it more stunning when actually in front of you than you ever would have believed. All the flowers and hedges are well maintained and vibrant in color, a cobblestone path laid before you and winding around the garden carefully, lattice fence work protecting the flowers in the back and maintaining the border. 

There’s ponds littered about, the cleanest and bluest you’d ever seen, the fish inside clearly visible even at a distance. In the center lies a beautiful marble fountain, with large, meticulously detailed sculptures of what you assume to be a goddess to adorn the surroundings.

It’s all utterly breathtaking, beyond anything you’d ever seen at home in the south. As you reach the end of the cobblestone path, there lies an iron wrought gazebo with matching seating and a table beneath, right in the center. 

Felix unlinks your arms and steps up first, holding his hand out to you to accept as you proceed carefully up the few steps up to the gazebo. He pulls a chair out for you, smiling when you accept the seat and then takes his own seat directly across from you. There’s still a chill in the air, as spring has only just begun to set in the north, but the sunlight that filters through the iron keeps you sufficiently warm.

“Would you like some tea? You must be tired after all the walking we’ve done,” Felix asks after he’s gotten more comfortable in his seat, the iron cold at first but warming up quickly due to his own body heat.

“That’d be lovely,” you answer sincerely, and he smiles again, looking around quickly for any nearby attendants he can call to assist the two of you. Within minutes you are provided with fresh tea, as well as a handful of biscuit style cookies, and you thank the maids for their quick work as warmly as you can.

“It’s been so long since I last walked the entirety of the castle grounds, I’d forgotten how tiring it is,” Felix sighs after he takes a sip of his tea, seemingly unphased by the high temperature of it. You on the other hand are snacking on the cookies you’d been provided as you wait for the tea to cool, having no desire to scorch your tongue and potentially embarrass yourself in front of your husband. 

“Yes, I can’t imagine doing it daily. The maids certainly have their work cut out for them,” you empathize, truly hoping they feel appreciated for all the work they’ve done for you thus far, and have done for what you imagine to be decades for some of them. You didn’t have much help on your family’s estate back home, as it was much less grand in comparison to the splendor of the castle you now live in. 

The moments that follow are serene; you listen to Felix talk about various things pertaining to the castle as you sip your tea, including stories of how he used to get lost as a child and always needed someone's help to get back to where he needed to be. You laughed once, when he told you about a time he got stuck in a utility closet and cried until he was discovered by a maid, who had to spend several minutes calming him down before carrying him back to his room. 

It was a cute story, and you couldn’t help but giggle from how he dramatically explained the darkness that encompassed him, and how terrified 7 year old Felix was at that moment. You were worried for a moment after that it’d seem like you were laughing at him and not with him, but the way he smiled at you after he heard your laugh told you he was perfectly happy with your reaction. 

It was the first time he heard you laugh since you arrived– genuinely laugh, and he liked it. It made him feel warm, and gave him hope that you were finally starting to feel comfortable around him. He’d never hurt you, and he hoped that as you grew closer to him, you could genuinely love him one day. That’s all he wants really; to love the person he’s married to, and be loved in return. 

He’s seen it happen before; his parents, whose marriage was decided long before he was born but was the truest form of love he’d ever seen, and with his older sister, who was against her marriage at first but came to be truly in love with the man she was promised to. He wanted that to– to love and be loved with all his heart, to have something special and all his own with the woman he was promised to. And he'd work hard, do everything he could to show you that he was someone worthy to give your heart to. 

You stayed in the gardens for some time, simply talking and enjoying the scenery until the sun began to shift behind the trees. The shade brought a deeper chill with it, a slight shiver crawling over your skin each time the wind blew. “Let’s go back inside, there’s still something I want to show you,” Felix suggests upon seeing the way your body tensed from the chill creeping over you. You easily accept the offer, letting him lead you out of the gardens and back to the castle.

Warmth immediately spreads through you when you’re back inside the castle’s walls, body releasing its cold tension as you let Felix guide you to where he wants to go next, your arm linked in his as is coming to be your norm.

You come to a now familiar hall– the one with your bedrooms, and Felix stops in front of the doors to his room, the one you will one day share in the future. “Your room..?” you ask, looking at him inquisitively. 

“I’m not asking you to move in yet, just to see it, if that’s okay with you,” he explains his intentions, ensuring that he means you no harm by inviting you into the private space. Felix has given you no reason to mistrust him at all, and while there is some slight hesitancy due to your own fears, you agree easier than you expected yourself to.

He’s trustworthy, you think; he’s a gentleman through and through, and he’s shown you more than once how considerate and respectful he is, so.. Why not? The royal knights guarding his room open the doors for you at Felix’s signal, and the two of you step inside together, letting the guards close the door behind you to offer you privacy (not that you necessarily need it at the moment.)

His room is similar to yours, with much of the same features, but much larger in scale and with items you imagine are specific to Felix’s own tastes. His furniture holds the same blue and white tones as yours, but with the additions of a lovely yellow, reminiscent of the sun shining in an almost clear sky. 

He has a fireplace, only slightly larger than the one in your room, and you can tell even from a distance that his attached bath is very grand in both appearance and size. The biggest difference from your own room however has to be the piano sitting in the corner of his room, large and spectacular in its handcrafted design.

You cautiously step closer to it, carefully running your hand over the sleekly painted black wood, fingertips tracing over the gold leaf accents. “This is beautiful,” you say, turning back to look at him when you’re done admiring the beauty of what you can only assume is his personal piano, “do you play?”

“I learned as a boy,” he answers with a beaming smile full of pride as he takes a seat in front of the keys, “I haven’t had much time to play recently, but it’s one of my favorite things to do. I always feel the happiest when I’m playing.”

He motions for you to take a seat on the nearby chaise, so you do, sitting comfortably against the soft cushion. “Would you like to hear a song?” he asks, a bit nervous but eager to show you what he can do after years of diligent practice.

“I’d love that,” you reply, his infectious joy causing you to smile as well. You watch as he turns his attention to the keys in front of him, his face changing as he closes his eyes, the smile you had become accustomed to seeing fading as he prepared to focus. 

The song starts soft and slow, and while you didn’t recognize the melody, you found it entrancing and indescribably beautiful and serene. You watched and listened in awe as he continued, his eyes still closed and body swaying along with the melody he was playing. His ability to play without looking at the keys or sheet music amazed you, and attested to the fact that this is indeed something he loves to do. 

You clapped when he finished the song, and his expression immediately returned to the vibrant smile he often held. “That was beautiful Felix! You’re really talented,” you praise him earnestly, truly moved by his talent.

“Oh, no, anyone who has played as long as I have can do that,” he insists despite the light blush crawling on his features from your compliment. 

“You’re being modest,” you say, hoping he recognizes that you truly mean it, and aren’t just saying so to be kind or polite. You’ve seen a fair amount of people play the piano in your time attending balls and banquets, but saw no one as talented and clearly passionate as Prince Felix.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to being so openly complimented, or the fact that he had never played in front of anyone but his family, but he found that the praise affected him in a way he couldn’t have anticipated. 

No, it was because it was you specifically complimenting him that made his face flush and heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. Was it strange to hope to hear you compliment him more in the future? Maybe one day you’d compliment his appearance; tell him he was handsome, or beautiful, or cute even. He’d be happy with any of them, as long as they were from you. 

He'll tell you too– how beautiful you are when you smile, your excitement over your books cute, your very presence endearing. He knows it's too soon to call his feelings love, because how do you fall in love with a stranger in only a few weeks time? But he's certain that one day, maybe not too far off from today, it will be love, and the warmth and joy he feels whenever you look at him will expand tenfold, beyond anything he's ever experienced before now. 

Since the first time you’d entered Felix’s room and he’d played the piano for you, it had become routine for you to spend most of your days there with him, listening to him calmly play melodies while you silently read your books. It was nice listening to him play while you were reading; it felt like it added a special ambience, and helped you get even further lost in the tales written on the page. 

Sometimes you’d even notice him watching you read from your peripheral, smiling to himself for just a moment before he turned his attention back to the keys. When his fingers grew tired, you’d start to read aloud, oftentimes at his own request. Felix explained that he liked listening to you read, and you imagined that the feeling was similar to how you felt listening to him play piano.

Relaxing, comfortable, serene; that’s how the two of you felt listening to the other. Honestly, you were embarrassed to do so at first; after all, the book you were reading at the time had to do with with a woman in a magical fantasy land falling in love with an elf, and you would’ve been extremely embarrassed if he laughed at the concept or shamed you for your taste in literature. 

However, you found that he listened to you intently, like the tale you were reading from the pages was of the utmost importance for him to hear. He’d ask follow up questions when you were further in the book than he last heard, often asking what happened next and if the characters had overcome whatever trial they had been facing yet.  

Felix remembered all the details of what you read to him– the setting, the character’s names, what their thoughts and feelings were at the point you’d read them to him. It impressed you, as well made you feel warm and a little fuzzy. It showed how much he genuinely cared, that he listened to you and cared about the things you care about, that he wanted to know what you like beyond a superficial level. 

Whenever night came however, you retreated back to your own room, promising you’d return the next day. Maybe it was silly to not officially move into the bedroom you were meant to share when you had begun to spend most of your days there, but you simply weren’t ready to yet. You’d grown to trust Felix quite a bit, but sleeping next to him still seemed a step too far out of your comfort zone. 

You also worried it’d send him the wrong message– you didn’t want him to think anything would come of you sharing a bed just yet. You just found his presence comforting, and that was all. You knew, since the very day you first came here, that he hoped the two of you would share his room when you were ready, but you didn’t want to unintentionally give him something he thought was more than it was supposed to be. 

It seemed so.. Intimate, much more than you had ever been with someone. You liked him, and you trusted him, that much was true– but enough to share a bed? It was nerve wracking to think about, and while you knew it would happen someday, there was no need to rush it along; especially not when he was giving you the freedom and space to tackle your marriage on your own terms. 

But on nights like tonight, when your heart was heavy and tears pricked the corner of your eyes, you wondered if you should’ve just moved in with Felix already. It was only a matter of time before the warm weather brought rain with it, and alongside the downpour came thunderstorms. You weren’t sure what time of night it was when the crash of thunder woke you from your sleep, but as the grogginess faded and the sound sat with you, your heart ached terribly. 

You didn’t hate thunderstorms– in fact, you didn’t mind them at all, usually finding them quite pleasant to watch and listen to. It was your sister that hated them, who’d crawl into your bed every time one struck, trembling hands rousing you from your deep slumber and clinging to you the moment you awoke and offered her a place next to you. And each time a thunderstorm rolled through, you couldn't help but think about her, sadness encroaching over you without any means to stop it. 

What was the weather like back home, you wondered? Had spring's rain been gentle to her so far or were the storms as prevalant there as they were here? Would your sister suffer through it alone now that you weren’t there to comfort her? Your parents were kind, but you weren’t entirely sure they’d allow her to crawl into bed with them, or to hold her close as she cried the way you always had. 

How much of the remainder of her childhood would you come to miss? In just a few years time, she’ll be a woman the same as you, married into a new family and away from the last of her comforts. You don’t hate where you are now, nor do you hate Felix or the family you now call your own, but you miss the people you grew up with, and your little sister most of all. 

You miss holding her hand, hugging her when she’s scared, wiping away her tears when she’s sad or frightened. You miss guiding her through the lessons you once took, helping her to understand and offering the help you didn’t have then due to being the oldest. You miss giggling together when sharing stories, how cute she looked when happily accepting and showcasing your hand-me-down dresses that were now hers. 

Before you knew it, tears rolled down your cheeks, the ache in your chest unable to be ignored or pushed aside any longer. It was as if all the sadness you’d been harboring surfaced all at once, and the moment one tear fell, another followed, and another, until you were openly sobbing, unable to control or stop it from happening. 

You thought again of Felix, who was just a short trip down the hall from you. Would it be alright to go see him? You promised you’d go to him if you needed something, and well.. You could use some comfort, if you were being honest with yourself.

If you lit some candles and tried to read to distract your mind, all you’d effectively do is blur the pages and stain them with your tears, unable to focus on the words in front of you as your mind swirled and processed all your emotions. Felix, while still relatively new to you and finding his place in your life, is your family now.

Who else can you approach with your melancholy if not him? He’s sweet– he’ll comfort you, he’ll listen to you, he’ll be patient and considerate. In the nearly 2 months since you’d first arrived, he’s always shown you just how gentle of a person he is. And he always seemed genuine when expressing his desire to share his life with you, and be someone you could trust and rely on. 

You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself, wiping the tears from your face as you rise from your bed. Your night guards seem surprised when the doors to your room open and you emerge from them, but ultimately they say nothing, letting you walk down the hall without interruption and closing your doors for you. 

Felix’s guards, who recognize you even in the dim light of the candles on the walls as his wife, acknowledge you with a brief, professional nod when you stop in front of the doors. You hesitate there for a moment, wondering if this is really okay or if you should abandon this idea and turn back to your room.

But his guards, who mistake your hesitance as you waiting for them to open the doors, do so as quietly as they can, motioning for you to go ahead and step inside the room. Well, there’s no going back now that they’ve opened the doors for you, so you quietly step inside, thanking them softly and letting them pull the large doors shut behind you.

The room is dark, the light that would normally pour in from the moon being obscured by the dark rain clouds that hang in the sky. His candles are all responsibly blown out, but your eyes are adjusted to the darkness enough to find your way to his bed regardless. 

You swallow, hand trembling as you reach out to him, shaking him gently and mirroring the actions your sister used to take when she woke you up at night. He groans sleepily, voice deep and gravely as he stirs awake, eyes slowly drawing open, wearily looking for the source of what woke him. Felix sees you standing above him, but it takes his sleep-addled brain a moment to process the sight, half wondering if his weary eyes are playing a trick on him. 

But no, it really is you, looking at him with sad eyes and a quivering bottom lip, and he can feel the tremble in your hand that rests on his shoulder now that he’s fully conscious. He sits up quickly, concern painting his face as he gives you his undivided attention.

“Y/N, what’s the matter? Has something happened?” Your voice wavers as you try to tell him, I’m sad, I’m lonely, I miss everyone from home, but it doesn’t fully come out, the words dying in your throat as tears well in your eyes again. 

He opens his arms to you and you crumble into them, burying your head in his chest as you allow yourself to cry. He sympathetically whispers your name, careful as he wraps his arms around you in a hug, conscious of where he allows his hands to rest.

He doesn’t know what's wrong, what has brought you to such tears, but he’s glad you came to him with them. It would’ve saddened Felix to later learn that you suffered in your room alone when he would’ve gladly done whatever he could for you. 

And then he hears it– the crack of thunder, lightning illuminating the room for a brief moment before you’re sheathed again in darkness. Was that the problem? Were you frightened? You weren’t of course, but he didn’t know that, and he comforted you through your sobbing as if you were.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here with you,” he told you, his voice a deep whisper, holding you just a bit tighter whenever lightning struck, fully believing the problem was that you were afraid. Despite the misconception, you were comforted all the same. This was exactly what you were hoping for, what you needed to hear.

The storm eventually recedes, as does your sobbing, the room becoming ever so slightly more illuminated as the rain clouds pass onward. He can see your face more clearly now when you look at him again, can see how wet and shiny your cheeks have become from fallen tears, but you also appear calmer, your lip trembling much less and breaths more stable. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks softly, carefully, and it is now you become hyper aware of the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, of your head resting against his chest, of the sound of his heartbeat in your ears.

You relax your fingers, which you realize were clutching his sleep shirt quite hard, the fabric having become harshly wrinkled from your grasp. He loosens his arms to let you lift yourself away from him, watching silently as you wipe your face clean. 

You hesitate to meet his gaze– not because you feel embarrassed over your outpouring of your emotions, but conscious of how close you just were, and how natural it felt to have his arms around you. Maybe the fact that it felt so right is a testament of how close you’ve grown in the time you've been here, and how comfortable he makes you feel.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you mutter quietly now that you’ve found your voice again; you know his duties leave him tired, so there’s a tinge of guilt you feel for interrupting his rest. “Don’t say that, I’m glad you woke me,” he assures you, and he’d reach out and hug you tight again if he knew he could.

You believe him– you know how earnest and sincere Felix is, and that he cares about you; maybe not in the way a husband cares about his wife, but cares nonetheless. You should be honest too, clarify why you were really crying so he doesn’t grow to think you’re genuinely afraid of thunderstorms. 

“I, uh– I’m not afraid of storms, that’s not why I was crying. Well, it was, but not because I was frightened,” you explain, and Felix looks a bit puzzled, but nods anyways, listening carefully to what you tell him. You tell him everything– how your sister was afraid of them, how you spent many dark nights easing her fears, and how your tears were born from how much you miss her, and your family as a whole. 

His heart breaks for you, truly, it does. He assumed you missed your family, he took notice of how close you were to them on the night of your ceremony, but there was no way he could’ve known how deep your pain was. And really, he can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your situation.

What if it was him who had to separate from his parents and siblings to live somewhere new? Would he be able to handle it with as much acceptance and grace as you have? You never complained about anything, even when you were saddened.

You treated everyone around you kindly, never spoke ill of anyone or about your circumstances, and that’s when he realizes you have much more inner strength than he’d known. There’s a small prick of guilt he feels for taking you away from your family, but even if it wasn’t him that you married, it still would’ve happened to you someday.

He wishes he knew what he could say or do to comfort you the best; there was nothing that could completely take the ache away, of that he was sure, but if he could make it better somehow then he’d do whatever he could. You can see the gears turning in his brain, can see him struggle with finding the words to say, unsure if what he’d done for you thus far was good enough. 

And there’s a new dilemma brewing in your mind– what do you do now that you’re calm? Do you just.. leave? Go back to your solitude and spend the rest of the night alone? If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t entirely want to go back to your room.

Maybe it was time for you to finally move in with Felix, and share the room, share the bed, as you were meant to. It’s a strange feeling you don’t entirely recognize and know what to do with; you just know that you want to stay here, with him, and feel his arms around you again. 

Maybe it’s simply because he’s all you have here; which isn’t entirely true, but it is how you feel. Do you have a family here? Yes, the royal family is your family now too. Do you have friends here? Yes, you’ve grown quite close to your maids and other staff you interact with.

But are you comfortable enough to be vulnerable in front of them, or to share your feelings of loneliness and homesickness? No, and in that regard, Felix is all you have. 

Felix is your companion in this lonely place, the person who makes your days brighter and bearable through the melancholy, the one who ebbs away your sadness and replaces it with warmth. And you spend all your days with him, next to him, talking to him, sharing everything, including silence.

Would it be so bad to allow yourself this comfort? To finally take a step forward and move into the room you were meant to share? There’s a part of you that’s scared to take that step, afraid to confront what your desire to be close to him means, unsure how to unravel and make sense of the complexities of your thoughts.

But there is an undeniable truth– Felix is your husband, and that would likely never change. So even if you don’t love him, wasn’t it okay to be close to him regardless? He makes you smile, he makes you laugh with his stories and jokes, he plays the piano for you and listens to you so intently, he makes you feel warm and fuzzy; and he told you he wants you to be here.

Maybe he doesn’t love you yet, but he’s expressed that he wants to, that he hopes the two of you will look at each other fondly and live happily. And maybe you don’t love him yet, but that doesn’t mean that the day you do is far off.

You look at him, take in the compassion and concern he holds for you, allow the feeling of warmth to seep into your pores; you may not be in love with him, but you do still have love for him. Isn’t that enough? 

“Felix, if it’s alright.. Can I–” you pause a moment, shy apprehension prickling your skin, but you collect yourself enough to continue, “I want to stay. Here, with you.” You can see even in the low light how his eyes widen, though it’s hard to decipher whether or not his surprise is pleasant, but you hope it is given how he’s expressed his hopes for the future.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, not at all against the idea, just surprised by your admission. “I don’t want to be alone again, at least not tonight,” you explain, hoping he understands, “And I don’t have to move in completely if you’re not ready for me to, but.. I spend all my days here with you anyways, so.. I want to, if that’s okay.”

Felix’s heart is racing, his face growing pinker by the second, and he feels lucky you’re making this confession in the darkness, where you can’t easily tell how obvious his blush is. “Of course you can stay,” he says, shifting more to the side to allow you the space you need to get comfortable under his thick blanket.

He’s stiff when he first lies down next to you, unsure of whether or not it was okay to touch you, whether or not you’d even like it if something as simple as his arm being pressed against yours, if it was alright with you. He already knew he was undeniably attracted to you, but he’d never do something if you were uncomfortable, or touch you without explicit permission, even if the touch was meant to be comforting as opposed to romantic.

But you reach out to him first, softly ask him to hug you again, and he’s more than happy to oblige your request. You can hear the rapid beat of his heart as you move in close, and you wonder if he’s nervous; you are too, to be fair.

You’ve never lied this close to a man before, or let one hold you in his arms the way you let Felix, never shared a bed with anyone but family. But you want this, and despite the nerves that come with doing something so new to you, you’re happy, comfortable. 

Felix’s heart begins to slow the longer you lie together, as does yours, and the exhaustion that comes with crying, as well as being woken in the middle of the night, takes hold over you. You fall asleep first, though Felix is not far behind you, the soft sound of your even breaths akin to a lullaby in his fatigued state.

You’re warm, comfortable, safe; you may not have all the things that were once familiar to you, but you have Felix, a person who radiates kindness and compassion, a person who despite everything, makes you happy. 

There’s part of you that wonders if sharing a room with Felix was a decision made too hastily; not because he did anything wrong, but because it came with unforeseen challenges. What was the challenge? Dressing, undressing, bathing to name a few.

He was always respectful, kept his back turned to you whilst you were changing or kept himself away from the attached bath if you were in it. And you likewise never peeked towards him when the opposite occurred. 

You certainly didn’t regret your decision– after all, you spent all your days with Felix, so it only made sense to spend your nights with him too now that you felt comfortable enough. But there was a certain timidness that came with undressing in the presence of a man, even if said man wasn’t looking and had his gaze fixed to the wall until you were finished. You wondered though, wouldn’t there come a day where he was allowed to look? 

The thought of Felix someday looking at your exposed, bare skin made an unfamiliar feeling well in your gut– one that was entirely foreign to you, but not at all unpleasant. Butterflies, perhaps? You’d read about the sensation in your novels, the characters often expressing how seeing the one they love made their stomach react in ways strange and new.

And as explained in the countless romances you read, your heart would race when he held your gaze after you emerged from the bath, your face would flush whenever his touch lingered for longer than what you would consider typical of a friendly relationship. 

It was no exaggeration to say that sharing a room with Felix brought you even closer than before. Once you got past your initial shyness, the weeks that followed were some of the most pleasant you’d had.

You settled into a nice routine, sharing breakfast before he had to depart to attend to his royal duties. You spent the rest of your morning and early afternoon perusing the library shelves for your next read or sitting out in the gardens, sometimes reading in the warm light of the sun, sometimes simply enjoying the scenery around you. 

You’d reunite at dinner time, sometimes sharing that time with family in the dining hall and other times eating in the privacy and comfort of your room. Felix would often insist that you bathe first, ever a gentleman to you, but on days he seemed particularly worn out and exhausted you would do your best to convince him he needed one more than you, encouraged him to relax and let the hot water soothe away any aches. 

No matter the order of the bath, your nights would end the same; you’d spend the last few hours of your day listening to Felix play the piano as you read, oftentimes reading your literature aloud once he grew tired and joined you where you sat, whether that be the chaise facing the piano, the sofa across from the fireplace, or simply the bed.

On the nights he was extra tired, his eyes would grow heavy and close as you read to him, and when you gently told him he was falling asleep, he’d mumble that he was still listening, urging you to continue.

It was endearing, and there was a certain joy you felt in lulling him to sleep with your softly spoken words, knowing that even as the comfort seeped into his bones and urged him to rest, all he wanted was to listen to you. You liked to think it even helped him, hoping that you brought him as much solace as he brought you, hoping that you alleviated and dispelled any troubles simply by being there for him the way he was for you. 

Tonight was another such day; the changing of the season brought with it longer, warmer days, and often the sun wouldn’t begin to sink until you were already well into your nightly routine. The moon had just begun to emerge when Felix settled down on the sofa next to you, making sure he lit the candles before he sat as darkness began to settle in.

It was a bit of a challenge at times to read in the dim, wavering light of the candles, but you’d grown used to it in your time as a novel enjoyer, and you welcomed the cozy atmosphere the candlelight brought. He listened to you intently at first, but the more you spoke the words from the pages, with your steady, soft and even pace, the more sleep called to him, and it became a struggle for his eyes to remain open.

His head rested against the back of the sofa, the cushion acting as a pillow for his weary body. Your softly spoken words, along with the low light the candles brought to the room, were enough to call him to sleep much faster than he’d otherwise expect. You pause when you notice his eyes have completely closed, not sure if he’s still listening with his eyes shut, or is indeed asleep as you suspect.

But when he makes no reaction to your pause, you are certain sleep has taken him, and you smile as you quietly close your book. You set it down on the nearby table, wondering if you should try and wake him, request him to move to the bed, or if it’d be better to bring over a blanket and let him be. 

You look at him, quietly taking in the sight of his sleeping form. Felix is beautiful, even whilst sleeping, and you wonder if he knows that. His eyelashes are long, his freckles a unique and expansive constellation, his parted lips and honeyed skin almost entracing to look at, begging to be admired by all who look.

And admire him you did, in quiet moments like this. Moments where everything was serene, in the space belonging only to the two of you, a space where you are the only ones who exist. 

Carefully, you reach out to him, gently tapping on his shoulder until he stirs. “Felix,” you call softly, and he barely opens his eyes, letting out a small, groggy ‘hmm?’ in response.

“You fell asleep,” you tell him quietly, voice almost a whisper, “let’s go to bed.” He hums his agreement, which due to his deep, sleepy voice sounds more like a grumble. You rise from the sofa first, offering a hand for stability if he needs it. 

He falls to the bed with a grunt, barely managing to pull the blankets up over his shoulders, and you can’t help but giggle at the display. You work your way around the room before you join him, blowing out the candles until the room’s only illumination comes from the moonlight peaking through the window curtains.

You’re not quite as tired as Felix, but you settle into bed regardless, knowing that once you’re under the blankets and comfortably next to him, sleep won’t be all that far behind. Felix has been working extra hard lately, preparing for an upcoming ball to celebrate the summer solstice.

Apparently they hold it annually, as well as one for the winter solstice, but you had arrived at winter’s end, after that celebration had already concluded. It keeps the spirits of the commoners high, gives them an event to look forward to, as well as a chance to mingle with those from other, father towns who come in to join the celebration of the season. 

That’s not its only purpose however; it also gives the royal family a chance to meet with other officials and people of high standing beyond that of just letters, and ensure that they continue to have a prosperous, mutually beneficial relationship. Dukes, barons, soldiers who have returned from war-torn fields– it’s important for the king, and by extension Felix, to know where they stand with all of them. 

Of course, you were no stranger to lessons in diplomacy, but you’re sure there is much more Felix has to keep in mind than simply being diplomatic. There’s a lot that goes into the politics of the kingdom, and you can’t imagine the weight that falls on his shoulders, knowing that one day he’ll inherit the responsibility of deciding the future of everyone within his territory.

It’s also possible that someday, your knowledge from growing up in the south will be a vital asset to him, and that he’ll seek your input on how to govern the farthest reaches of the kingdom. You sigh a little, moving in closer to Felix.

It’s best not to stress yourself out with thoughts about governing the kingdom, or about the upcoming ball; it’ll be your first ball as a married couple in the public eye, and there’s a separate set of nerves that come along with that. You wonder how much like a couple you should act; should you stay glued to his side, act lovey-dovey for the duration of the night, or would that be unseemly for royalty to do? 

It’s possible there’s no need for you to appear in love– after all, it’s no secret that arranged marriages can be loveless. But still, you think it’d be beneficial for the people to see you genuinely care for Felix– it could set a positive example, and show that the north and south have no need to fight against each other.

You think if you just act natural, and don’t put too much thought and effort into “proving” you love Felix, then the people will see your honest feelings come through.  And besides, you told yourself you wouldn't worry about such things now that you were in bed, so your only priority should be going to sleep. 

Felix’s arm rests around your waist, which is normal for you now. After the first night, when he hugged you until you fell asleep, it felt nice to wake up with his arm still there, holding you close. He apologized the next morning when you woke up, worried that he may have made you uncomfortable, though he didn’t have control of where his arm lied once he’d fallen deeply into sleep.

You assured him though that it was perfectly fine– in fact, it was comfortable, and you enjoyed the closeness after feeling so lonely. It became a natural part of how you slept, his arm always around you, sometimes loosely, and other times strongly keeping you close.

Now was one such time you were held loosely, his arm limp with sleep but you didn’t mind; it gives you the ability to easily adjust your position turning so that his hand was against your back and your head could rest close to his chest. Your movement rouses him slightly, and he instinctively holds you tighter.

You whisper an apology for unintentionally waking him with your movement, not entirely sure that he’s even alert enough to truly hear you, but you say it regardless. You guess he does hear you, because he mumbles a response, though it’s not entirely decipherable. “..ove you.”

“Hmm?” you hum in question, glancing up to look at him, but it’s no use– he’s back to sleep within seconds, as if he was never awoken at all.

Oh well, it likely wasn’t anything important, probably just dreamy ramblings of a tired mind, or an acceptance of your apology. Maybe tomorrow you can ask him if he dreamt anything pleasant, or if you appeared to him in your dreams the same way he had begun to in yours. 

You were well into the solstice ball, sighing as you stood off to the side of all the dancing, feeling exhausted from everything you were experiencing. You thought your wedding was tiring, but this was somehow even worse; when you got married to Felix, only locals to the town were welcome inside the castle to witness it and celebrate, otherwise chaos could ensue.

But with the solstice ball, any and everyone was welcome, and with that came a myriad of people for you to meet and communicate with. Most who attended were eager to see the prince’s wife, curious about what sort of woman he’d married, and you couldn’t help but be anxious about what opinion they’d hold of you after seeing you in the flesh.

Honestly, you wanted to make a good impression; you’d be saddened if you were unliked by those who would one day be your people alongside Felix. Your father was someone who governed with compassion, and the royal family were much the same, and you hoped they could see you held the same values. 

Still, it was tiring to portray your best self for hours without end, and you took the opportunity for a break at the first moment you could. You stayed at Felix’s side for the first hour of the evening before going your separate ways, him mingling with various men of high status while you traveled the ballroom floor, introducing yourself to as many people as you could.

There were still many people for you to meet and talk with, but hopefully they’d understand your need to take a moment for yourself. You sipped on some water, your throat thankful for the soothing liquid, having become quite parched from all the talking you’d done.

You also looked yourself over briefly in one of the ballroom’s mirrors, making sure everything about your appearance was still neatly in place. You had went out to town with Felix to get a new dress, and it arrived mere days before the ball, just in time. 

You expressed that you were worried about your appearance, the dresses you’d brought from home being expensive and beautiful, sure, but still falling short when compared to the lavish gowns his sisters and mother wore.

Felix, who didn’t entirely realize he was speaking his thoughts aloud, said you’d look beautiful in anything, and both of your faces went red, before he coughed awkwardly and quickly changed the subject, saying that they could simply buy you a new dress if you’d needed it. 

You did also consider borrowing a gown from his older sister, but he insisted that was nonsense when they were more than capable of buying something specifically for you, and so you’d agreed to go out to town with him, going to a seamstress well-respected and trusted by the royal family.

It was your first outing since your arrival, not because anything necessarily stopped you from leaving if you wanted to, but simply because it required the coordination and cooperation of the royal guard accompanying you, and really, you had no need to leave until then. 

After the seamstress’ daughter took your measurements, and you answered various questions pertaining to color and style, as well as looking over and feeling various samples of fabric, you were free to leave, with the promise that once your dress was ready, her daughter would bring it to the castle, along with an alteration kit if any adjustments were needed. Before returning to the castle, Felix brought you to a jeweler, and you also passed a bookstore, where you couldn’t help but notice your favorite novel was on display.

Felix asked about it when you noticed your subtle pause to look, asked if you wanted to go inside and look around, or buy the copy of your favorite novel that was on display, but you told him there was no need. After all, you still had your very well-loved copy at home (which, while beginning to fall apart, was still perfectly readable and sentimental to you), and countless books in the library you still had interest in before feeling the need to purchase any new ones. 

All that to say, your night on the town was well spent, and you were thankful how well your gown and jewelry came together, and you truly felt good about your appearance tonight. Your maids also dutifully perfected your hair and makeup, and even hours into the night, you found no imperfection with either.

Felix also went red in the face when he first saw your completed look, much to the delight of your maids, who had to suppress their gleeful giggles; it seemed they loved when Felix looked at you with awe. You allow an attending maid to take your water from your hands when you are finished with it, thanking them with sincere politeness.

You give yourself another moment to collect yourself before returning to the main ballroom floor, careful not to bump into those dancing as you make your way through the crowd of people. You hoped to locate Felix, and see whether or not he’s still caught up in whatever political talk he was having when you last brushed past him. 

Instead, you hear a familiar voice questioningly call your name, and you pause, stopping to look around for the source. It couldn’t be.. could it? “Christopher!” you gasp, met with the sight of a boy, now man, you hadn't seen in nearly 3 years, “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you know? My station is just a few towns over,” he explains with a smile. Honestly, you were completely shocked. Your fathers were close friends, and though Chris was a few years older than you, you’d spent a lot of time together due to the close relationship of your fathers, both personal and professional. 

While your father is a duke, Chris’ was a very well-respected knight, who earned the title of baron due to his unwavering loyalty and dedication to serving your father, having sworn his fealty to him many years ago, before you were even born. Chris had similar ambitions as his father, and dedicated himself to training from a young age, always expressing that one day he’d serve the royal family. Coincidentally, he was also your first, and only, childhood crush. 

And truly, you didn’t know that he lived in a relatively short proximity to the town you now called home. Upon meeting the requirements to join the royal guard, he was sent north to receive further orders, and you’d lost contact with him not long afterwards, with the only news you’d learned being that he married a year after moving from the town you both grew up in– an arranged marriage, same as you. 

His wife, as far as you were aware, was a local girl whose family offered a significant dowry to be married to such a well-respected and honorable family. You wondered more than once if he was happy, and if your father ever considered Chris as a potential husband to you, but in recent times you stopped lingering on such thoughts completely. Your situation was set in stone, and you didn’t bother entertaining thoughts on what-if’s and could-be’s now that you too were married. 

“I didn’t! But it’s nice to see you again, I didn’t expect to see a familiar face,” you tell him sincerely; disregarding the childhood feelings you once held for him, it truly is nice to see a friend from home again.

“I was surprised when I heard you were the one Prince Felix married, and so I had to take this chance to see you again, and see the truth of it for myself.” You giggle a little, imagine what Chris must’ve looked like when he learned his childhood friend had married someone so important. 

“I was surprised too, believe me. I never anticipated marrying into the royal family,” you say, smiling as you speak. Though there were hardships that came with being relocated and away from family, now that you were growing accustomed to your life here, you actually found it pleasant. And you really enjoyed Felix’s presence; while you were initially upset about your marriage, you had truly begun to view it as a good thing in the recent weeks. 

“Did your wife come too? It’d be lovely to meet her,” you ask as a follow up, hoping she was somewhere nearby. “Mm, she’s here somewhere,” he replies, much more dismissive about the topic than you’d expect him to be.

It makes you want to ask if his relationship with her is bad, but perhaps that’s not appropriate to ask given the circumstances. “Would you like to dance?” he asks, quickly shifting focus, and you hesitate, a slight frown forming on your face. 

Normally, you wouldn’t be opposed to sharing a dance with a friend, but the circumstances surrounding your lives have changed substantially since you were last in contact. You’re both married, and even if it meant nothing beyond friendship for either of you, there was an image that needed to be upheld at all times, especially in the eyes of the public.

And you couldn’t help but think about what his wife, or Felix, would think if they saw you dancing with each other. Felix knew Chris by name alone from times you talked about home, but there was no way for him to know what he looked like. And in turn, you don’t know if Chris’ wife knows who you even are, if you’d be crossing a boundary in your respective relationships without even knowing it.

Further still, the thought of Felix seeing you in the arms of another and being upset, or even jealous, is enough to deter you from making that decision. You’re trying to form something real with Felix despite the circumstances that brought you together, and you won’t do anything to hinder that.

You want him to know that you respect your marriage, and that you won’t put his feelings in jeopardy by entertaining the advances of other men. Not that you think Chris means anything by his request, but still– better to be safe about these things than sorry. 

It’s strange though; you already knew you like Felix quite a lot, and care about his feelings, but there’s something beyond that, that makes you want to abide by the sanctity of your marriage. Technically speaking, you only have to be a devoted wife in public. It’s no secret that those in arranged marriages have concubines and secret affairs. If you truly wanted to, you could do the same, but you have no wish to do so. 

Is it loyalty? Love? All you really understand is that you never want to do anything to break Felix’s heart. You also don’t know if he even has enough romantic interest in you to be jealous in the first place, but either way, that’s not an emotion you want to cause him to feel. Some may be happy to see their betrothed jealous, but you’re not that kind of woman; instead, you’d feel rather guilty and apologetic. 

You glance across the crowd, spotting Felix still mingling with his father and other men of high status, completely unaware of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Hopefully, you can return to his side soon, once you're done catching up with Chris. “I’m afraid I can’t,” you finally say, hoping he understands your need to politely turn him down.

“What a shame,” he sighs a bit, his hand reaching out to you and settling on your arm, near your shoulder, “You look beautiful tonight. I would’ve loved to share a dance with you, as adults.” 

“O-Oh, thank you,” you mutter, taken aback by the words that left him. The Chris you knew was never so forward, nor did he ever openly compliment you. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure how to respond; this was a situation your younger self would have dreamed of, but now you just feel.. odd.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, even when we were kids. I never imagined this is where life would take us, but.. If it’s your public image that worries you, maybe I could seek you out later, and we could have some alone time?” he continues seamlessly, as if this is a sentence he’s practiced in his head over and over again. 

Again, this is something your younger self would’ve been ecstatic about, even prayed for, but now you just feel.. uncomfortable. You don’t feel flattered by his compliment, nor do you like the implication of his statement, and you recoil away from the hand that lingers uncomfortably on your arm.

“We can't do that,” you say firmly, doing your utmost to make it clear you have no desire to partake in a scandalous relationship with him. You liked him once, but you were a kid then, and what you feel now for Felix is much more grounded in reality than the puppy love you had for Chris. 

“Why not?” he asks, looking at you with eyes that would’ve once made you melt. And there is genuine hurt there, which you do feel sorry about, but you simply don’t return the sentiment he seems to have. “We're both married. Shouldn't you be loyal to your wife?” you counter; even if your marriage to Felix isn’t born of “real” love, you have no interest in infidelity, nor do you want to be the reason Chris is unfaithful in his marriage.

“I don't love her, I never have. And though I moved of my own volition, I always wondered what would’ve happened if I stayed behind, and expressed my desires to make you mine. But what of you? Do you love your husband?” His words, his question, make you swallow, unsure how best to respond. You liked him once, that much is true, but you like Felix more. What you have with him.. You value it, deeply. 

It’s easy for a 14 year old to say they’re in love with their crush when they’ve never experienced what real, adult love feels like. There are times, even now, when you’re unsure of what the beating of your heart truly means, but there is one thing that you know for certain– you love Felix, much, much more sincerely than you ever loved Christopher. The difference between loving him, and being in love with him, make little difference in this case. 

Though, the more you’ve thought about it, the more you’ve come to think that maybe you are really, actually in love with him. You wouldn’t desire him if you didn’t, wouldn’t be up at night wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, or what kind of father he’d be to the children you’d one day have. You wouldn’t feel a void in your chest at the thought of no longer being by his side, even deeper than the one you’d felt upon moving away from home. 

And if there is anything your time reading romance novels has taught you, it’s that love is more than temporary butterflies and racing of the heart. Love is more than excitement, than desire, than the heat of his touch on your body; love, real love, is the comfort you feel in his presence. The safety, the hours spent together talking or relaxing, even in the comfortable silence you share during a meal– that is love.  

When you can’t imagine your life without him in it, when even the mundane sounds fun as long as it’s with him, when you still feel warm and fuzzy in his presence even after the butterflies have passed, that is love. Now that you’ve come to know what life is like when Felix is next to you, holding you, sleeping with you, sharing his voice and his talents with you, you never want to know what the absence of him would feel like.

All of that is to say, you think you’ve had your answer all along; you don’t just love Felix. You’re in love with Felix. 

“If I must tell you.. I do. I love Felix, truly. He’s a wonderful man,” you answer honestly, and Chris holds a deep frown. It must feel unfair– that’s how you felt about your circumstances at first. There’s no way for you to know how long he had feelings for you, but you were able to move on, while he clearly hadn’t. And truthfully, you feel sorry for him; none of this is his fault, but still.. You can’t change how you feel. 

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Chris says, a bit desperate, and again, your heart twists. You do mean it, unfortunately for him. And you have no intention of letting him think he has a chance to change your mind, when quite frankly, he doesn’t. Unbeknownst to you, Felix would glance your way whenever he was able to, always wanting to make sure you were handling yourself well.

It was your first solstice ball after all, and he imagined it could be overwhelming and tiring for you to mingle with so many people you had never met before. He just wanted to keep an eye on you, make sure you weren’t getting burnt out from the countless interactions with others. And that’s when he sees it– a man he doesn’t know, his hand lingering on your arm, and you, looking up at him with a troubled expression on your face. 

The look of discomfort you hold as the man continues to speak, hand still on you despite how you recoil.. He can’t help but clench his fists, a foreign sort of distaste bubbling within his veins. He can see your expression change as you speak– still uncomfortable, but not quite distressed. Sad, maybe? Perhaps this guy was being forward with you, and you were trying your best to look sympathetic as you gently turn him down. 

“If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I must attend to,” Felix says politely as he bows towards his father and his peers, not lingering to answer questions, though he really should if he doesn’t want to appear rude. He approaches you with haste, though still careful to not appear in too much of a hurry or frantic– he doesn’t want those around him to suspect something is amiss.

The man’s hand is thankfully no longer on you, he realizes as he comes closer– it’d be terribly unbecoming of someone of his status to cause a scene. “There you are, my love! I was looking everywhere for you,” Felix says with a smile as he approaches you, wrapping you in his arms as if the other man doesn’t exist at all.

Your face reddens, heart picking up; my love, he called you my love! You’re aware this is likely only happening because he spotted you and was able to perceive how you felt, but still, your heart reacts to the words nonetheless. 

“Who’s this?” Felix asks as he turns his attention to the man in front of you, his hand resting on your waist in a motion that you’d easily be able to interpret as defensive, possessive.

“O-Oh, uhm– this is Christopher. Do you remember what I told you, about how we grew up together due to our fathers being good friends? We ran into each other, and were just catching up,” you explain, and Chris, not wanting to make a fool of himself, easily goes along with your words. 

“Oh, how lovely. It's a pleasure to meet an old friend of yours,” Felix smiles jovially, extending a hand out to Chris. He accepts it, and the two politely shake hands, with Chris feeling a degree of shame and embarrassment. This definitely isn’t his finest hour; but maybe now that you’ve firmly rejected him, he can try to find happiness in his own life, love in his own marriage. 

“My deepest apologies for interrupting your reunion, but I thought it was time my wife and I shared a dance,” he says to Chris before looking back at you with a smile, and it’s so utterly charming that you practically feel your legs turn to jelly, “Shall we, my love?”

God, your face must look so red right now. But after the few seconds it takes to finish processing, you gladly accept, offering a timid smile. Felix bows politely to Chris before he leads you away by the waist, your heart still racing as you follow his lead. Away from the crowd of people, he stops and turns to you, the natural charisma he held melting away the moment your eyes meet.

“Are you alright? I’m– I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all, I just..” You smile softly, and shake your head; I liked it, I want to hear you call me ‘my love’ again, I want you to keep wrapping your arms around me and holding me by the waist you want to say, but don't. Instead you carefully lean up, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you Felix.” 

His face grows red, his hand reaching up to his face, fingertips lingering over the spot you kissed him. He smiles cutely, shy and sweet, heart pounding even from something so small. He’s infatuated with you, after all, and any affection from you is enough to make his body react.

“Why don't we really go have that dance?” you ask with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You shared a dance when you first married of course, as is customary, but this one would be different; as opposed to a dance between newlyweds with no love between them, now you could say you were dancing with the only man you’d ever sincerely loved.

“Of course, my love,” he replies as he takes your hand in his, leading you to the center of the ballroom floor, both of you bashfully smiling and giddy with affection for the other. You do your best to ignore the stares of others around you, most of them just eager to see the display of love from the newest royal couple in front of them, and keep your focus entirely on Felix.

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on his lips before he shifts his attention back to your eyes, his cheeks dusted a pretty shade of pink contrasted against his freckles. You really want him to kiss you, if you’re being honest, but you don’t think it’d be entirely wise to share your first kiss with the eyes of the entire ballroom on you.

Maybe, if either of you can conjure your bravery later on, you can kiss in the privacy of your shared room, free to indulge in the feeling of each other for as long as you wish too. Though, perhaps you should stop thinking such thoughts for the moment, lest Felix realizes you’re blushing way too hard. For now, you'll just enjoy the moment you're sharing with him, knowing now, with all your heart, that your love for him is true.

The remainder of your night continued without incident, sharing a few more dances with Felix before you separated again to continue mingling. You saw Christopher again briefly, where he apologized for his behavior and then brought you over to meet his wife.

She really seemed like a sweet girl, and you hoped that Chris would be more open to the idea of loving her now that there were no “what-ifs” keeping him held back. She also seemed quite genuinely infatuated with him, which you couldn’t blame her for– Chris was strikingly handsome, and you might have still held similar feelings for him if it wasn’t for Felix. 

When the ball came to a close, you were eager to get back to your room and get your aching feet out of the heels you’d worn to match your gown, as well as get the heavy, dangly earrings off your ears. You insist that Felix bathe first, as it will take you quite some time to remove all your accessories, get your hair down from the way it was styled, and out of your intricate gown (not as intricate as your wedding gown, of course, but still enough that you wouldn’t be able to remove it swiftly.) 

He didn’t take all that long in the bath, spending just enough time to wash up and effectively dry off, entering your room after he’s changed into his sleep clothes. He respectfully keeps his eyes away from you until he’s sat comfortably away from where you are at the vanity, your dress off and left only in your undergarments. You were brushing out your hair, making sure it was completely tamed and smoothed down to make washing easier before you enter the bath. 

You take a quick glance at Felix before you enter the attached bath, his back turned to you as he nervously fiddles with his thumbs. You soak in the tub for some time, letting the hot water soothe you until it turns cooler, now comfortably warm as you take time washing your hair and body.

Normally you wouldn’t take such a long time in the bath, but it was just so relaxing after the long day you’ve had, and you indulged in the comfort it offered you before you got out to dry off and slip on fresh clothes. 

You half expected for Felix to be in bed already, but when you step out you see that he was waiting up for you, sitting atop the blankets of your bed, back against the headboard. “Sorry I took so long, you didn’t have to wait for me,” you say as you step to your designated side of the bed, mirroring his position against the headboard.

“Well, I didn’t want to go straight to bed without having some down time with you,” he explains a bit timidly, and you smile, finding him endlessly sweet. 

The light in the room is low, the only candles lit now being the ones closest to your bed. He sits up straighter, turning to you with a nervous disposition, and you watch him curiously, wondering what’s on his mind to make him look at you in such a way. “Listen, before we go to bed, I, uh– I actually have something for you,” Felix says, meeting your gaze timidly. 

“Really? What is it?” you ask, having not expected to receive anything so suddenly. Well, sudden to you, but Felix had actually been planning this for quite some time. He steadies his nerves and turns to his nightstand, opening the drawer and digging through it until he finds what he needs– a book.

You recognize it instantly when it’s in front of you; it’s a new, almost pristine copy of the book you told him was your favorite, the one you insisted you didn’t need when you stopped to look at it the day you were out together. “When did you get this?” you ask in surprise, carefully taking it in your hands and ghosting your fingers over the cover.

“The same night you saw it, I asked a guard to discreetly purchase it for you,” he explains with a soft, sheepish smile, hoping you’re pleased. “There’s something else,” he says, and you glance up at him in even further surprise. Gently, he takes the book from your hands, opening it to a specific page. 

“I.. before giving it to you, I wanted to read it, understand for myself why it's your favorite. So.. I did, and there’s a part that really resonates with me, and.. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to read it to you,” he explains, and your heart stirs, thumping wildly in your chest.

How is he so considerate and perfect? You almost can’t believe it, and you don't even know how he found the time to read it without you knowing, but you can ask him about it later. For now, you're much more interested in the fact that he not only read your favorite novel, but wants to share a part he loved with you, a part that spoke to him, and wants you to listen to him read it in his beautiful, deep voice. 

He swallows, takes a breath, hands trembling a bit as he holds the book open and looks down at the page in front of him. You watch him with full attention, somehow feeling just as nervous; you don’t know what he intends to read, and as you yourself have read this story countless times, it’s hard to imagine which specific part he’d like the most– there were just so many possibilities and moments you loved to try and guess. But then he starts, and immediately, you feel your heart positively melt. 

"Taeryn stares at her, his fingertips ghosting her skin, his eyes transfixed in her stare, her gaze swallowing him whole. And he knows, as his fingers brush her hair softly out of her face, as her cheeks burn and breath hitches with his gentle touch, that he loves her. 

He loves her as naturally as he breathes air; to love her is effortless, as easy as it is to simply be. He loves her for as many reasons as there are stars in the sky– countless, never ending. She engulfs him, enraptures him, a moth unable to resist her bright, beckoning flame. 

And he knows, from the way every synapse in his brain fires when their lips meet, how his blood burns in his veins simply from her touch, that there is no greater feeling beyond this. To be lost in her is God's greatest gift, and he will thank Him for the rest of his days, because what else could compare to the pure bliss of loving with all that you are, and being loved in return?”

The words that you already found so beautiful sound even more so coming from him, and you can’t help but suck in a breath as you listen to him speak the words written on the page, as if he’s mirroring the character, feeling the very same emotion.

He closes the book slowly, and your heart races when his eyes meet yours again. What should you say? It was beautiful? Thank you? That doesn’t feel like nearly enough to describe how you feel or how much you appreciate this gesture. 

Felix carefully sets the book to the side, his palms beginning to clam up as he looks at you. He planned this for a specific reason, but now that he’s met with the most critical moment of all, his mouth feels dry, and his chest tightens as his heart accelerates.

He wants to tell you he loves you, and maybe he’s been reading the signs all wrong, but he thinks you love him too, he hopes you do. Maybe your affection for him doesn’t go past platonic, which he would learn to accept with time, but it would truly break his heart if you didn’t feel the same.

So he hopes, he prays, with all his heart, that when he tells you how he feels, you’ll reciprocate. You can tell what he wants to say, even with your lack of romantic experience, it’s obvious; no one commits to a gesture so thoughtful and romantic without the intent to become something greater. Given your time reading romance, that’s something you feel confident enough to say– Felix loves you. And you love him too. 

So you meet him halfway, inching ever so slightly closer to him, looking him in the eyes as you do. His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips and then back again, his breath beginning to go uneven. Felix looks at you, eyes full of love, awe, and wonder, and not wasting another breath, he kisses you, his hands reaching to your face, holding it in his hands. It’s chaste and careful, your eyes remaining closed for several seconds after he’s pulled away, your body buzzing with elation. 

“I– I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but you looked so beautiful today and I–” he swallows, nervous to continue, but pushing through it the best he could, “I wanted to tell you, wanted to kiss you, and I.. love you.” It feels as if a million butterflies are in your stomach, light and erratic in their movement, their excitement unable to be contained.

“I love you too,” you admit, breathy and soft, inching a bit closer, and he does the same, until your bodies are only centimeters apart. “Is it okay to– ..I want to kiss you again,” he asks, desperately awaiting your approval. You grant him it easily, and his lips are on you again within seconds. 

One of his hands remains on your face, cupping it gently, while the other moves to your waist, arm wrapping around carefully, keeping you close. The foreign feelings you’d never experienced that were in all the literature you read– you feel them now, intense and overwhelming, your senses knowing nothing other than Felix.

What is it that novels usually compare it to? Sparks flying? This was beyond simple sparks– it was like fireworks, bright, beautiful, bursting in your blood and filling you with warmth. 

The kisses you share are slow, measured and careful, and you never separate for long, your lips always finding each other again within seconds. Felix is breathless when he finally pulls away for longer than a few seconds, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes looking straight into yours, countless emotions swimming in them.

“I want.. can I be honest?” he asks and you swallow, whispering a soft ‘yes’ that you hope doesn't sound too nervous. “I.. want you, really, really badly but.. truth be told, I'm nervous,” he expresses sincerely, his cheeks growing a deep shade of pink, traveling all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Your face, already flushed from kissing, grows impossibly hotter from his admission. He wants you.. Like wants you, wants you? You want him too, having spent multiple sleepless nights wondering what it would be like to have each other, body and soul. 

“It's alright, I am too,” you tell him honestly. “Are you?” he can't help but ask; not because he doubts you, but rather wanting the affirmation that he isn't the only one with a heart racing out of control. You nod, seeking out his hand and intertwining your fingers. “I am. But I want you too.”

God, he almost feels light headed; he can't believe the moment he's secretly dreamed of countless times is actually happening. His face is hot, his blood burns, his heart thumps loudly in his chest, and you want him, you want him, you want him.

He takes a breath, does his best to steel his nerves before he speaks again, “We'll go slow, so please tell me if it becomes too much.” You nod, giving his hand a squeeze, meant to convey that you understand and will do as he requested if you begin to feel overwhelmed.

“I love you,” Felix whispers against your lips before he captures them in another kiss, needier this time, more urgent and impassioned. You can't help but let out a noise of surprise at first, but you easily melt into the kiss, eyes closing as you meet his passion with fervor of your own. 

His kisses are slow, just as before, but they feel more purposeful, sensual, and when you feel his tongue against your lips, begging to be let in, you easily oblige the request, opening your mouth for him and allowing his tongue to run across yours. Your stomach flips, the feeling of his tongue curiously exploring and rubbing around yours making you dizzy; you never knew kissing could feel this good.

It's so intimate to share your breath with someone, and you feel your body react in ways entirely new, but pleasant. You spend several minutes just like this; kissing over and over, letting his tongue draw circles around yours, only pulling away when one of you desperately needs a breath. 

“Can I touch you?” Felix asks once he's pulled away again, and the question, along with the deep, breathy baritone of his voice, makes a shiver run down your spine as butterflies once again flutter in your stomach. “Yes,” you breathe, perhaps sounding a bit more eager than you would've wished, but really, you shouldn't feel embarrassed when he wants you just as bad as you want him. 

Again, his lips are on you, but this time he allows his hands to carefully roam your body, gentle and slow in their exploration. Even though he's simply touching you over your clothes, you react to his touch as if bare, whimpering into his mouth when he palms your breasts with both hands and gently squeezes. 

It's easy for his thumbs to find your hardened nipples through the fabric of your nightgown, and again you let a soft sound of pleasure pass your lips. Felix pulls away to look at you, flushed, breathless, and so, so pretty; he's never felt more blessed in his entire life than he does right now.

He watches you bite your lip when his thumbs pass over your nipples again, doing your best to suppress what you perceive to be an embarrassing noise. “Is it alright if I take this off you?” he asks, stilling the movement of his hands as he waits for your answer.

“O-Only if you take your clothes off too,” you answer shyly, and he smiles timidly, finding your request more than fair. “Of course, my love. Whatever you want.” Felix stands from the bed, slowly pulling his sleep shirt up and over his head, likely feeling that you'll be more comfortable if he's the one who's exposed first.

And God, you can't believe the physique he'd been hiding underneath all this time; his lean body much more toned than you could've even imagined. He feels shy under your attentive gaze, but he continues nonetheless, taking the waistband of his pants into his fingers and pulling them down his legs.

His erection, of course, doesn't go unnoticed by you, and you can't help but stare at the obvious tent it creates in his underwear. You've never seen one before, and you're infinitely curious what his looks like, but there's no need to rush to find out; you have all night together. 

Swallowing down the shyness your stare makes him feel, he returns to the bed, sitting directly in front of you. You start to lift up your gown, but he stops you, replacing your hands with his own– after all, he asked if he could be the one to take it off you. You allow him to lift it up to your shoulders before you help him take it all the way off, paying no mind to where on the floor it lands once it has been tossed aside. 

The shy part of you makes you want to cover your breasts and avoid his gaze, but the other part can't help but indulge in the mesmerized twinkle held in Felix’s eyes. “So beautiful,” you hear him say under his breath, his hands now making contact with your skin without a barrier. You look down, taking in the sight of his hands holding and squeezing your breasts. 

Your body shudders when his thumbs once again rub over you nipples, and he loves watching the way your face changes, how your brows furrow and you bite your lip. He loves the way you gasp when he takes your nipples between his fingers, how your eyes close and head falls back when he carefully rubs and pinches them. 

He kisses you when you lift your head again, but he doesn't linger there for nearly as long as before; instead, he begins to trail kisses down your jaw, to your neck. The kisses make you shiver, and you tilt your head to the side, allowing him easier access to your heated skin. He carefully guides you back as he kisses all over your skin, so that you fall back against the bed, head not quite making it to the pillows, but you don’t particularly care.

He takes his time, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your neck, his slow descent to your collarbone and the top of your chest nearly driving you crazy with want. Your breath hitches when he kisses one of your nipples before letting his tongue come out to lick it, lips closing gently around it.

He gives your other nipple equal attention once he's satisfied with his stimulation of the first one he devoted his attention to, and then slowly trails kisses down your body, below your ribs and over your stomach. You feel almost delirious with anticipation, and you half wonder if he's only going slow to drive you crazy (he isn't, of course, but you're becoming much too needy to recognize that.)

Felix caresses your legs, placing kisses over your thighs, as well as just over your panties. There's an obvious wet spot, which you can't help but feel embarrassed by once you've seen that he's noticed. You can't help it– this is easily the most aroused you've been in your entire life.

“Want me to take them off?” he asks, and you nod eagerly, covering your face in embarrassment when he chuckles at you. “You're so cute when you're shy,” he says, and you let out a whine; why does he have to say it with such a sinfully attractive voice?

Your reactions boost his confidence, helping to alleviate some of the nerves he'd felt when you first began. And you really are so, so cute right now; it simultaneously further endears him to you and makes his cock throb. 

“I'm going to take them off now,” he warns since you aren't looking at him, and he wants you to be completely aware of what actions he takes. You peek through your fingers, nervously anticipating what his reaction to your exposed sex will be. He slowly pulls your underwear down your legs, and you take a deep breath before you part your legs for him to see you fully. 

Fuck, you're perfect. There is nothing in the world that could've prepared him for the sight of your glistening heat. He swallows and licks his lips, looking back at you before taking any further action. “Do you need to stop?” he asks, not wanting to push you too far if you aren't ready for this. Truthfully, you are overwhelmed– but in the best way possible, and you definitely don't want to stop here. 

“No, want more,” you admit, trying your best not to stutter or mumble so he hears you clearly. “Tell me if you change your mind?” he says, more like a question than a statement, and you nod, assuring him you will if you feel the need to. He lowers himself so his head is between your legs, and the sight of him there alone is positively dizzying. 

You hear him comment under his breath about how wet you are as his fingers rub through your folds, which does no favors for your racing heart. He then carefully spreads you apart with two fingers, and again, you see him swallow and lick his lips. Fuck, he has to taste you, needs to find out if you're just as sweet as he imagines you to be. 

Everything is so new to both of you, and Felix doesn’t entirely know what he’s doing, but instinct drives him forward. You gasp and shudder when his tongue makes contact with your dripping heat, slowly but greedily licking up all you offer him. When his tongue finds your clit (a pleasant accident on Felix’s part given his unfamiliarity with the female body), the pleasured noise that involuntarily escapes you tells him he should focus his attention there. 

“Feels good?” he asks before he licks again; he’s sure he knows the answer, but he still wants to hear you say it anyways. You nod quickly, another embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips when his tongue swirls around your most sensitive spot. You’ve pleasured yourself before, in private moments with your own fingers, but nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to how Felix’s tongue feels. 

His lips wrap around your clit, as if kissing it, his tongue alternating between long, flat licks, quick flicks, and swirling around it, and you’re positively seeing stars, eyes rolling back as your head falls back against the mattress. You cover your mouth with your hand, your other hand desperately clutching at the sheets beneath you, legs trembling and thighs unconsciously closing around Felix’s head. 

You feel it, the familiar heat pooling deep in your stomach, your muffled moans quickly turning to desperate whines and whimpers as he drives you closer and closer to sweet release. You can tell however, that your orgasm will be much more intense than any you had ever given yourself, and it scares and excites you in equal measure. But fuck, even muffled, your noises sound so unbelievably sweet in his hears, and he wants to hear them louder, clearer. 

“Take your hand away, my love, I want to hear you,” he separates from your heat long enough to tell you, and you whine, this time in embarrassment, as you lift your head up to look at him. A mistake, in hindsight– the sight you’re met with being more erotic than your heart can handle. His mouth and chin glisten with your arousal, the sweat lingering on his brow making his hair stick to his forehead in a way that makes your heart want to give out– he’s just so.. alluring.

“But the guards,” you try, and he shakes his head, not at all deterred by the fact that they stand outside your bedroom doors. “Don’t care,” he says simply, and you can tell he’s completely serious. There aren’t many things Felix is selfish about in his life, but this, you– he’ll be as selfish as he pleases. “They’re just for me, right? So I don’t care if they hear them, because you’re mine, and they know that too. So please, let me hear you.” 

Oh, wow. How can you deny him after hearing that? With a shy nod, you agree to not cover your mouth anymore, and he smiles, pleased with your response, and quickly gets back to work between your legs. It’s insane how quickly your release builds back up, as if there was never a pause to begin with, and a curse leaves you between your loud, whiny moans and whimpers.

Felix has never heard you curse before, but he has to admit he likes how it sounds coming from you, and knowing he has caused you to become debauched enough to do so without being conscious of it. Before you know it, you’re seeing white, releasing all over his face as your body jolts and trembles, back arching from the bed as he continues to stimulate you through it.

You eventually whine and push his head away from you, becoming overstimulated from all the attention his tongue continued to give you after your orgasm. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he moves up your body, connecting his lips with yours again, and the taste of yourself lingering on him and his tongue makes your head spin. 

Your hands reach for his underwear, trying to pull down the fabric and spring his cock free; it’s a much more forward and desperate act than you ever imagined yourself doing, but you’re so hungry for him that you can no longer think about being demure. You just want him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything in all your years on this earth. Felix takes the hint, not that it’s even subtle enough to be a ‘hint,’ and makes quick work of taking off his underwear. 

The sight of his cock leaves you speechless, breathless; do they all look so simultaneously hot and pretty, or is it just because it belongs to Felix? “Can I..?” you ask, not entirely sure what you’re asking to do– you just know you want to make him feel as good as he made you feel. God, yes, please, Felix thinks, but he just nods with a slightly shy smile, shifting his weight off you and laying on his side next to you. 

You lay on your side as well, pressing a kiss to his lips as your hand reaches for his cock, fingers curiously running along his length, feeling every vein and ridge. Felix releases a shuddery breath against your mouth, your fingers feeling so different from his own, small and soft, but so, so good. Your touch is intoxicating, and his body jolts when you rub your thumb over the tip, spreading his pre-cum all over it. 

A soft groan escapes him when you enclose your fingers around his length, fingers not quite able to wrap completely around and meet your thumb, but it’s more than enough to have Felix feeling good when you start slowly moving your fist up to the tip and then back down. Eventually, as your fingers spread more and more of his pre-cum, his length becomes slick, and it becomes easier for you to pick up your pace, swallowing all the low groans he emits with your mouth.

But you can’t help but think– it felt so good when Felix used his tongue on you, so wouldn’t the same be true for him? Isn’t it worth trying? He opens his eyes when you take your hand away, watching curiously and with bated breath as you gently push him back by the shoulder, having him lay flat on his back as you move to lie comfortably against his legs, his cock a mere inches away from your face. 

He lifts himself up to watch you, supporting his weight with his forearms, breath quickening as you take him in your hand again, sticking your tongue out to curiously lick the tip. The taste of his pre-cum is unlike anything you’ve ever had, and while you don’t think there is anything you could compare it to, it’s not unpleasant. You look up at Felix through your lashes, and God, the sight of you, so pretty and perfect, with his cock in your hand and tongue licking away at him, is enough to drive him crazy. 

Would he fit inside your mouth? How good would it make him feel? Driven by curiosity and desire, you open your mouth, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock as you start to sink your head down on him, and the shaky, breathy groan he lets out in response makes your heart skip a beat and core throb. You keep your eyes on him, watching as his head falls back, his adam’s apple bob up and down, the way his stomach contracts the more you pleasure him. 

The sounds that escape him encourage you to keep trying your best to take more of him in your mouth, retreating just a bit when you’ve taken enough of him to cause yourself to gag. Felix has to make a conscious effort to not buck his hips up and drive himself further down your throat, lest he hurt you or make you gag again, but fuck, it feels unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He knows for a fact he’s going to cum if he lets you keep going much longer, and so, with a shaky breath, he asks you to stop.

You pull off of him the moment he asks, looking at him curiously; you knew he was feeling good, so why did he want you to stop? He sits up completely, capturing your lips in a kiss lest you worry about how well you did for him; you were perfect, you’ll always be perfect, and even if he’s at times too shy to convey that with words, he’ll make sure you know with his actions.

“I want to be inside you,” he tells you, lips still close enough to yours to easily kiss you again, to feel your breath against your skin, “do you want that too? Do you want me?” 

God, yes, you want him so fucking bad. Are you nervous? Of course you are, you’ve never been so intimate with someone before, but there’s no one in this world you would rather give yourself to than Felix. You want to be connected to him, physically, mentally, in all ways conceivable. He’s the one for you, the love of your life, the most perfect man you’d ever known, so there’s not a single doubt in your mind, or your heart, that he’s the one you want to do this with, and that you want to do it now.

“Yes,” you kiss him, “I want you,” another kiss, “so bad,” and another. He’s elated to hear you say it, his relief and joy going beyond words. He would’ve waited for you, of course he would’ve, but he can’t deny how much he craves being inside you, making love to you, pouring all his love and affection into you.

He loves you so, so much, and it’s reflected even in his most carnal of desires. It’s more than sex, it’s more than simply wanting to feel good; to be with you intimately is the greatest display of love you could ever share.

He lies you down carefully, making sure your head actually makes it to the pillows this time, and he situates himself between your legs, hands rubbing over your hips and thighs as he leaves another lingering kiss to your reddened lips. His hand comes between your legs, and he finds your hole with his fingers, wanting to make sure he knew where to aim his cock. You’re still so wet and warm, and the fact that he’s this close to being inside you feels like a blissful dream. 

Taking his cock in his hand and lining it up, he looks at you, wanting to make sure one last time that you want him to keep going. “Are you ready?” he asks and you nod, completely, 100% positive you want him inside you.

“Yes, I'm ready, please put it in,” you practically beg, and that’s all Felix needs to hear to continue. He starts to push in slowly, watching your face carefully for any discomfort or pain, stopping when he hears you let out a small hiss. 

“Are you okay? Do you need to stop?” Felix asks, using all of his self control to make sure he takes good care of you, and makes your first times as comfortable as possible. “I-I’m okay, just keep going slow,” you tell him and he nods, seeking out one of your hands and intertwining your fingers.

“Squeeze if you need to, okay? I won’t do anything to hurt you, my love, tell me to stop and I will.” You smile, already knowing he’d do his utmost best to make you feel safe, loved, and comfortable. It stings a bit, but it doesn’t necessarily hurt– and Felix’s soothing words, touch, and kisses do wonders in lessening the discomfort you initially felt.

Felix clenches his teeth once he’s fully sheathed inside your heat, your warm, wet walls tightly enveloping him making him almost overwhelmed from how good it feels. He thought your mouth was amazing, but this– God, it’s better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. 

You can see how much effort he’s pouring into staying still until you're ready for him to move– clenched jaw, furrowed brows, sweat dripping from his brow from concentration. Contrary to what he expected, he’s the one squeezing your hand, trying desperately to ground himself and not lose control of his body, to succumb to his senses. He’s breathing heavily, forehead once again pressing against yours, but you don’t mind in the slightest. 

You love how close he is, how full of him you feel, how the sting and discomfort slowly dissolves away, leaving nothing but the desire to feel him move inside you. “You can move, I’m ready,” you whisper, and carefully, slowly, he pulls out to the tip before pressing back in one gentle, fluid motion.

“It’s okay? Doesn’t hurt?” he asks and you shake your head, timidly smiling at him. “Feels good, keep going,” you tell him, and he easily obliges, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the feeling of you.

He can’t help but groan, even with the slow pace he’s setting he just feels so good, and the way you look up at him doesn’t do him any favors. Your pretty eyes, your flushed face, the way your hair has messily fallen around you, the way you clench with every sound that tumbles from his lips, letting him know how much you like hearing him– everything, literally everything about you, about this moment, is a blessing to him. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, causing him to push in deeper, and his eyes roll back, head falling forward into your shoulder as another groan leaves him. He gradually starts to pick up his pace, always making sure you’re comfortable and enjoying it before he goes faster, experimenting with angles to find what feels best for you, because everything is already good for him. 

He knows he’s found the right angle when you let out a loud gasp, followed by a moan when he thrusts again, and again, your hand tightly squeezing his, though he knows it’s purely because of the pleasure, and not at all because he’s hurting you or you need him to stop. You curse under your breath again, your nails starting to dig into the flesh under his knuckles, your other hand clutching once again at the sheets beneath you. 

“Feels good? Tell me, tell me it feels good,” Felix practically begs in your ear, his deep voice growing higher in pitch as he drives himself closer to release, his groans turning into desperate sounding whines. “So good, fuck, love you so much, feels so good,” you babble, and Felix whines louder, hips stuttering as he continues fucking into you.

He intended for this moment to be sweet and sensual until the end, but he really didn’t anticipate how your walls around his cock would drain him of his composure. You don’t seem to mind in the slightest however– in fact, you seem to be enjoying the moment just as much as him, your legs starting to tremble as your second orgasm looms closer and your moans and whines grow in volume.

He crashes his lips into yours, your kisses turning much less romantic than before, having devolved into a messy, desperate display of tongue and teeth. It’s a different sort of display of passion, but it is passion all the same, and you couldn’t ask for anything better than this; Felix is perfect in everything he does, and this is no exception. 

You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, and you know he must be close; so you keep your legs tightly wrapped around him, making sure that when his cum shoots inside you, it’ll be as deep as it can get. Feeling close yourself, and wanting to cum with him, you bring your free hand to your clit, rubbing it in the quick circles you know feels best for you. Within seconds, you’re cumming around his cock, and the way you squeeze and clench around him is enough to send him straight into his, his cum shooting out in long spurts, filling you to the brim. 

You’re both breathless, hearts racing and bodies hot, and after collecting his breath, Felix kisses you again, not messy or desperate as just moment priors, but full of love, truly the happiest he has ever been. He doesn’t pull out of you until he feels himself start to soften, and he mutters for you to wait there for a moment and stay still as he rushes to the attached bathroom for a tissue to clean you up.

You wince a little, a bit tender and sensitive from all the attention you received, but Felix is gentle and careful, as he is with everything when it comes to you. When he’s done, you make your way under the blankets, shifting over to your side of the bed, waiting for him to blow out the candles and settle in next to you.

Should you both get dressed? Maybe, but neither of you particularly want to– there’s something special and intimate in staying just as you are now, bare in each other's arms. He holds you close, as he always does, kissing the top of your head, and smiling when you look up at him from where your head lies against his chest.

“I love you so much,” he tells you and you smile too, pecking him on the lips and hugging him tight. “I love you too,” you whisper as you close your eyes, exhaustion quickly settling over you. You never imagined how happy you would one day become the day you became Felix’s wife, and now you know that it was actually a blessing in disguise, something you didn’t know you needed. 

From the moment he first saw you, Felix knew you were the one, instantly enamored with you. He hoped with all his heart his marriage was one he could be happy in, that his wife would be someone he could truly love, and you answered his prayers from the very moment you entered his life. He doesn’t want to say it was love at first sight, but somehow, he just knew– you were perfect, the one he was destined to be with and love with all his heart, his soulmate. 

It sounds like a cliche he’d find in one of your romance novels, but it’s genuinely how he feels. No one in this world would ever compare to you, and he’d forever be grateful to his parents, your parents, and even God himself, for putting you on this earth at the same time as him, and allowing you to be his wife.

He wishes he had words stronger than “I love you,” or that he knew how to articulate himself in a way that would explain the depths of how he feels, but he supposes those simple words will have to do. He loves you, and there has never been anything he's been more certain of than that. 

[hannie-dul-set]

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [1].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst if you squint, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, secondhand stress HHAHAHAH. WORD COUNT. 2.9k.

TAGLIST. @seokgyuu @spjhyn @bat-shark-repellant @writingmeraki @lotties-readings @jenodreamer @gyuspeach @lexawoah13 @dvalitaes @agustdiv1ne @enhacatalog @soobs-things @tocupid @wonsays @kgneptun @sarang-ae @peaceout97 @outrologist @prettypei @luv4cheol @captivq @kueey @matcha-binz @loveherrschxr @haechology @bitehee @laylasbunbunny

NOTE. and so it begins!! grabbed seventeen’s “second life” and gave it to beomgyu’s band, by the way. future chapters will be a lot longer bcs this one is sort of just an introduction. please lmk what u think so far!!

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 1 — the consequences of working with a choi.

One.

“I told you I won’t do any romance dramas!”

Choi Soobin isn’t usually one to throw tantrums. He’s gentleness itself, says the media. The loveliest, most humble and soft-spoken angel to have ever graced South Korea’s entertainment industry. Interviewees praise him for being so kind and warm. Award-winning actor Lee Minyuk decided to adopt him the day they first met while working on a drama just a year ago.

He’s so nice, so sweet, so lovely— a stark contrast to the roles he usually plays, but that doesn’t take away from the songs of praise that articles and Twitter posts usually string along with Choi Soobin’s name.

All of this is true of course. As long as you’re not contractually obligated to babysit his whiny, picky, six foot tall ass every single day.

“Soobin, why don’t you give it another—”

“This is ridiculous,” he huffs, crossed armed on the sofa with a tattered script sitting on the low coffee table before him. Manager Lee feels a headache kicking in. Why is this bastard acting up when the interns are in the office? Those two simply wanted to deliver the scripts for Soobin to pick from, but they are looking at his actor’s surprising behavior with wide eyes. Now, it’s going to be his job to make sure that they don’t run their mouths about the nation’s alleged first love actually being a spoiled brat.

“Soobin,” Manager Lee exhales for the nth time. This script is from Writer Kang. The Writer Kang! She wrote this script with you in mind as the lead. Can you at least maybe reconsider—”

“I’m not doing it.” Soobin won’t budge. He’s got a visibly troubled and offended look on his face and his manager wants to smack him upside in the head. How could he not understand that this is an opportunity of a lifetime? “Hyung, you know the reason why I even signed to this company in the first place. I’m not doing it. Absolutely not.”

He picks up the script like it’s a dirty rag— disgusted expression to match— only to reveal a page that suddenly prompts him to throw the entire thing across the room. The two interns flinch. Manager Lee feels his hair turning gray by the second.

“There’s a kissing sce— agh! Gosh! What will my soulmate think if she sees me kissing another woman?!”

“Soul...soulmate?” unfortunate intern number one voices out hesitantly.

“Is...Choi Soobin seeing someone right now?” asks number two, and Manager Lee wants to retire early. His actor is still ranting on and on about how there’s no way in hell he’s taking on this role. He doesn’t really wanna deal with that right now.

“No. He’s not seeing anybody. He’s never been in a relationship before.”

Manager Lee knows this because he’s been Soobin’s manager since the young star was still seventeen, when he was still as nice and well-behaved as the tabloids made him out to be. That same kid is now a grown adult and shuddering over a possible kissing scene in a screenplay. “Ahh. I can’t do this, I seriously can’t do this, hyung!” Fame does change people. Manager Lee wants seventeen year-old Soobin back.

“Then...then who is his soulmate…?”

It’s hard to imagine that an A-List star like Choi Soobin is suffering from unrequited love. “A woman from his past life,” answers Manager Lee. “Or so he says.” The interns look at him. Come—come again? their expressions seem to say. Manager Lee lets out an exasperated sigh. This one’s even harder to comprehend.

“Hyung,” Soobin finally calls out for him. Lee returns his attention to his artist, who’s now flipping through the other scripts on the table with an even more disgruntled expression. “Hyung, are these all the offers I have? They’re all romance! Don’t we have other options?!”

“The CEO wants you to expand your roles, Soobin,” Manager Lee flatly replies. “Your fans too. You can’t keep doing action-mystery-thrillers forever. It’s a waste of your visuals. They want to see you in lighter things too.” He walks over to pick up the first rejected script from the floor, dropping it in front of Soobin, who is currently a deflated balloon.

He’s changed. But sometimes it feels as though his artist hasn’t grown up ever since they first met.

“If you take Writer Kang’s drama, you’ll get even bigger, Soobin.”

“I’m not interested in fame,” Soobin mumbles, shoulders slacked and dejected. “I just want—”

“If you gain ever more fame, expand your reach, won’t that mean your soulmate can find you sooner as well?” Soobin takes the bait. He flinches upon hearing the word he’s been chasing after ever since, a glimpse of consideration flashing through his expression as he nips down his bottom lip. Manager Kim lands a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, kid. You shouldn’t waste opportunities like this.”

Soobin lets out a breath. “I’ll...I’ll give it some thought.”

Dear god, finally. Manager Lee ushers out a sulky and troubled Soobin out into the hall with the script hugged against his chest and tells him to relax for the day. “Don’t overthink it. Just do what you want to do,” he says, after gaslighting him into positively considering the role. Still, Soobin needs this. He’s been stagnating since his last project, Study Group. He needs to switch up genres if he wants to improve.

“Wow,” intern number two exhales the moment Soobin leaves the premises. “You really are a veteran, sir. But does Choi Soobin’s soulmate really exist? Who is he looking for?”

Manager Lee shrugs and drops onto the sofa with a grunt. “Beats me. He doesn’t even know her name.”

*

Two.

“Yeonjun! Choi Yeonjun, look over here!”

“Choi Yeonjun, you look good today as well!”

“Please give a heart to the camera!”

“Fuck! Choi Yeonjun, you’re so fucking hot!”

That last one made Yeonjun’s mouth twitch into a smirk, and the screaming instantly became louder. Unintentional, but he relishes in the attention, anyway. He flips down his sunglasses to block the flashing lights from the cameras (causing another unintentional pandemonium), and his manager (Kim Noona, he likes to affectionately call when she’s about to yank out his hair roots for misbehaving) quickly ushers him into van before his rabid fans break through the bodyguards’ defenses and jump him.

“Good work today,” says Manager Kim as they start to drive away from the fansign venue. Yeonjun has his window rolled down and is blowing air kisses to the crowd. Ignorance is bliss, Manager Kim decides. “However, you don’t have time to run a catwalk on the way to the van tomorrow since you have another schedule immediately after the fansign. Try to strut for two minutes max tomorrow, please.”

“‘Kayyy,” Yeonjun hums, rolling the tinted windows back up and leaning back into the car seat with a satisfied groan. They’re on the way back to his apartment now. Time for him to start his routine. “Noona, do you have all the letters I got today?”

“Look to your left.” 

And there it is indeed— a stack of notes and envelopes and perfume-drenched messages of love and adoring affection. He flits through each one, skimming over every note and every letter like he’s looking for something. “Sleep early tonight,” Manager Kim tells him as he knits his brows, nearing the end of the stack. “You have a shoot in the morning, in case you forgot.” 

Yeonjun is back at the first letter he started with. Nothing, he lets out a sigh. Not one that he’s looking for.”

“Noona,” he calls out. “I’m going live right now.”

There’s a bump on the road.

“No, wait—”

[🔴 yawnzzn is live].

“Hehe. Yeonjunnie is here—!”

Manager Kim abruptly stops the car. Thank fucking god the road isn’t too crowded. She watches Yeonjun from the rearview mirror as he smiles at the outstretched camera and makes casual greetings and hello’s to the viewers, heart racing in fear. “Right now? I’m on the way back home. Can’t wait to get a nice shower once I get back.” Okay, she lets in a deep breath, starting the car once more. Yeonjun isn’t doing anything weird yet. Better to drop him off as soon as possible.

“Nooo, I haven’t had dinner yet, I’ll order once I get home. What do you guys recommend?”

He’s being normal. He’s acting fine. This is good.

“Ramen? That sounds good. Kimchi jjigae is also yummy.”

Maybe he just wanted to interact more with his fans, yes. He’s always been like that. Maybe he won’t say anything rash this time.

“Oh! The video with Mark Lee from NCT? Did you see us hugging? Hehe, Mark and I look good together?” They’re almost at his apartment building. They’re almost here. Once they arrive, Yeonjun will turn off the livestream and Manager Kim can finally fucking retire for the day. “That’s cute. But it’s too bad. I’m already interested in someone else.”

Screeeech!

The car stops. “Yeonjun.” But Yeonjun’s live stream is still ongoing. “Turn off the live.”

Yeonjun is smiling at his phone in painful ignorance. Manager Kim doesn’t miss the one second glance he spares at her. One second. One mere second before he starts inciting chaos even more. “Who? That’s a secretttt. I don’t want to tell you.”

Manager Kim’s phone starts buzzing. “Yeonjun, turn it off.” The buzzing won’t stop. Her personal phone starts going off as well

“Ah. Should I give you a hint?”

There’s an incoming call now.

“Choi Yeonjun, turn off the god damned—”

“Okay!” Yeonjun suddenly exclaims. He flashes a knowing smile to the camera, but his dearly stressed and overworked manager knows that it’s directed to her rather than the thousands of people witnessing the artist she’s in charge of stirring his third rumor of the week. Her phone won’t stop buzzing, it can be used as a fucking vibrator at this point. Choi Yeonjun is lucky he rakes in most of the agency’s profits— otherwise his contract would be terminated by now. “I have to go. My manager looks like she’s about to fire me, hehe. See you all tomorrow! Mwah!”

Just like that, the live stream ends, but Manager Kim’s phone is still incessantly ringing and beeping and giving the signal that Choi Yeonjun will once again go trending on Twitter— not in the way the company wants. Again. “Kim Noona?” Yeonjun calls out. “The light is green. The cars behind are honking at us.”

Manager Kim’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Yeonjun.” And they start moving again. “What are you gonna do once you get home?”

“Post a damage control photo. Got it.”

He knows. He knows yet he keeps pulling the same shit every week.

“Good...good— just,” his manager lets out a sigh, and they arrive at the front of his building. “No matter what I tell you, you won’t stop pulling these stunts, aren’t you?”

“Nope.” Yeonjun flashes her a grin, unbuckling his seatbelt, ready to slide the door open. “Thanks, noona! See you tomorrow!”

With that, Yeonjun leaves with a bounce in his step right after the mess he just made.

The problem is, Manager Kim can’t tell him to stop either after knowing exactly why he’s doing all of these scandal-bait, potentially career damaging things. It’s not something she can believe in, and it’s definitely not within the realm of reality. But after seeing the look on her artist’s eyes when he said— how many more headlines must he make until you can finally find your way back to him?

Well. All Manager Kim can do is work PR to their deaths for damage control.

*

Three.

“Why don’t we kick it off by listening to your latest single?”

Studio lights burn the set. Five seats are settled in place, four against one for an interview with one of the hottest K-Rock groups of the generation. Yeong-Il released a new single just earlier in the week, and it’s topped the charts ever since release. 

If I am given a second life I may live and breathe differently compared to now

Lee Heeseung looks happy to be here. So do Yang Jeongin and Lim Jimin. Choi Beomgyu, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now, complete with the faraway look on his face as he’s clearly not paying attention to the comments the host is making, instead drowning in melody and lyrics hummed by the speakers.

Among the streets we’ll walk past each other without knowing

“It’s quite different from our usual music, no?” Heeseung laughs.

I hope we remember each other

“Right!” Jeongin chimes in. “But I think we should hear from the man who produced and wrote this.”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Choi Beomgyu!”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Beomgyu, are you awake?”

Even if a second life That’s different from now comes to me The one thing I can say is That I’m going to be by your side

“Beomgyu!”

“Ah.” Beomgyu finally wakes up. He catches the concerned and nervous glances of his friends-slash-bandmates. Beomgyu takes the microphone from Jimin, tapping it once, before saying, “What do I do? It’s a little embarrassing to talk about this by myself.” Jeongin fails to hold back a snort at his lack of sincerity. Jimin sends him a nudge with his elbow. 

“Hey, this isn’t the first time you’ve written a song. Quit acting coy,” Heeseung manages to salvage the conversation, invisible sweat dripping down the side of his face. Beomgyu finally decides to stop stalling and answers the question.

“Well, anyhow, I think you can tell from the lyrics. Second Life is about a love that extends beyond lifetimes— promising that even after we’ve lived, died, and reborn as different people, there is still no one I’d love but you.” There’s some coughs from his bandmates. Beomgyu presses his lips into a smile. “That’s it.” And passes the microphone back to whoever reaches out for it first.

This kind of behavior from Yeong-il’s guitarist and vocalist isn’t new. 

The problem is, even though his team and fans are used to it, not everyone is, so the show’s host is taken aback by Beomgyu’s complete lack of care, unaffected and impenetrable. He stifles out a cough, flits through his cue cards. “O—oh, how romantic!” he exclaims. “I’ve noticed that a lot of your other songs that Choi Beomgyu-ssi has written seem to have a similar theme. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, it’s not really a secret, and it’s honestly pretty obvious,” Beomgyu answers, earning another nudge from Jimin. 

“He doesn’t seem like it, but Beomgyu is the biggest romanticist out of all of us,” Heeseung saves the day once more. Choi Beomgyu has been once dubbed as the biggest hurdle in every interviewer’s career. Nobody knows if he’s doing it on purpose, or if he really is just like that.

“We—well, can we ask what your inspiration is for writing this kind of music?”

It’s not a new question. It’s a question asked interview after interview to Choi Beomgyu whenever they release one of his songs riddled with his signatures of reincarnation, second lives, and first loves. But he’s always avoided answering them, sometimes going as far as outright telling the host that he doesn’t want to answer.

Though his bandmates are indeed both dreading and looking forward to the day Beomgyu would finally make a public answer to that million dollar question—

“Myself.”

—they certainly did not expect him to answer with the truth.

“What?”

“The tracks were inspired by myself,” he says, face flat, free from any sign of humor or jest. “I’m still waiting for my first love from my first life. There must be a reason why I still remember her and the life we shared. Doesn’t that mean we’re both destined to meet again?”

Silence washes over. Everyone on set is looking at Beomgyu, waiting for him to laugh or smile or crack a joke or some shit just to give an indication that he wasn’t at all serious with that statement. Their managers are frozen. They’re all looking at Heeseung to finally and neatly wrap things up before the mood gets worse.

Heeseung gets the signal. He quickly snatches the microphone from his friend and starts making bullshit up and praying to god that this part gets edited out. “Aha—ahaha, Beomgyu really likes to remain in character! That’s how much he takes his music seriously! Anyway—”

The rest of the interview turns up normally. No unexpected backstory reveals or trauma-dumps. No mentions of possible supernatural phenomena whatsoever and that’s mostly because Beomgyu decided to keep quiet for the rest of it.

He’s seriously a ticking time bomb, all but him share the same thought upon exiting the studio, until Heeseung finally confronts him about it when they reach the van.

“Dude, what the hell was that?”

“I know, I know. You don’t have to nag me,” Beomgyu groans. “We can ask them not to air that part, anyway. I’m just getting impatient.”

Impatience.

That’s a mutual feeling shared by all three of them. 

Twenty years. That’s how long they’ve been waiting. Centuries, if you count the period in between their previous lives and now. But when the person they’ve been waiting for finally shows up— patience will be a virtue that they’ll need to learn to strengthen. Patience. They’ll need to be a hell of a lot more patient if they want to take back what they lost.

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[heartseungs-archive]

written in ink | n.jm

genre ➳  historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

pairings ➳ professor!jaemin x fem!reader (ningning and karina are mentioned)

word count ➳ 15.3k 

warnings ➳ mentions of alcohol, mental illnesses and disorders

info ➳  second installment of batc! surprisingly, this was the one i started writing first, but it took a while to figure out how i wanted to end it. click here to read the other works :)

The oak doors of the Provost’s office are no less intimidating than they were five years ago, towering over any students who find themselves bold enough to meet him.

Even now, Jaemin finds himself swallowing nervously before knocking, even if he is the university equivalent of a teacher’s pet. This meeting would determine everything for his future classes and his research funding. Psychology already had little backing compared to the other departments - Jaemin refused to let it languish away under him.

“Ah. Professor Na. Sit down, please.” The leather armchair is comfortable, and costs much more than the one he has in his office - the benefits of being the Provost reach far and wide, Jaemin supposes, even to the furniture.

“I called you today for something important. As you know, our university has a limited number of scholarships available for the faculty each year.”

Jaemin feels eagerness rise up at the thought of being one of the few professors selected to receive the scholarship in mention, which would provide money - plenty of it. He’s young, though, and the odds are not in his favour when measured up against the eminent figures who have been here for decades.

Still, Jaemin hopes that graduating with first-class honours and being the youngest professor in the history of the university counts for something.

“I do have good news. And bad.” Jaemin doesn’t like the sound of that. He knows the alteration of language is meant to soften a certain blow or some demand that will be required of him. The drumming of Mr Lee’s fingers indicates nervousness, and so does the number of times he’s cleared his throat.

After all, Jaemin is no stranger to the study of human behaviour. He waits, because there is nothing that Jaemin can do now other than listening.

“The admission board looks favourably upon you and wishes to give you the scholarship.” Jaemin waits a little longer.

“However, -” There it is.

“Due to your age, we understand that you have not yet had a full-length research project completed. However, it is a provision under the scholarship.”

Jaemin looks at Mr Lee questioningly. Both men in this room know that full-length research projects take at least half a decade, and Jaemin has barely been teaching for two years. He finds the irony of it amusing: without the scholarship, Jaemin does not have the funds to complete his research. Yet, he cannot get the scholarship in mention without his sixty-page paper.

“You’re doing well in your career, Professor Na, and there’s always the next cycle of scholarships. A little bit more waiting, I’m afraid, but waiting comes with an academic career.”

Jaemin knows that he has time. More of it than others, in fact. But the ambition in him refuses to die down, to keep sailing on this high in his career and see how far he can reach before he falls. Modern Icarus, he presumes, the sun replaced by his name in publications and award ceremonies.

“When’s the deadline for the research paper?” Mr Lee evidently does not expect Jaemin to actually take interest in the offer, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Counting today, a little over a year. But-”

“I’ll do it. I would appreciate it if you submitted my name for confirmation, Mr Lee.”

Despite the doubt on his face, Mr Lee nods, showing his agreement. Before Jaemin can regret his statement, he stands up from the comfortable armchair and leaves the room.

“Na Jaemin, you’re insane. Absolutely, utterly insane. Studying psychology has turned you mad.”

“Shut up, Lee Donghyuck.” The boy in question is stretched out on a chaise, leather shoes dangling off the end. In his waistcoat and rumpled dress shirt, Haechan is exactly who he looks to be: a debauched bachelor of high society, indulging in weekends of endless alcohol and dancing.

“He’s right.” Renjun speaks from the corner of the room, where he’s curled up in a chair near the fireplace. Jaemin looks to Jeno for support, but the man simply shrugs from where he’s standing at the doorway.

“You may be the brightest among the few of us, but even I know a year won’t be enough to complete it. Most definitely not by your standards.” Despite Jeno’s lack of support, he still knows him the best.

Jaemin could definitely half-ass a project for the scholarship-it would cut his work by a third, maybe even half. Yet, he would never be able to live with it.

“The line between genius and insanity is so fine. Sometimes I think Jaemin teeters so very close to the latter.”

“That’s your last warning, Donghyuck, before I take the red wine in your hands and pour it over your mother’s favourite carpet,” Jaemin snaps, levelling a sharp gaze at him.

Haechan sits up, a look of faux horror in his face. The jester may fear few things, but his mother’s wrath is one of them. The other being the occasional obsessive daughters of businessmen from the trail of women he leaves jilted.

Nevertheless, this is what makes up Jaemin’s days. If not busy in his office or teaching students, he spends his time with these three other men, who provide sufficient socialization to keep Jaemin from being deemed a social pariah by his overbearing mother. Childhood friends who he met from dinner parties, when their parents had sent them off in favour of gossip and hors d’oeuvres.

The scholarship money is paltry compared to the wealth of their four families combined, and the inheritance that Jaemin will receive eventually. His father would likely not hesitate to fund the project either, but the idea of using money that is not yet his leaves a sour taste in Jaemin’s mouth.

Maybe that’s why Jaemin still uses that broken armchair and forces himself to sleep in the cramped dorm room given to tenured professors - he’s always wanted to prove something. Whether to himself or to the superiors at university, he’s not entirely sure.

The clock strikes two, and the party outside shows no signs of ceasing. After all, it is the weekend, and everyone outside has too much time and money to spend.

”Well, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. I’ll see all of you next week.” The boys nod their farewells, and Jaemin takes his coat from the butler.

He narrowly avoids crashing into someone right as he turns the corner.

Jaemin pauses briefly to take in the appearance of the person before him. Your hair is tied in a chignon and decorated with a studded headband. In your hand, there is a glass of sparkling wine.

If anything, Jaemin thinks you look like the female version of Renjun. But Renjun’s sister is much, much younger.

Evidently, Jaemin’s silence has caused you to grow impatient, and you stride past quickly. Jaemin watches the agitation of your gait as you walk towards the room he had just left. Perhaps he was wrong about the sister part. You definitely fit the bill of a revengeful ex-lover.

“Lee Donghyuck, you owe me money. Hand it over, you cheat,” is the last thing Jaemin hears that night when he leaves the hallway.

Jaemin discovers exactly who you are two weeks later when you arrive in the form of three sharp knocks on his door.

“Come in.” It’s likely to be a student, he thinks, and Jaemin sighs because he’s told them countless times of the ever-present consultation schedule that they can fill in at the administrative office. Yet, every evening, there’s that one anxious student pacing outside his office, hoping for some morsel of knowledge before the final exams come around.

His friends aren’t known to be the type to knock either, unless for some sort of prank. The long day is wearing on him much more than expected, and he silently hopes the session will be brief.

However, Jaemin’s pretty sure you’re not a student. One, because he’s a good professor who makes an effort to know all his students. Second, he’s pretty sure none of the female students go around campus in cocktail dresses.

“You’re Jaemin, aren’t you? Donghyuck’s friend.”

“That would be me. Any reason you’re in my office at eight on a Friday evening?” Jaemin tries not to show surprise at your knowledge of Haechan’s real name, the one he uses for close friends.

Whether Haechan’s prospective creditor or jilted lover, however, Jaemin has little interest to find out why you’ve extended his working hours.

“You need money. I have it, and I need you to do something for me in return.” Definitely a creditor, then. Perhaps this was your job. Lending money to noblemen, and charging exorbitantly high-interest rates. In your defence, it was a smart way to go about things.

But something caused Jaemin to pause. A creditor wouldn’t be the worst way to go, especially if he could pay you after the scholarship funding had come in.

“What’s the interest rate?” This time, it’s your turn to look confused, before realization settles in. Compared to your imperious demeanour from the previous time, you look almost sheepish.

“I’m not a moneylender. Haechan just needed funds to buy something for a friend. Honestly, this deal is more for me than it is for you.”

Jaemin continues looking at you, motivating you to explain.

“I’ll fund the research, and help you with it. In return, I want to be able to attend on-campus lectures. And I want my name as an assistant author on the publication.”

“So this is a bribe?”

“Not a bribe. Think of me as an investor. I contribute, and in return, I get a stake in the research.”

“You’d be better off in the Business faculty then. The applications for enrolment open in December this year. ”

“You know every woman the officers admit to this university is done only to the bare minimum to fill those statistics. I’ve been trying for the past three years. I can show you my applications.” The desperation in your voice fills Jaemin with a sense of shame somehow - he, star student and youngest professor. Would his life have been different if he was you?

Jaemin’s well-aware of the discriminatory policies employed by the admissions department - it doesn’t help that most of them are elderly men who remain rooted in the old traditions.

Jaemin hasn’t seen a female Psychology student before, because the only degrees truly open to them are in education and nursing. Essentially, you’re contracting him as a tutor, besides the partnership on the research.

He looks at your attire, and it makes sense to him now - you must be a weekly attendee of Donghyuck’s raucous parties. He grabs his coat, and you move, as if almost to physically stop him from leaving until he agrees to your demands.

“I’m willing to allow you to attend lectures for free. However, I’m unaware of your qualifications, even if you’re Donghyuck’s friend. Send me your applications, and I’ll think about it.” You look surprised at his agreement, and even Jaemin is - he’s not one to entertain many demands, and he works better alone on research. He shouldn’t even be considering it, and yet.

You smile gratefully at him, just as the clock ticks half past eight. “Oh, I’m running late. Here are the applications, and other information. I do have to leave now, but my mail address is in the file. Thank you so much, Jae- Professor Na.” You stumble over his name, but before Jaemin can react, your purse is in your hand and your coat over your arm.  The door closes with a final resounding thud, leaving the room silent once again. The quiet now feels empty, and Jaemin glances towards the coffee table you had just been at a few seconds ago.

You came prepared, obvious in the way the bundle of papers are neatly arranged in a file and labelled. Jaemin picks it up, only to be greeted by a picture of your profile. You look much younger in the photo, still starry-eyed with excitement. L/N Y/N, twenty-one years of age.

He wonders whether the repeated rejections from the university admissions dulled it, instead replacing the excitement with steely conviction. He must have been a last resort of sorts, a lucky strike in the dark at pursuing your aspirations before they fizzled out completely. Jaemin can imagine the officers receiving your file and pushing it back to the return address unopened, explaining the pristine condition.

Maybe he doesn’t owe it to you to look through, but Jaemin feels like he does. A glance at the clock, and Jaemin rubs his eyes tiredly. It seems his working hours will be extended, after all.

You’ve never been very good at billiards.

You’re not sure why Renjun requested it instead of cards, considering the both of you make a good team against Donghyuck and Jeno. Now, however, you are losing terribly, and the debt Donghyuck owes you is slowly dwindling.

With him, however, it’s always one person owing the other. You’ll simply have to beat him in bridge later. Renjun makes eye contact with you, and you shrug. The victor is obvious, and it can be seen with every teasing lilt of Donghyuck’s voice.

Jeno can only smile silently as he scores, but you think that might be worse. The black ball rolls to the corner of the table and drops in, with Donghyuck letting out a cheer.

Just then, Donghyuck glances at his wrist. Decorated with a flashy Patek Philippe, it’s both annoyingly ostentatious and eye-catching. A perfect fit for the owner, you suppose.

”Well then, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. Y/N, you owe me six thousand now. I also accept payment in the form of wine, though six thousand won’t be nearly enough for a good bottle.”

Your brows lower in a frown. “Aren’t you staying for bridge?”

“And lose ten thousand dollars to you? No thank you. Jeno can do it if he wants.” Donghyuck smiles sweetly before exiting the room, and you’re half tempted to chase after him.

“Don’t bother. He’s off to find the love of his life.” Renjun says offhandedly.

“You mean the love of the week, Renjun.”

Jeno shakes his head, and you look at him curiously. “They’re not in a relationship. It’s his best friend. Every week, at twelve, he’s off.”

For someone like Donghyuck, who chooses when time moves and when it doesn’t, the punctuality is pleasantly surprising. You think back to the way he started to get slightly more jumpy and nervous as the clock ticked nearer, and a fond smile finds its way onto your face.

He must really be happy. You briefly wonder what it’s like, to look forward to the sight of someone so earnestly.

Then, your mind gets drawn back to the present. “We need four people for bridge. I can try calling Jisung, but he might be busy.” Renjun says.

“I’ll go get some more champagne. Anything else you guys want?” Renjun and Jeno shake their heads, and you prepare yourself to confront the din of the ballroom. From a corner, the string instruments of the band carry across the high ceilings, and couples dance in circles. There are at least a hundred, maybe even more. You suppose that’s why there are parties every weekend. Renjun’s huge estate would feel much too empty with just him and the occasional visitor.

You’re too busy admiring the lacquered walls and mahogany detailing, that it’s too late when you realise you’ve bumped into someone. You gasp, mainly because you’re shocked, but also because the champagne in your hands has ended up on the floor.

And on Jaemin’s clothes, unfortunately.

“I am so sorry,” you stutter out, but you’re at a loss even as the servants rush over and clean up the mess you’ve made. However good a partnership you’ve offered him, you’re quite sure it’s all gone now. You definitely wouldn’t offer someone the same mercies, especially if they spilt champagne all over you out of their own idiocy.

Yet, Jaemin breaks into a radiant smile. “It’s alright.” He says, and you’re not sure what to believe. Perhaps he’s maintaining politeness, especially in a room with so many eyes.

“No, wait. Please let me pay for the suit. It must be expensive.” Judging by the look of the fabric and the way it’s tailored to Jaemin’s figure, it will cost a pretty penny to compensate. Jaemin shakes his head, shrugging off the now-damp jacket and passing it to a butler who immediately heads down the hallway. This is Renjun’s house, after all, and Jaemin is a familiar face to the staff.  The jacket will be laundered promptly and delivered to his house before the week is over.

“It’s genuinely alright, Miss L/N. I came to find you, so this is just as well.” A sense of resignation overtakes you. No wonder Jaemin’s being so kindly. He must be here to reject your offer of a partnership. You’re glad he agreed to the lectures, but the thought of having to see him afterwards during lessons feels mortifying.

The short conversation with Jaemin in his office was much more revealing than you had hoped. You must have looked desperate, and maybe that’s why he took pity on you.

However, you refuse for that to be the only impression he has of you, and instead paste a smile on your face.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter, then.”

The chilly night air is welcoming, and you’re glad you wore a longer dress tonight. On this balcony, you can see the entire expanse of Renjun’s family estate. He’s always been the proudest of the gardens, and rightfully so- an endless expanse of green stretches out, decorated by carefully maintained flora. In the far distance lies his personal arboretum and workroom, where he does most of his painting.

“Mr Na, if you’re here to tell me bad news, now seems like a poor time. Monday would be much more fitting.” A low laugh cuts through the hushed atmosphere, and you almost feel proud.

“Then I am glad that this is good news.” Your sharp intake of breath can be heard on the silent balcony, and you peer at him, willing him to continue.

“I read your applications. And your essays. It was surprising. The quality…the insights made…you’re leagues ahead of my best students and most of the peers I had. And…”

The compliment settles down into you, a kernel of warmth despite the low temperature. You incline your head in thanks. “And?”

Jaemin looks hesitant of his actions, and you can tell he’s thinking very hard about how to word something. One second passes, and then two.

“I think I could benefit from having your contributions to the research.”

There is complete silence for a moment, and then you huff out a laugh. However, it comes out more as a relieved sigh.

He agreed. Na Jaemin, the top student on the honor roll and the youngest Psychology professor in the history of the university, has agreed to take you on as a partner in his research.

For some strange reason, his approval means so much more than anything the interview officers could have said to you. Even if they had accepted your application, it would be nothing compared to what Jaemin has just told you.

The corners of Jaemin’s mouth rise up slightly, and you’re sure he can see the happiness on your face.

“Looking forward to working with you, Miss Y/N L/N.” Jaemin’s palm is warm against yours as he shakes your hand, and you can’t help the sense of hope that fills you.

“Just Y/N is fine.” You’re determined not to disappoint him, to show that you were worth the chance.

“Please address me as Jaemin as well, then. The first lecture is at nine on Monday. It’s quite late, so I’ll leave you to enjoy the party. We can discuss the specifics after.”

Just as he is about to leave, however, a thought comes into your head, and a grin inevitably makes its way onto your face.

“Jaemin!” You call, and he turns around. The name flows nicely, and it’s easy for you to say, almost familiar. Under the chandelier, his eyes sparkle brightly, even as hints of fatigue creep at the sides.

“How good of a hand are you at bridge?”

“Metempsychosis. Can anyone tell me what that means?” Immediately, multiple hands are raised, and Jaemin looks at the students appraisingly.

He tries not to let his gaze drift to the corner of the room where a woman is seated, fountain pen in hand. Your entrance into the room had drawn plenty of eyes in the morning - the Psychology department had never seen a female student before, and the confident uptilt of your head only served to further emphasise that.

Fortunately enough, university students were one of the most self-contained populations to be found. They asked few questions about others and more about themselves, which meant there wasn’t the danger of news of your presence getting around to the admission officers. Not that they would have cared much - after all, security wasn’t particularly strict on the campus.

Jaemin points to a boy with curled black hair, signalling him to reply.

“The transmigration of the soul. Reincarnation after death, essentially.” Jaemin nods. “Very good. I know the majority of us here likely don’t believe in reincarnation, but Plato did, and that’s why we’re here now.” This draws a few laughs from his audience, and Jaemin smiles.

“However, we aren’t here to discuss life after death. I want you to think about the soul. What is it, in relation to the body? Where does its importance lie?” The hall falls silent, and Jaemin sees students flipping through their notes, as if hoping an answer will descend from the sky.

This time, his gaze falls on you and your raised hand. “Y/N. Would you like to contribute?” Jaemin’s equal parts torn between diminishing your presence to prevent unnecessary attention, and the desire to hear your opinion.

To you, Jaemin’s piercing gaze is unnerving, even from far away. It almost makes you doubt your answers. Pull yourself together, Y/N.

“The soul is the source of our life and mind. Our body is nothing more than a physical vessel of flesh. Our soul makes us human.“ You had done an essay analysing Phaedo the previous season, and its core arguments remained clear in your head.

“A classic argument by Socrates. What makes up a soul, then?” Jaemin smiles slightly, and you recall. He’s read your essay, and he knows your exact thoughts. Does he wish for you to share it with the class?

The students are staring at you now, slightly more intrigued.

“The tripartite soul theory. Our physical desires, intangible passions, and our need for truth. More simply put, what we want, what we love, and what we think,” you state, eyes fixed on Jaemin’s expression. His barely-there grin turns much more obvious, and it makes you feel pleased with yourself.

“Very well said. The link between psychology and philosophy is much closer than many of us think, despite one being a science and the other an art. That brings me to the assigned readings for this week, which will delve more into the tripartite soul theory that Y/N mentioned, among others. I’ll see everyone next week.”

The students shuffle out of the lecture hall, nodding at Jaemin in greeting as they leave. Many of them look at him with barely-concealed admiration, despite only being a few years younger. It almost makes you envious.

“That was…a good lecture. I enjoyed it.” Your compliment comes out hesitantly, but you mean it sincerely. Jaemin’s a much better presenter than you imagined, and you found yourself laughing at his well-placed quips more often than you didn’t. The students are lucky to have a lecturer like him, compared to the grumpy, stone-faced ones the university is so well-known for.

“Thank you. I would offer for you to be my teaching assistant, but it would be better not to push our luck for now. I trust my students, but not too much. Shall we head to my office?”

You follow Jaemin down the winding halls of the faculty building, the sunlight streaming in through the arched windows. When you reach his office, your face is slightly red, and Jaemin notices it.

“Sorry. My office is a little far from the lecture hall. Also, I tend to walk a bit faster when I’m alone,” Jaemin apologises, and you shake your head. It’s not entirely his fault that he’s almost a head taller than you, and one step of his is twice of yours.

However, you’re grateful for the cold glass of water that he passes to you. Jaemin clears his throat, causing you to glance at him.

“Here’s what I have so far. Take a look, and tell me what you think.” The file is heavy in your hands, and Jaemin’s signature scrawl can be seen on the first page.

The title causes you to let out an incredulous laugh. Jaemin arches an eyebrow, almost concerned, and you realise he may have taken the laughter the wrong way. “Is it very surprising?”

“No, not at all,” you rush to clarify. “I just…can’t believe that someone would actually want to research into the exact same field.”

It’s bizarre, really, considering how much you thought your ideas would be scorned. The idea of cognitive function being a scientific field of study isn’t yet accepted by many, and would be unlikely to gain any sponsorship.

You had expected Jaemin to propose studies into behavioural psychology. Pavlov’s dogs and conditioning. It was soaring in popularity within academic circles, and seemed to be the only research done these days. Yet, each of the experiments conducted seemed to become crueller in nature, aimed at publications to shock the public. That was where the money was, after all.

Jaemin feels a sense of relief at your words. His nervousness was unnecessary, after all. When he had first compiled the file, he wasn’t sure how you would respond. After all, cognitive psychology had barely been recognized as a legitimate field of study. Perhaps you would think he was dragging you down with him.

“Memory and perception. They differ from person to person, and I want to find out why,” Jaemin states, and you nod, barely able to contain your excitement.

‘We’ll have to plan out the methodology, of course. There was a report published about long and short-term memory by an American doctor. Of course, it’s not entirely verified, but I think it’ll be of great help.”

Jaemin watches as you stride across the room, throwing ideas out whenever they come to mind, with a faint smile lingering on his face. Each one of them is written down carefully in his notebook to ponder over later, once you leave.

“And I was thinking, maybe if we- oh, I got carried away.” Your rapid footsteps pause and you feel your face turning red. Jaemin, polite as ever, had been listening to your rambling without interruption.

“It’s quite alright, Y/N. I genuinely enjoy listening to your ideas. Please don’t hesitate to share them.” You can tell Jaemin is being earnest from the way he looks at you, pen in his hand. The feeling of having someone listen to you and value your contributions feels slightly foreign, but the feeling it brings is definitely one of happiness.

By the time the both of you are done with a tentative outline, the sun is close to approaching the horizon, and you rub your eyes blearily.

“I think we’re done for today,” you barely hold back a yawn as you say it, and Jaemin tries not to laugh at your appearance.

“We’re running on quite a tight timeline, but I think we’ll make it. Would meeting four times a week be alright with you?” Jaemin asks, and he allows you a few seconds to consider.

“That works. I’ll see you on Thursday, then. Have a good evening, Jaemin.” As you leave, you wonder what time Jaemin will finish his work. The last time, he had come to the party after midnight.

Na Jaemin intrigues you at every turn, and you wonder what you will discover about him next.

“Where were you today?”

The tune you’re humming under your breath quickly stills to a halt, and you almost trip over the marble floor of your hallway. Looking at the ceiling, you curse your luck. Of all the days that your father had to be home early, it had to be today.

“I was with a friend,” your voice comes out shaky, and you hate yourself for it. Turning around, you steel your nerves for his interrogatory glare.

“Are you messing around with that stupid boy again? Donghyuck?” Your father’s tone is accusatory, and his disapproval of Donghyuck is evident. Donghyuck’s parties are the talk of the neighbourhood, often for bad reasons among the older generation, and good among your peers. it definitely doesn’t help that you can often hear the commotion, considering his estate is less than two miles down.

“I wasn’t with Donghyuck today, for a matter of fact. And he isn’t stupid,” you defend. Donghyuck may be brash, and playful, but he is your friend.

“That boy is a good-for-nothing and will drink himself to death one day. You’re a proper lady and should act like it. Stop going to his parties, and stay at home.”

“And what? Stare at the pretty wallpaper until I’m driven to insanity out of boredom?” You bite back, glaring at your father. He’s never been particularly supportive of your attempt to obtain a degree and proper employment, still stuck in the yesteryears of his childhood.

“You foolish girl. You’ll realise it when your reputation is ruined.” Your father’s voice is full of venom, and you try not to flinch at his harsh words. Instead, you stride resolutely down the hallway and close your bedroom door with a harsh bang.

Fatigue overtakes you properly now, combined with emotional exhaustion. When you’re sure you’re alone, you allow your shoulders to droop slightly, shrugging off your coat. The quiet night air provides a source of comfort as you settle onto the ottoman at the foot of your bed. You’re not sure when it became like this. When your home became an unfamiliar place and your family turned hostile. Your mother is sweet to you, but she is also docile to your father, which you supposed has worsened it so much more.

That night, you lie down in your bed, turning Jaemin’s words over and over in your head, almost as if you’ll discover a new meaning behind them. They soften the harsh blow of your father,  acting as a balm against the invisible bruises of his words.

Teaching assistant.

The idea seems almost impossible to you, and yet. A job doing what you loved, and having the time to do your own research, undisturbed. An official position that would make sure no one could question what you were doing at the university.

And Jaemin. Having him as a colleague would be enjoyable, to say the least. He made a good partner. Maybe if you were patient enough, you could even become an associate professor.

You didn’t dare to verbalize that thought, for it felt a bit too out of reach. For now, at least.

“We’ll have the salmon filet and the beef rib as well, thank you. And three glasses of Chardonnay.” The waiter nods, taking the menus off the table.

“Wait, Renjun, Jeno, look,” Donghyuck points across the street, outside the window of the restaurant.

Across the street is you, in a light pink dress, and what looks to be a stack of books. Next to you is a man whose back looks awfully familiar to Donghyuck, and he can’t place it exactly. Until he gasps dramatically.

“That traitor. He said he wasn’t available for dinner today. But he’s out with Y/N. What the hell are they doing together?” Donghyuck’s pretty sure the both of you aren’t acquainted, and he’s not sure what exactly to make of it. There aren’t many explanations for the both of you to be seen alone with each other, unless…

“Oh, they met a while ago. Jeno and I played bridge against the both of them,” Renjun casually drops this piece of information, and Donghyuck stares at him. This must have happened after he had left.

The wine is served, but Donghyuck doesn’t take a single sip. Instead, he watches very carefully. The moment he sees you leave the store, Jaemin quickly takes over half the books from your hands. You walk on the inside of the pavement, Jaemin at your side.

A knowing smile appears on Donghyuck’s face as he watches the both of you approach the exact same restaurant where he is seated in.

“You look a little creepy, Donghyuck. Stop it,” Jeno mutters, as he sees Haechan’s face.

“I have a very good idea. But I need the both of you to help.”

Renjun looks over at Donghyuck suspiciously, and with valid reason. He’s not entirely sure what Haechan has planned, and whether it’ll turn out well or an absolute disaster. “What is it?” Renjun asks.

“I’ll tell you guys later. Jaemin! Y/N! Over here!” Haechan shouts as the both of you near his table. The familiar baritone of Donghyuck’s voice rings out across the restaurant, and you turn to him, immediately making your way over.

While you’re engrossed in talking to Renjun, Haechan meets Jaemin’s eyes. Liar, he mouths across the table, and Jaemin simply rolls his eyes.

“What are those books for?” Jeno does the task of asking the question on Donghyuck’s mind.

“Oh. Well…” You cast a glance at Jaemin, not entirely sure what to say. You’re not sure how much he wants to divulge to the three of them about the project, considering it isn’t exactly the most conventional arrangement.

“Y/N’s working with me as an assistant researcher and author. It’ll be a joint publication.”

Renjun hums quietly under his breath, taking in the information. “Y/N, are you sure you want to work with this guy? He doesn’t understand the concept of working hours.”

“Jaemin’s a great colleague, actually. I almost feel bad for not working as hard as him, considering he still has to teach.” You’re quick to speak for Jaemin, and it makes him light up visibly.

Jeno watches as Donghyuck’s grin gets inevitably wider the more he watches the both of you interact, and he realises that the boy has found a new occupation of interest: matchmaking.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Y/N,” Jaemin mutters under his breath, soft enough for you to hear but not the other three men at the table. He knows that he’ll definitely be the subject of Donghyuck’s incessant questions and meddling, but he rather it be later than sooner.

For now, he is content with watching as you crack jokes with Renjun and make Donghyuck the subject of said mockery. While your confidence in front of his students is admirable, you become witty and lively in the comfort of people familiar to you, and Jaemin finds himself enjoying the sight more than expected.

The street is still busy despite the late hour when the five of you finally finish dinner. Your feet are starting to ache from the stiff satin heels that you’ve been walking in all day, and the heavy, leather-bound books only serve to make it worse. Donghyuck hails two cabs, one for the three of them and another for you and Jaemin.

“Night out?” The driver asks once both of you are settled in, flashing a friendly smile. There is white hair creeping at the edges of his beard, and two sun-weathered hands gripping the steering wheel.

Both Jaemin and you nod, and you decide to look out the window, watching as the scenery outside changes from the city centre to the suburbs.

“You know, you really didn’t have to come with me today to get the manuals. I could have saved you the hassle,” Jaemin says, and you turn to him. In the dim glow of the streetlights, his profile is shrouded by shadows, his features somehow softened.

“It really wasn’t an issue. Besides, you spoke so fondly of that bookstore, and I can see why now.”

“They have one of the biggest collections on psychology, and the most frequently updated too. Though the medicine and history shelves are also very extensive.”

“It’s a pity we were short of time today, then. Maybe next time you can show me around,” you suggest, and Jaemin nods his assent. It almost feels like a promise.

Somewhere along the way, the jam-packed buildings turn into carefully manicured garden hedges, and the driver goes up the familiar winding path leading to your home.

Jaemin alights from the taxi and is at your side much quicker than you can comprehend, opening the door for you. “I guess this is it. Good night, Jaemin,” you say, smiling up at him. He inclines his head slightly, passing you the books. You’ll have to finish reading most of them by next week, but instead of dread, you find yourself looking forward to the days you spend in Jaemin’s office working on the project.

Once back in the taxi, Jaemin watches as you disappear into the foyer of your house, books in hand. He only turns his head back once the lights of your family’s estate fade away.

“Your sweetheart?” The driver’s voice jolts Jaemin out of his reverie. It is a perfectly innocent question, and yet catches him off guard. Jaemin vehemently shakes his head. “Just a colleague.” He sees the driver smile in the rearview, and Jaemin thinks it reminds him awfully of Haechan’s grin.

“The both of you would make a handsome couple,” he comments, and Jaemin chooses to remain silent. Objectively, Jaemin does find you beautiful. Any person with two working eyes could likely deduce that. But he’s barely known you for two months, and worked with you for even less. The idea of developing feelings for you, or anyone for that matter, seems like a rather bizarre idea.

More than that, he admires you for your talent and the ideas you contribute during the many discussions. You’re not just a colleague and an assistant, but a friend whose presence Jaemin feels rather comfortable in, no less than the trio he so often sees. He can’t help but think that the project would have been unlikely to come to fruition without your help and that perhaps you, Y/N L/N, came at the exact right time.

“Now, what has been keeping our Y/N so occupied that she can barely meet us once a week?” Karina levels her gaze at you from above her cup, expecting an answer. You do feel slightly guilty to have cancelled on both her and Ningning repeatedly over the past few weeks, simply due to the fact that you had chosen to sleep in after burning the midnight oil.

“Employment. I’m not sure if the both of you have ever heard of it,” you remark drily, though you know it’s untrue. Despite what may seem to be lives of leisure, Karina and Ningning are two of the hardest-working people you know. One is a famous actress, the other running a leading fashion house.

“Did you finally get a job at the university?” Ningning asks, overjoyed on your behalf.

“Sorry to let you down, but it’s not yet permanent. I’m working as a research assistant for this one professor and attending lectures on campus.”

“Who’s the professor?” Karina is curious, and you’re sure she plans to do some poking around. After all, several of the elders in her family are long-standing alumnae of the university, and she knows most, if not all of the prominent faculty members. Except for your colleague, however.

“He’s quite young. Na Jaemin,” you mutter, already expecting her surprised gasp.

“You’re working with Na Jaemin? First-class honours student Na Jaemin? My grand-uncle kept waxing lyrical about him a few years ago. He’s rising so quickly through the ranks, they think he might just become Provost before the decade is over,” Karrina informs, and you can’t help but feel a sense of pride for the way she speaks about Jaemin. He would make a good Provost, you think. At least he wouldn't stop female students from being admitted, and definitely would not have been suspected of embezzling funds for personal use.

“Is he scary? Academics can get that way. I suspect most of them have a screw loose, actually.” Ningning interjects, and you look at her, amused. The previous winter, Ningning had been involved with a famous Arts professor from a rival university. Needless to say, the both of them had not ended on the best of terms.

“He’s very sweet, actually. Leagues ahead of the other stuffy old men at the university. He’s a great teacher too.”

“Is he good-looking?” Karina’s sly smile from behind her teacup causes you to narrow your eyes at her.

“Haven’t you met him before?” Karina’s a regular guest at many of the university's forums and seminars. Being the great-granddaughter of the university’s founder exempts her from the open disdain of the Provost towards members of the opposite sex, especially when she’s the one forking out his salary.

Karina had offered you an easy way in: one word from her, and you would be enrolled immediately. Still, it felt like admitting defeat in some way. You wanted to make a career in some way based on your own merit, and Jaemin provided a semblance of that.

“I’ve only seen him briefly. I don’t think he’s attended a single function this year. Maybe he’s antisocial?”

“Or just introverted,” Ningning mumbles, and you smile at her. Karina and yourself have always been the more outgoing ones of your trio, finding it easier to make conversation with total strangers. In fact, the both of you had been the ones to meet Ningning, before realising she had been a mutual acquaintance and solidifying the trio.

Still, you can’t say you’re surprised at the knowledge that Jaemin rarely attends any of the university’s gatherings for the faculty. After all, many of the men there are twice his age, and the atmosphere likely isn’t the most enjoyable. Which makes it even more impressive that his superiors hold in in such high regard, considering how everyone makes it their mission to make powerful connections in circles such as theirs.

“Answer my question, Y/N,” Karina says insistently, and you shrug. “He’s decent, I suppose. Most people would find him attractive.”

“So do you find him attractive?” Ningning is curious now too, almost leaning all the way forward. You make a face at both of them. “What’s up with the strange questions today?”

Karina grins, leaning back, and makes a pointed glance at Ningning. “Please don’t try to play matchmaker. We’re only colleagues. Besides, I doubt a relationship would be something Jaemin is remotely interested in, considering his hectic work,” you warn.

“She even took into account his work schedule. Not bad,” Ningning mutters, trying not to let out a laugh. You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge the both of them temporarily. Despite their teasing and love for meddling, you are sure that Karina and Ningning will not do anything without your knowledge.

Compared to both of them, there hasn’t been much space for romance in your life. Karina’s image was always plastered in the newspapers with whichever actor she was working with, while Ningning had her fair share of encounters with fellow designers and models. After all, you spent much of your time attempting to pursue your career, albeit rather unsuccessfully. While you enjoyed parties and balls, the men you met there were often uptight in the way that members of the gentry were. The ones that you found tolerable remained purely platonic. You think you would rather shoot yourself in the foot than ever be involved with Renjun, Jeno or Donghyuck.

Jaemin was…well, Jaemin. Professor extraordinaire, a brilliant student of psychology, and a friend whose presence you found more enjoyable each and every day. Karina and Ningning see your gradual drift into your own thoughts and remain silent, attempting to hide their grins behind their food.

They wonder if maybe, just maybe, you might have spoken too soon.

Another season passes, and winter is heralded by the bone-white landscape and empty, ghostly trees that make up the campus. Still, you find a strange sort of beauty in it, even if it lacks the warm tones of autumn.

It’s also much easier to appreciate the landscape when you are curled up in an armchair in Jaemin’s office, the fireplace burning brightly and a cup of hot chocolate in hand. Although small, his office is cosy and homely, with dark oak furnishings dotting the room and a plush white carpet in the middle of the room. Over the past half a year or so, his office has grown to be like a second home, considering how much time you spend in it. He’s even given you a space of your own, where your books and stationery are arranged neatly on a shelf.

You’ve grown accustomed to the sight of Jaemin sitting at his desk, fountain pen in hand. He’s often busy marking scripts, occasionally muttering to himself when the paper is exceptionally good, or disappointing. He lets out a noise of disgruntlement, and you glance up.

“Rough essay?” You ask, and Jaemin rubs his forehead, extending the papers in your direction.

“Take a look, and tell me what you think. I know this student is good, but I think they rushed this project. However, I don’t want to completely derail their academic grade and destroy a chance of a scholarship.”

Jaemin waits patiently while you read through the essay, watching as you furrow your eyebrows at certain parts, almost identical to him.

“So?” He asks once you pass the manuscript back to him, humming in thought.

“There’s definitely some obvious glaring flaws. But I don’t think you should discount their entire thought process.”

“But I asked for an essay that looked at the ethical issues concerning psychological research on humans. He stated that there weren’t any,” Jaemin says, now looking entirely confused.

You shrug. “But morality is subjective, isn’t it? Sure, there are common principles that people tend to follow, but what’s ethical in the eyes of a government may be different from the individual person. Is it alright to sacrifice a single person for the common good? Maybe not. But he can argue for it.”

Jaemin pauses then, his expression still frozen as he mulls over your words. Gradually, a grin makes its way onto his face, and you watch as he grabs the pen and scribbles on the manuscript before placing it on the stack that’s already done.

“Thank you, Y/N. I’m not sure what I would do without you.”

“I’m sure you could do plenty. But two minds are better than one, I suppose,” you say, smiling back. Jaemin leans back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. Compared to his usual stiff posture, it’s much more relaxed, and you find your shoulders not tensing as much anymore.

“Out of curiosity, what made you start Psychology?” Jaemin asks, and his eyes are genuine when he looks at you. You’re not entirely sure how to reply, considering no one’s ever asked you the question. Not the university admission officers, not your parents, not even your friends.

Only Jaemin.

“I’ll tell you a story, But you have to promise not to laugh,” you warn, and Jaemin nods.

“I had a very bad argument with a man in a bookstore over a certain literary text. Quite stupid, I know. Seventeen-year-old me was quite hot-headed. Out of the blue, he started arguing that I was wrong because the brain volume of a man was larger than that of a woman.”

Jaemin knows what you made him promise, but the corners of his lips are tugged up anyways. You glare at him. “You promised not to laugh!” He holds his hands up, shaking his head. “I swear, with full honesty, that you’re not the one I’m laughing at. It’s just an amusing story. So you took Psychology to prove him wrong?”

“Sort of. That was my motivation at first. But I think along the way, I just fell in love with the subject itself.” There’s a light in your eyes when you speak about it, and Jaemin can’t help but be drawn to you. You’re so passionate about what you do, and it reminds Jaemin of the starry-eyed first-year student that he was.

Along the way, he doubted whether he had even chosen the right thing to study. Had he been so caught up in chasing success that he lost his passion somewhere along the way?

But collaborating with you seems to light a new spark in Jaemin’s heart, where he finally has someone to share his ideas with. He’s never been able to learn so much from someone in so little time, and you’re capable. Even more than him, perhaps. Jaemin wonders if you know that.

“What about you, Jaemin?” Your question jolts him out of his thoughts, and Jaemin’s breath hitches. You take his slight hesitation for alarm, and wonder if you asked the wrong question. “If it’s too personal, you really don’t have to,” you blurt out in panic, eyes wide.

However, Jaemin shakes his head. “I don’t mind telling you at all. It’s just that it’s not as fun a story as yours. More sad, actually.” He looks rather forlorn, and you’re not sure how to reach out to him. Instead, you sit in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“My grandmother suffered from memory loss. It was very bad, but doctors refused to diagnose her. They tried sending her to an institution to be confined, but my parents decided to keep her at home instead. She passed away a few months later.” he mutters, and you realise that this must be something that he doesn’t tell many people, from the way the words come out stilted. Alzheimer’s had just been properly diagnosed for the first time less than five years ago, and the cases were often few and far in between.

You suppose this must have happened when he was much younger, when the number of experienced psychologists in the city was horrendously low. The fact that he’s willing to divulge this information to you tugs at your heartstrings, and Jaemin suddenly looks terribly alone from the way he’s hunched over at the desk.

Despite all the praise heaped on him and the many accolades, Jaemin’s still young, no older than you.

Suddenly, his motivation for choosing cognitive function as a research area makes so much sense. Jaemin wants to know how people have memories because he knows someone who lost them.

You’re not one in the way of comforting people, but you walk closer to Jaemin’s desk and grab his hands. It’s sudden, judging from the way Jaemin immediately looks up at you, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from yours. You think that’s a pretty good start.

“She would be proud of you if she knew what you were doing now. You’ll be able to help even more people with your research. And besides, we’re partners now. We’ll figure it out together,” you promise, and the dark clouds in Jaemin’s expression seem to clear up. There’s a shine to his eyes as he looks at you, and the atmosphere is strangely peaceful.

“Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot. More than you know.” His voice is level now, and you can tell that whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind have cleared up temporarily. You allow a grin to make its way onto your face.

“It’s getting rather late. If you want to thank me, let’s go out for dinner.”

Jaemin’s eyes immediately dart to the clock, and he stands up abruptly, moving towards the coat rack and passing you yours before shrugging one on.

“My treat, then,” he replies as he holds the door open for you.

“I haven’t seen the both of you in weeks. It’s like you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth,” Donghyuck mutters as he looks at you and Jaemin, a blank expression on his face. You smile sheepishly at him.

“Sorry. We’re really busy with the project. It’s in its final stages now,” you confess, and Donghyuck hums, nodding.

“Speaking of which, Donghyuck, I have something to ask.” Jaemin’s words spark your curiosity, but you continue flipping through the book that you have in your hands.

“How would you like to be one of our test subjects?”

You turn your head to look up sharply at him. Jaemin’s voice is sweet when he says it, and there’s obvious alarm in your eyes. Jaemin catches your gaze, but he doesn’t retract the offer. Instead, he just smiles, and you realise what he’s doing.

Donghyuck ponders over the offer, casting a glance at Jaemin suspiciously, who keeps his expression perfectly blank and innocent.

“Sure. It sounds fun,” Donghyuck replies, and Jaemin breaks out into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. You try not to burst out laughing, using your book to cover your mouth. Jaemin has a concealed sense of mischief that only seems to reveal itself at odd moments, most often in situations involving Donghyuck.

This will be fun, you think.

Two hours later, the test subject in mention is glaring at the both of you from where he sits, pen in hand and sheet in the other.

“You didn’t say I would have to memorise sixteen pages of notes. In the smallest possible font on the typewriter, no less,” Donghyuck states angrily, realising he’s been tricked by the both of you.

“What did you think cognitive function was?” You question, a bemused smile on your face as you hear Donghyuck groan before ruffling his hair in frustration.

“I thought it would be like an interview, you know? Where you get asked different questions and they analyze your answers,” he replies, and you hear a huff of a laugh from behind you. “This isn’t like the ridiculous questionnaires you tick off on the newspaper, Donghyuck,” Jaemin interjects, and Donghyuck eyes widen in offence.

“I will have you know, Na Jaemin, that those questionnaires are extremely accurate. And besides, how would I know? I’m not the Psychology professor here.”

“I’m not a professor either,” you remind him, and Donghyuck smiles slightly. “All three of us in this room know that you are perfectly capable of being one.” Jaemin makes a noise of assent, and your heart soars just a little at the praise.

“Either way, I’m done with your test,” Donghyuck says as he stands up, passing you his papers. You look them over quickly, realising that for all his antics, Donghyuck is actually a lot smarter than he seems.

“You did well,” you mumble absentmindedly, and Donghyuck smirks. “Thanks, I know. I’ll leave now,” he says before leaning close next to your ear. “And have fun with Jaemin,” he whispers almost conspiratorially, and before you can ask him what it means, Donghyuck’s out of the room.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Jaemin’s voice immediately snaps you back to attention, and you nod quickly. “Oh yes, of course.” Your neck feels awfully warm, and you rub at it, unsure why.

“We know you didn’t need an additional test subject. Did you just want to mess with Donghyuck?”

“Well, I suppose so. It was amusing to see his face when we gave him the list,” Jaemin confesses, and you chuckle under your breath. “On another note, I think we’re done with the first draft.” Your posture immediately stiffens at his words, and you rush over to Jaemin’s desk.

“Really?” You ask incredulously, even though you know Jaemin didn’t have any reason to die. He hands you the bundle of papers that is ten months of hard work and intense research, and you cradle it gently, almost like a baby. It feels oddly momentous, somehow. This is everything you’ve worked for and thought about in every waking moment since that fateful encounter with Jaemin, when the both of you first sealed the deal.

Each word is familiar to you, considering you’ve proofread it a million times, but seeing the research organized and printed out feels oddly surreal. That your work is now tangible. All of your dreams and aspirations are contained within this one little bundle, and it feels precious.

Jaemin looks at the quiet pride on your face as you look through, and he can’t contain his smile either. “I’m going to send it to the university for feedback on the draft, but it’s definitely on par with other competing projects. Once that’s done, it’ll be published,” Jaemin tells you, and you look up at him. There’s an undeniable sense of excitement that pervades you, and the idea of finally seeing it in official print provides a strange sort of thrill.

“Thank you, Jaemin,” you say sincerely, and he shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N.” He’s painfully earnest when he says it, and your heart stumbles slightly as you look at Jaemin. His features seem even more delicate today, his eyes brighter than usual. You’re not sure if it's the heady rush of elation filling you from finishing the project, but you finally understand what Karina meant when she asked you if you found Jaemin attractive.

The thought that Karina might be right scares you, but it’s also exhilarating. You’ve seen Jaemin at his best and in his moments of vulnerability, and he’s been a wonderful partner. Someone who pushes your thoughts in new, unfamiliar directions, who doesn’t hesitate to question your opinions.

You suppose you have to give Karina credit for calling your bluff so early on. Still, now can’t possibly be the right time. The both of you still have some work left to do, and anything now would just be a distraction.

Your feelings will have to wait, but you don’t mind. After all, you enjoy your time with Jaemin now, even if it is occasionally punctuated by the fluttering of your pulse.

It takes three weeks for the panel to review the draft, and another week to give their feedback. The next time you’re in the university, it’s spring, and the smell of fresh flowers invades your senses the moment you step foot on the campus.

You’re poised to knock on the door that’s already half-ajar when you hear muffled conversation from inside. You decide to stay in the hallway, at least until Jaemin’s guest is done.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“She’s my co-researcher, Mr Lee. I don’t think it’s a matter of want.” You immediately jerk up to pay attention, because that’s you Jaemin’s talking about. You know you’re eavesdropping, but you can’t help it. Jaemin’s voice is uncharacteristically harsh, but so is the Provost’s.

“You know that there will be a penalty on credit for not being a solo researcher. You’re already losing out. And to do it with a girl that has no qualifications, no less…Do you know what the panel will think?”

Mr Lee’s words cause the back of your throat to close up, even as you know they are true to some extent. You had been living in a joyful denial, ignoring the realities of the university’s expectations. Still, you stand outside the office, unable to move.

“Even then-”

“Jaemin. Do you want this scholarship or not? Surely she can’t have contributed that much. Just remove her name and negotiate it with her later.”

Your heart drops to your feet at the Provost’s words. Jaemin doesn’t respond, and for some reason, that feels even worse than Mr Lee stepping all over your hopes with a single sentence. You’re scared of hearing what he might have to say, and you don’t think you can bear hearing his agreement outright. It’s painfully silent, only the sound of your ragged breathing filling your ears.

You’re suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, almost as if you’re unwelcome here. Jaemin’s office is no longer familiar, instead making you feel worse and worse with each and every second you spend near it.

You need air.

There’s a few students you crash into along the way, some of which recognise you. They look at you bewildered, as you run past them towards the exit. Even then, you’re not quick enough to avoid the first tears falling. At least no one saw you, you suppose. You scoff slightly. Maybe they would use the tears as evidence of your fragile emotional state.

As much as you’re angry at the circumstances you’re in, you also feel like a fool. A fool for having pursued this project with Jaemin, for believing that for a moment, it would work out. For believing Jaemin, especially.

You had your head in the clouds, and now you were crashing back down to Earth in a rapid descent.

You’re not sure why you thought his acceptance would be enough, sufficient for you to reach your goals. It never had been. And judging from his lack of a response to the Provost, you’re about to lose that too.

You can’t even blame him, which you suppose is the worst part. For all you knew, you might have been deadweight this past year. Jaemin would be better off choosing to remove your name, and it would make his life much, much easier. It was a smart decision. You couldn’t possibly take that from him. After all, he deserved the success, the scholarship. You weren’t even a student. What did it matter, in the end?

Still, you’re not sure if you can ever look at Jaemin without being reminded of what you’ve lost. It’s not his fault, but he is a living, breathing reminder of everything you’re not, and every moment you have to live with it might just be a new type of hell. You’re not just going to lose a valuable partner, but a friend too. And perhaps, he might have been more. You don’t know, and you don’t think you want to wonder about the what ifs, because it might just break you even more.

You had promised yourself that if this didn’t work out, you would give up. Give up and do whatever your father wished for you to do. It’s painful, but you’re at the end of your rope. Pursuing another foolish daydream would just simply leave you even more empty. Even then, the bitter taste of defeat refuses to leave your mouth, even as you force your feet to take you towards the arched gates of the campus grounds.

Leaving the campus feels strange, especially since you’re not sure when you will be able to come back. The red brick walls, mulberry trees, stained glass windows - they’ve become as familiar to you as your own home.

So has the dark oak furnishings and lush carpets of Jaemin’s office, but you’ll have to forget about that now.

Jaemin waits for you that entire afternoon.

You’ve never been late, only early or punctual. He checks his schedule twice, just to make sure he’s gotten the correct day. He runs down to his mailbox twice and asks the office, just to see if you left a note for him.

Nothing. It’s like you’ve disappeared, though Jaemin knows that’s not possible. Something must have come up. But even then, as he thinks of all the possibilities, it only makes him more anxious. He quickly scribbles a quick letter and seals it with wax, and he feels a little calmer once he has your address written down and the letter mailed.

I’m sure everything’s fine. She’s likely busy, he tells himself.

He gives it two weeks and six missed lectures before he starts panicking. He’s not a particularly antsy person, or someone who overthinks. At least, that’s what he likes to think of himself, and what most people believe of him. He’s calm and reserved. Jaemin can’t help but worry a bit more when it comes to you, however.

He doesn’t give himself time to regret an impulsive decision, as he hails a cab to bring him to your address. It’s only when he’s standing on the porch, finger on the doorbell, that he hesitates slightly. What if, for whatever reason, you don’t wish to see him?

“Jaemin?”

The sudden appearance of a voice behind him causes Jaemin to jump, but the sound is gentle and familiar. He turns around to see you in a robin-blue sundress, a book in hand. Jaemin’s relief is palpable on his face as he sees you, and he immediately descends the steps, closing the distance between the both of you. However, you retract from him, as if stung, and Jaemin is at a loss.

“Y/N. I didn’t see you for the past two weeks, and I got worried. Forgive me for showing up so suddenly.”

The hesitancy on your face has shifted to an uncomfortable apprehension directed at Jaemin. “I suppose we couldn’t avoid this conversation forever. I’d prefer another place, however,” and you turn, walking away, seemingly for Jaemin to follow you.

There’s a feeling of fear that clings to Jaemin, however, at your words. You’re uncharacteristically cold, tone and expression void of your usual exuberance. Whatever you have to say to Jaemin has to be important. He just hopes it isn’t bad news.

Even then, his mind goes into overdrive, thinking of the worst possible options. Maybe you’re leaving the country. Maybe you’re sick. He doesn’t like any of those options.

Jaemin’s jerked out of his thoughts when you gesture for him to take a seat. The both of you are in a garden, assumedly your family’s. The gazebo provides a welcome respite from the midday sun, and Jaemin watches as you sit opposite him.

The distance feels too far, somehow.

“If you have anything on your mind, Y/N, you can tell me. We’re friends. You know that,” Jaemin assures as he meets your gaze. However, you quickly tear your eyes away from him, fiddling with your hands in your lap. Jaemin can tell you’re nervous, but he’s not sure why. The book is forgotten, placed on the corner of your chair.

“I don’t want to study Psychology anymore,” you mutter, and Jaemin has to wonder if he’s heard you right.

You’re someone even more passionate about the subject than Jaemin is. How-

“I’m just not interested. Not enough to pursue it further,” you say candidly, and Jaemin’s head is spinning, attempting to wrap his head around the reality of the situation. It takes a few minutes for him to collect his thoughts, and the next time he looks at you, his eyes are piercing, uncomfortably so.

“You’re lying. I know you, Y/N,” he replies, and the way you tap your foot on the ground confirms Jaemin’s doubts. He’s familiar with the habit- did you forget you told him that was the way people caught your untruths?

“No, I’m not. How dare you-”

“For God’s sake, Y/N, the book you’re holding is a manual by Carl Jung.” Your eyes quickly dart to the book, cheeks burning with shame. Even then, Jaemin’s tone isn’t accusatory, just truthful.

“If this is because of the university-”

“I heard your conversation with the Provost, Jaemin. Every single part of it,” you confess, your voice getting increasingly shaky as you lose your grip on your composure.

“You’re my co-researcher, Y/N, I told him that,” Jaemin continues, and you wipe a hand across your face absentmindedly.

“I don’t want to be a burden to your career, Jaemin. We both know you deserve the funding. Just remove my name,” you breathe out, and Jaemin immediately shakes his head. He finally realises why you’ve disappeared these two weeks.

“Y/N. Look at me.” Jaemin’s voice is insistent, and even though your eyes are still tear-stained, you listen to him.

“Do you know what I told Mr Lee?” You shake your head.

“I told him that you were indispensable to my research. That none of it would have been done without you, and I would rather abandon the entire thing than not credit you,” Jaemin says, and you exhale sharply. “I told him that you were smarter than some of my best students, that it was the university’s loss for not letting you in.”

You don’t dare to believe what Jaemin’s saying, especially after each moment of the past two weeks. Your eyes inspect his face for a hint of dishonesty. And yet, Jaemin’s expression remains completely honest, his eyes calm and trusting as they look at you. It makes you want to place your faith in him, that maybe this will be enough.

“And what-what did Mr Lee say?” You’re trembling and nervous, but it feels good, almost.

A knowing smile makes it’s way onto Jaemin’s face, and his eyes fill with something else. Fondness, you realise. And barely-concealed excitement. “He said he would review your application again, and allow me to endorse it with the admissions department.”

You realise Jaemin is talking about your application to become a student, and you’re filled with pure, unfiltered joy as you look at him and realise that what he’s saying is true. That after four years of doubt and confusion, it just might be possible.

Jaemin seems to sense the thoughts running through your mind, and his smile only gets brighter.

“So, will you come back to the office now? The edits aren’t going to revise themselves, and I need a better brain to help me with them.”

You immediately let out a small laugh. “I feel a little foolish now,” you confess. “It seems like a lot of it was overthinking.”

Jaemin’s eyes soften imperceptibly. “It wasn’t foolish at all, Y/N.” Jaemin’s presence is comforting, you realise, and the lack of his companionship has been made all the more obvious by your deliberate distancing.

Having him here, with everything worked out, makes it feel as if your life is no longer off-kilter.

When you burst into Jaemin’s office two weeks later, you’re smiling from ear to ear. He looks up at your abrupt arrival, immediately standing up when you stride over to his desk, acceptance letter in hand. “I’m a student starting next week,” you exclaim excitedly, and Jaemin has never seen you this cheerful before.

Truthfully, the admissions board had already informed him that you would be accepted- after all, he was one of the people that had to review your application. Even then, Jaemin tries to look surprised, a cheerful expression on his face. It isn’t difficult, considering how contagious your joy is.

“I have to go off now, but I just- really wanted to share it with you. For being the one to make it happen,” you say softly.

“You did this by yourself, Y/N. I helped because you deserved it.” Jaemin watches as you take in his words, as your smile softens into something more gentle, more tranquil. It’s an expression that he rarely sees on you, and it feels precious.

When you turn to leave, Jaemin’s filled with a strange emotion. It’s almost like a sense of longing as he watches you disappear out the door. Even though he’s sure that the both of you are now close friends, and he’ll see you on campus regularly, the fact that the both of you will no longer have your weekly meetings feels disappointing, somehow.

The feeling lingers with him even at dinner, until even Donghyuck notices. “You’ve been down all day. What’s on your mind?” Renjun looks up from his food expectantly, and Jaemin runs a hand through his hair. It’s made even more suspicious by the way he is unable to muster an appetite. Both Renjun and Donghyuck had cast him suspicious glances when he had only ordered a bowl of soup.

“Where’s Jeno, by the way?”

“You know he’s in the military. Don’t try to change the topic,” Renjun points out, and Jaemin sighs.

“It’s just that the research project with Y/N is over, and-”

“You want to continue seeing her, but you’re not sure how? You feel strange without having her presence around you?” Donghyuck says, and Jaemin blinks at him. Once. Twice. Donghyuck’s right on the spot. Uncomfortably so.

“Well, yes. I guess so,” Jaemin mutters, and Renjun conceals his laugh with a sip of his drink. “See, Renjun. I told you. I’m always right,” Donghyuck says snarkily, and Renjun rolls his eyes. “Want me to remind you of what happened at the party last week?”

“What happened last week?” Jaemin asks, and Donghyuck shakes his head vehemently. “Nothing. Anyways, this is about you. How do you feel about Y/N, Jaemin?” Jaemin doesn’t like the way Donghyuck’s looking at him, as if he knows something he doesn’t.

“I can’t place my finger on it, but something like admiration? She’s capable, more so than me. Intelligent, but she’s able to make the other students laugh easily with her comments. Detailed, especially when she’s checking things,” he immediately responds without a second thought, and Renjun looks at him properly now, mirth in his eyes. “You and Donghyuck are much more similar than I expected.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Renjun is just being annoying. What he’s saying is that you like her.”

“I like Y/N plenty. She’s a good colleague. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be working together for over a year.” Donghyuck makes a noise of disbelief at Jaemin’s words, and casts an incredulous glance at Renjun, who simply shrugs. “Don’t make that face at me, Donghyuck. You’re even worse. You made her cry, remember?”

Donghyuck falls silent at that, miffed. Jaemin turns to Renjun for clarification, and the boy looks exasperated, almost as if he’s not sure why he’s the one has to manage the both of them.

“I’m not sure if you’ve realised, Jaemin, but you’ve changed a little the past year. You’ve stopped locking yourself in the office as much, and you seem happier. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it seems like it’s because of Y/N. And for you to have these sorts of emotions…I don’t think it’s just friendship you’re looking for,” Renjun clarifies.

Donghyuck mutters a ‘finally’ under his breath, but Jaemin barely catches it, stuck in his own thoughts. He thinks about each time you’ve dragged him out to meet the others, until he started doing it of his own volition. About how Renjun, Jeno and Haechan showed up at his office more often, and he no longer wanted to chase them out.

And then he thinks about what Renjun’s implying. That he might have feelings for you, feelings that extend beyond friendship. He finds himself not scared off by the thought, but instead, it fills him with an unfamiliar sort of hope.

The thought of a relationship was an alien concept to him. If it had been mentioned to him a year ago, he would have shrugged it off in moments. Of course, he had people express their interest, sometimes not so subtly. He was decently attractive, after all, and had a good family. But a relationship had never been in the cards for him.

However, you made him want to imagine the possibilities. That when it came to you, he wouldn’t mind being something more, beyond just colleagues and friends. Partners, in every sense of the word. It explains the strange nervousness that overtakes him each time you look at him, or ask him a question. It explains the peace that flooded him that night in the office, when he divulged secrets he had never been willing to tell anyone, all because he trusted you inexplicably.

“I wonder how you’re even a Psychology professor, when you can’t even recognize your feelings from a mile away,” Donghyuck teases, and Jaemin allows a small smile to make its way on his face.

He knows now, and that’s all that matters. The only thing left is to figure out what to do with the weight of his newfound realization, and Jaemin hopes you won’t muddle his mind even more than you already have.

There’s a frenetic energy in the lecture hall this morning, one that you can’t help but get caught up in as well. Jaemin seems to be pacing around more than usual, his words coming out at a faster pace as he scribbles on the chalkboard and everyone tries to catch up. It’s definitely not something serious enough to warrant concern, but you wonder if there’s something on his mind the past week.

His schedule has been full with meetings held by the department, and yours with the coursework required of a university student, especially since you started slightly later in the semester. It’s left you to only be able to see him during lectures, often a friendly smile as you come in and take your seat before he begins teaching.

Distracted, you press your pen nib down a little too hard, a feeling of dread coming a little too late once you hear the sound of it snapping. Ink blots out over your paper, and you curse under your breath, frantically scooping the rest of the papers away. Ruined notes aside, you won’t be able to remember the rest of the lecture in detail later. You’re worrying your lip, when a hand extends in your vision.

“Here. I have an additional one for emergencies,” the voice next to you is low enough to not be heard by the rest of the students, and you turn your head to see a man who looks slightly younger than you, round glasses perched on his face. “Thank you,” you whisper back, fingers brushing over the smooth black lacquer. It’s a much better pen than whatever you’re using, and you suppose you should consider investing in better stationery.

“The name’s Hendery, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” His tone of voice is surprisingly casual, and it takes a while for the name to land. Hendery. You recall that he’s the student Jaemin mentioned, the one who submitted a lacklustre essay that was out-of-the-norm. He’s one of Jaemin’s favourite students, and you suppose you can understand why. His notes are in a neat script, books arranged neatly and his suit perfectly ironed.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you reply, and he grins affably, just enough to catch you off-guard. Most of the male students here choose to ignore you, or have awkward grimaces when you nod your head in greeting. It’s rather refreshing.

“Professor Na showed us one of your essays once in class. I’ve never gotten the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed it, and I referenced it in one of my assignments. You can have the pen. I wanted to return the favor,” he adds, and you pause for a while, before smiling back at him and returning to your notes.

“Hendery. What was the main research method of Structuralism?” Jaemin’s voice rings out suddenly, and you dart your head down, attempting to look occupied. It’s not the most honourable thing to do, but you rather not be on the receiving end of failing to answer Jaemin’s questions.

“Experimental studies, Professor?”

“Introspection. That’s what differs it from other schools of thought. Do take better focus next time.”

“Sorry, Professor.”

You feel bad for Hendery. The boy only wanted to extend a helping hand. Still, you know he’s in Jaemin’s good books, and from the way he waves to you, smiling, as he leaves the lecture hall, allows your shoulders to sink in relief.

You’ve made a new friend of sorts. It feels nice, even though you’re used to remaining alone while on campus. Today, however, your schedule is noticeably free, both Ningning and Karina out of the country for business trips. This leaves you to rush down the staircase, attempting to chase after Jaemin before he gets swept up by another meeting.

You call out his name, and the man in question turns around sharply, causing you to skid to a stop and narrowly avoid crashing into him. “Whoa, careful there,” he mutters, and you let out a nervous laugh.

“Did you need me for something?” There’s an unreadable expression on Jaemin’s face. One that you can’t exactly decipher, and you respond with a shaky grin. “No. I just wanted to see you.” The words escape too fast for you to process their weight, leaving your cheeks to redden slightly.

It’s oddly honest, and from his sharp inhale, you’re not sure if you’ve been too forward, despite the nature of your relationship.

“How has work been?”

“Good. Busy,” his voice is terse, reminiscent of the tone that he uses with students, and it causes you to frown slightly. “Will you be going to Haechan’s party this weekend?” Infuriatingly, Jaemin only shakes his head, and you’re left trailing after his footsteps, wondering if you’ve done something wrong.

The walk to his office feels shorter than you remember, and you wonder if it’s because you haven’t been here in too long. The man in front of you still remains frustratingly silent, causing your thoughts to swirl in worry.

“Jaemin. We’re still partners. Talk to me,” you bite out, and he looks up at you, wide eyes no different from that of a deer caught in headlights. He nibbles nervously at his lip, and your eyes inevitably drift down at the motion, before you step closer to him.

“Look, if I did something wrong-”

“You did nothing, Y/N. Believe me when I say that,” his voice is audible, even as it cuts you off abruptly. It’s the longest sentence you’ve heard from Jaemin all day, and you try not to let out a sigh. “Then what is it?”

You’re genuinely worried now, eyes never leaving Jaemin’s figure as he paces across the room, fiddling with his fingers slightly. There’s a strange look in his gaze as he refocuses on you, something like a mix of longing and hesitation. It makes your breath catch in your throat, and you’re unable to move from where you’re standing. The both of you are standing directly opposite each other now, and you would laugh if it wasn’t for the situation itself, considering how it’s almost identical to your first meeting with Jaemin.

“I would like to think that I’m a clear-headed person, Y/N, but I think I may be going a little mad.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the strangeness of Jaemin’s words, unable to decipher their meaning.

“I felt…jealous. When I saw you with Hendery. I know very well it’s ridiculous. But it seems the green-eyed monster doesn’t seem to pick targets.”

You’re bewildered at this point, understanding Jaemin’s words well enough and yet unable to grasp any coherent meaning to them. You’re not sure if you can believe what you’re hearing. If you’re hearing it right, or tunnel vision is causing you to interpret Jaemin’s words in an entirely different light.

“You were jealous of…?” Your voice trails off into silence, a question dripping with anticipation as you look at Jaemin, the room heavy with tension. You think your hands might be shaking, but you can’t be bothered to check.

“Jealous of him. I know you’re your own person, and you’re entirely free to be with and love who you want. But seeing you smile at him makes my heart seize in this terrible way like some sort of lovesick fool, and I’m not sure if I can go on like this without telling you.”

There’s a stricken expression on your face at Jaemin’s barely coherent confession, and he runs a hand roughly through his hair, truly panicking now.

“What I’m saying, Y/N, is that I think I may be in love with you. No. I know it. And it makes me a nervous wreck around you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same way-”

Jaemin barely gets the words out before you’re crossing the distance in two quick strides and standing right in front of him. It makes his breath hitch and his heart palpitate wildly, even as you lean imperceptibly closer. The way your simple actions affect him is barely understandable to Jaemin, and he’s not sure if there’s anything in his knowledge to explain it.

Yet, Renjun had put it forth so simply for him, as if the answer was plain as day.

Love. It was love that made Jaemin miss your presence, that made him think of you daily and cause a lump to form in his throat at seeing you and Hendery. It was love that made Jaemin want to hold on tightly and never let go, to follow you to parties and wherever else you asked him to.

“Are you…about to reject me?” He asks nervously, and you feel your gaze soften as you look at Jaemin. Your colleague, your equal match, your friend, your partner. In everything.

And that’s how Jaemin receives his answer. It’s you grabbing his tie and pulling him down towards your height before planting your lips on his firmly, hands eventually winding around his neck. It’s a few seconds before he seems to realize it, but when he does, Jaemin’s quick to return the favour, holding your waist securely to close the distance between the both of you as much as he can.

The way Jaemin moves his mouth against yours leaves you breathless, but craving for more. He’s passionate, so different from the usual, calm side that he presents. Even then, the way he holds you to him is gentle, as if you’re made of precious glass.

Jaemin kisses you like he’s been waiting to do so forever, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, even as you finally pull away for some much-needed air. You feel faint when he leans his forehead against yours, noses bumping slightly and causing you to let out a soft chuckle. From this close, you can smell his cologne, a clean scent that reminds you of clean laundry and spun cotton.

You blink slowly before opening your eyes, and it causes him to smile, doe-brown eyes crinkling faintly.

“I suppose that was a yes?” He asks, tone successfully returned to playful, and you pull back to look at him incredulously.  “Of course it was a yes. What kind of person do you think I am?”

“A person who has my heart in the palm of her hand. It’s a dangerous position to be in.” The straightforward confession sends blood rushing up your cheeks, forcing you to look down, away from his piercing gaze.

“Jaemin. I-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what you want to say to the man before you. You’re not sure what you would do without Jaemin, but you do know there’s a lot more that you wish to do with him. “Love wasn’t in the cards for me at all. You and I both know that. But I’m glad that I have this. That I have you.”

There’s a look of quiet happiness on Jaemin’s face when he tilts your chin up to look at him, a gentle slant of his lips that lights up his features. He doesn’t need to say anything more, not when there’s so much that has passed between the both of you.

Jaemin’s scared, of course. That one day your memories or his might bleed out like quicksand, leaving the both of you strangers. But if he doesn’t take the chance, he’ll never be able to recall the feeling of having you by his side, and the idea of that is much more terrifying.

He will love you more than he will remember you, and it will be enough.

[pasteidolons]

COME WHAT MAY - LSM

pairing: lee seokmin x female reader, one-sided hong jisoo x reader members: kim mingyu, yoon jeonghan, choi hansol (vernon), xu minghao, boo seungkwan genre: historical au (early 1900’s)/historical fiction, angst, fluff,  warnings: injuries, coarse language, alcohol, smoking, political insurgence, smut (next part, mdni), historical inaccuracies for the sake of plot progression word count: 22.1k summary: you follow hong jisoo to kyoto after a troubling letter sends you spiraling. among the faces of new friends, a bond is formed and fate begins to tightly weave itself around you and lee seokmin.

MASTERLIST || PART II

[ 1909.04.01. Boston, MA ] ‘Josh,

I feel enough time has adequately passed to allow me to write to you. Although, there is not much news from home to tell you of. 

The snow is fast disappearing now. I came across an article in the paper the other day about Boston and it said that 14 or 15 years ago bears used to roam around the northern end of the city, but there seems to be nothing around now except the wild fowl, and an uncountable number of deer. 

How are your hands now? I know that the winter air dries yours as it does mine. Mine are very cut, so scattered with paper trails that I fear I should bleed ink from all the books that you left me. Have you been able to acquire any more on your travels? I find that the supply you gave me is running rather low now. 

You left for Munich enquiring after Daniel Lim if I recall the name correctly, I hope you found him in good health on your arrival. I also hope he does not overwork you, you said as much happened the last you worked under him in London.

I am very pleased to say I am keeping very well, and I trust you are the same. If anything happens, know that I will gladly storm my way across the sea and give your wrongdoers what for.

I miss you. And I hope you return soon, you know I love to hear about your travels.’

A short chuckle to yourself as you pull the pen away from the paper after signing your name, ink stains settling into the grooves of your fingers as you aren’t cautious enough with the writing implement. Short blows over the thin paper as you try to dry the ink as quickly as possible, although this isn’t the sweltering heat of the summer you’re unsurprised the ink hasn't run but so much. Carefully standing from your seat you begin your search around the room for an envelope, fingers brushing over various stacks of papers and novellas lying around your workspace. Eventually you find a weathered, but perfectly usable one underneath a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. You address the letter to his newest residence, some boarding house in Germany, but you aren't sure if he is even staying there anymore. If that doesn't work out and one of your letters is stamped “Return to Sender” once more, you’ll just have to wait for him to send you something first. It seems like you are always waiting after Josh. Not that you mind much, you had been as thick as thieves as teenagers and that had hardly ever changed, even after he’d decided to go abroad and study, then go onto some teaching stints wherever the wind blew him.

As you return to your seat you hear gentle meowing outside, head peering over your desk and out of the glass panes into the garden below you spot a small gray and white tabby looking up at you. A sigh escaping your lips as you move to grab your pen once more, beginning to write a post scriptum,

‘p.s. Your lovely feral cat has now decided that I take ownership of her in your absence. Is there a name you prefer I call her?’

You hope he can understand your tone, it’s an issue of yours that the words you write sometimes don't hit their mark. Regardless, you’d send the letter and hear his thoughts on it whenever he has the gaul to write back. You straighten your back from your hunched position and move through the house, your fingers tracing along the smooth walls until you reach the door leading into the garden, it lay nestled in the corner of the kitchen. There’s a faint scratching as you approach, only opening it to find the same tabby waiting for you, it barrels inside once it sees an opportunity.

“You wretch,” tsking as she begins brushing up against your leg. “What am I going to do with you?”

[ 1909.04.30. 今出川, 京都 ] The ground crunches underfoot as Seokmin walks; the pavement, covered with a thin layer of grit from a small windstorm that had picked up an hour or so prior, feels as if it’s shifting as his leather soled shoes move over it. The storm having left its mark and not going to disappear until a rain shower decides to wash it away, he breathes in the particles still floating through the unseasonably balmy weather. A small frown as he fans his jacket, allowing some air to circulate under the thick fabric. Had it not been impolite, he would have shed the garment as soon as he stepped out of the train station only minutes ago. His hand still wrapped around his bag he looks to the signs adorning the tops of businesses along the road. Seokmin was never great at learning hanja, so when it came time for him to begin learning the already different kanji and further hiragana and katakana that would come along with his trip abroad, he thought he might set out to find a tutor during his time here. Hand moving to rummage around the inside of his jacket, he procures a worn letter from its depths. ‘今出川 居酒屋,’ it is the only thing foreign to him within the contents of the scripture, the sender had asked to meet him there for lunch on the second day of Seokmin’s arrival to Kyoto.

Seokmin finds the bar after walking a few more blocks, north from the station and hidden away behind a bookstore in a back alley. Before he enters, he pauses. His grip on the letter tightening, the parchment creasing from the increased pressure as the slight tingly pervasiveness of guilt begins to wrack him from the inside out. A look to his left, and then to his right, a ghost of a figure in his peripheral, deterring him from running from the drinkery. It drives him closer, away from an inevitable future and towards the uncertain present. 

A haze of smoke blankets the air as he enters, that of tobacco intermingling with the small fire stoking in the back of the bar. It invades his nose rather viciously, itching the back of his throat and causing tears to form in the corners of his eyes as he greets the hostess with a small ‘Hello’ and ‘A table, please.’ She guides him and he settles down at a chabudai towards the front of the building, almost with enough of a view so that he can peer past the two small curtains at the entrance and into the street.

The letter now resting atop the table and his bag by its side, he reaches into his jacket yet again to procure an almost empty pack of cigarettes and a newly bought lighter. He had run out of fluid during his journey across the sea and he thought that buying a new one would be a novel idea to commemorate his trip. Seokmin’s eyes wander around the enclosed space as he scans the faces of the patrons. Most are men but there is the occasional woman mingling among the crowd as well. Cigarette placed on his lips, lighter spewing to life and igniting the end as he takes a deep breath in. Seokmin hates smoking, hates the way it pierces his lungs with its inky black vapors. It leaves his breath smelling awful, but it is just something people do to pass the time, and it calms him if only for a quiet moment. Fingers finding the cigarette, he removes it for a moment, tapping it against a small silver dish atop the table, the ashes pooling at the bottom as he continues to look for someone he hasn’t met yet.

“Did you want to order anything else?” A voice to his right calls out, he jumps slightly before turning, only to find the kimono clad waitress at his side. She sets down a tray of dishes, some foods he recognizes, and some he thinks to be the local cuisine.

“Oh, no thank you.” As his eyes look over the food, he moves to rest his cigarette in the ashtray to come back for later.

The woman gives a short smile and brief nod before speaking again, “Please let me know if you need anything.” Even after she had walked away, Seokmin could feel her eyes lingering on him like a child seeing some sort of marvel for the first time. This is not to say that he thinks that highly of himself, just that he knows that he is an outsider in a foreign place, his accent could tell anyone as much.

“I think she likes you.” A voice speaks up when Seokmin goes to take a bite out of the onigiri on his tray.

Mouth half full and brow furrowed in confusion, Seokmin turns to face wherever the voice had come from, “What did you say?” Chewing his food and swallowing rather harshly, he almost chokes as he thinks he’s going insane after hearing what sounded like Korean. This time it was a man who spoke, he was sitting at another table across from him, a shifty grin on his face. Something about him seemed different from everyone else in the bar, but the man couldn’t quite put a finger on it in this dimly lit room.

“She’s still staring at you.” The other man answers, now standing up and proceeding to walk over to him. “But it’s not like she’s hearing me say that anyway,” He laughs, brushing his hands against the lapels of his jacket.

Now in a better light, the man can get a better view of this stranger. “Are you Korean too?” He asks in his native tongue, feeling much more relieved that the burden of speaking a different language is momentarily sated.

“Did I give myself away that easily?” Another laugh as the man settles down in the seat adjacent. He pauses for a moment, his eyes staring into Seokmin’s as if he’s trying to memorize his facial features. “You wouldn’t happen to be Lee Dokyeom, would you?”

“Seokmin, actually– That’s just a teasing name.” He clears his throat. “I am,” Eyes glancing at the letter still atop the table, Seokmin comes to a realization, “Are you Yoon Jeonghan?”

“I am,” he smiles as he extends his hand. Less practiced with western formality Seokmin looks at the greeting for a moment before raising his own to formally address him, “It’s nice to meet you.” After a moment they drop their hands away from each other, Jeonghan’s gaze shifting to watch the hostess move his food from his old table to the one he now shares with Seokmin. “With an accent like that you must be from the south, Daegu, maybe?”

“Suji, actually.” He returns to his food for a moment, Jeonghan taking this time to also take a few bites from his own bento. “Where did you learn Japanese?”

“Did Jisoo not tell you?” Jisoo is their mutual friend, he’d given Seokmin Jeonghan’s contact information to inquire if he had any availability to tutor him. “I studied with him when we were in college, I moved here a year after we graduated. I had my parents move here once my mother became ill so I could better look after her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Seokmin frowns, shifting as he sets his chopsticks down. The two must have met after Seokmin had left his schooling to return to his family, per their wishes. 

A smile, “She made a perfect recovery and even returned home. I, however, am still trying my luck here.” Jeonghan reaches for the porcelain flask of sake the hostess had brought over, pouring himself a small glass then offering one to Seokmin. The younger politely refuses, still not accustomed to the savoriness of the drink, as Jeonghan nods and knocks back his own cup before speaking again. “When can you start classes? We typically meet for an hour or two every day if we can.”

“We?” Seokmin is caught up on the word, he thought these would be private lessons, not an actual class. He leans forward, somewhat anxious at the thought of his abysmal language skills to be put on show for more than one audience member.

“Just a handful of other students from all over the place,” Shoulders shrugging, Jeonghan leans backwards, hands placed atop his knees as he stretches his back. “We have a few Korean and Chinese kids, even a Canadian student as well. Not everyone’s at the same level so you shouldn’t worry too much about it.” He smiles, toothy and carefree as if there wasn’t an unhappy thought that had ever crossed him, Seokmin somewhat resents the uncertain assumption he made. “The schoolhouse isn’t too far away from here actually; did you want to stop by?” Hand motioning towards the doorway, Jeonghan’s head tilts inquisitively.

“I actually have to check in at the hotel I’m staying in, my parents told me to write whenever I arrived and I’ve been putting that off for a while,” A sigh escapes him. Seokmin had been thinking about what to pen for the past day and a half but couldn’t muster the strength to go through with it. He’d left on rocky terms and was expecting to be hounded whenever they responded. “I’ll stop by tomorrow when you have class if that’s alright?”

“Fine by me,” He’s now searching his own pockets, finding a pen and reaching out for the letter near Seokmin. Jeonghan scribbles down something, a few kanji that Seokmin can’t decipher, and hands him the paper back, “Classes start at ten, when you’re in the area just ask someone if they know where this is and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” Seokmin looks down to the paper, seeing in his periphery that Jeonghan was already on his feet, straightening his jacket as he begins to head over to the waitress.

Seokmin sees him say something but can’t make out what, it’s only when Jeonghan turns to him and speaks that he can ascertain the meaning, “Don’t worry about paying this time, you’ll have to treat me to lunch some other day.” And with that Seokmin finds himself alone once more in the tavern.

[ 1909.04.30. Boston, MA ] The letter had arrived early in the morning, but you had been out in town with your mother attending some group function that you didn't want to be a part of in the first place. So, when you walk into your own little study and see it lying atop your things you race over and tear open the seal adorning it.

‘When I arrived in Munich, my work left me so urgent that I could not write in time before I left again. I thus deferred it to a point where I once again found myself with solid footing. It rains heavily in Seoul today; my travels have taken me here instead of crossing the Atlantic.

Currently I am holding a tutoring position for the American consulate’s son. I expect to hold this position for some time before I return home to Boston. 

Tell my mother not to fuss over me too much, if anything I implore her to look after you. Of all people, other than your own family, she knows of the antics you pursue.

I was able to sneak out a few books from Munich, upon my return I swear to you that you will have the greatest library in all America- no, the world, even.

If I were a better artist, or wealthy enough to photograph, I would show you how beautiful my journey across the world has been. Although so much has changed in Seoul since I held my studies here. I cannot help but have the inklings of melancholy eat away as I recall the memories and compare them to what I see now. This will come to pass, I hope. 

I hear the boy calling for me now— My writing will have to cease here, I fear. Send my affection to your family, I know they miss me as much as you do.

With all the love I can muster,

x Josh

p.s. I think I have decided to call her Minnie, please refer to her as that accordingly.’

While scattered with his familiarities and humor, the letter seems all too short, all too hurried. Your lips purse as you read over it, brow furrowing as a small knot in your stomach begins to form. Thumb rubbing over the x marking his name the worry only grows ever more prevalent, you pull your eyes away from the words and begin to rummage around for your own writing implements and paper, wanting to respond to him as quickly as possible.

‘Josh,

Your letter left much to be desired. Seoul? Your mother anxiously awaits your return any day now, before you left you said you would only be gone until early May at most. I hope that nothing unsavory has happened, God knows you find yourself in trouble more than any other man I know. 

Please let her know that you are safe, I fear that she may follow after you should you be gone any longer. A son should never burden his mother with his absence for an extended period, I can only keep her company for so long before her weariness sets in and she longs to see you. 

She also knitted you a pair of gloves, seeing as you left your moth-eaten ones behind. I know the air is growing warmer, but it is somewhat endearing to see how doting she is over you. Please, ease her mind by writing.’

[ 1909.04.30.-1909.04.31.  今出川ホテル, 京都 ] Seokmin eventually finds himself standing at the small entrance of a hotel, the name written in cursive English on a wooden sign above the doorway. Jisoo had recommended the inn, saying that it would be one of the more accepting places to stay at as a foreigner. It has a somewhat Victorian looking façade, contrasting the traditional Japanese styled buildings around it, he wonders why that is as he ascends the handful of steps to the door, struggling ever so slightly while lugging his bag behind him. As the door swings open, he’s greeted by an elderly woman with a rather round face, “Good evening,” she smiles and ushers him inside. “Did you need a room for the night? Or do you have a reservation?”

Mind fogging as he struggles to keep up, “Apologies, my Japanese isn’t—” The stone floor clicking underfoot as he follows her to the main desk.

“Ah, Korean?” It’s accented, but he appreciates it nonetheless. “Do you have a reservation?” Her hands dance along a worn leather book atop the desk, flipping it open as she looks down a list of names, some of those which are crossed out and some of which are not.

“I do,” He nods his head with a short smile, “It should be under Lee.”

Humming as she runs her finger down the list, as her head turns upward it causes Seokmin to return his attention to her, “Mr. Lee Heesung or Mr. Lee Seokmin?”

“Lee Seokmin,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, mentally hitting himself as he should’ve been more specific. Eyes scanning the list, Seokmin takes a short look around the interior of the inn. The space is smaller than he imagined, but rather cozy. A glowing fire going to warm the chill of the night, large armchairs beside it and the largest bookshelf he’s ever seen built around the hearth.

“Wonderful,” She smiles, turning her back to him to find his room key from a small drawer behind the desk. Before she faces him again fully, she shifts through a small stack of papers atop the desk, “This also came for you,” The woman reaches to pull out a thin card from the stack, it has both hangul and kanji printed on it so it was easy to assume it’d come from his homeland.

“Thank you,” He smiles back before taking the telegram and tucking it into his jacket pocket. She hands him the key and he’s off to find his hotel room. It lays up the staircase and down a winding corridor, as he passes by some of the rooms, he can hear the muffled voices of a few of the other patrons, speaking languages he can mildly understand and others that sound alien. Once he finds his room, he’s all too giddy to throw himself onto the bed. Door locked, shoes and suitcase strewn aside he falls onto the plush bed, his eyes watching the ceiling as the weight of sleep begins to take over his vision.

Broken sunlight filters into the room, the shades drawn enough only to allow sharp slants of light to come through. The city outside is bustling whereas the hotel room seems almost vacant of any form of noise, save for the sound of soft breathing as the occupant sleeps. Lee Seokmin continues to snore softly, dreaming of something sweet enough to add a slight curvature to his lips. He rolls in his slumber, the telegram received in the night folding under his weight, unbeknownst to him.

Three swift knocks rouse him from the depths of slumber. He bolts up, raising a hand to run through his hair as a frown of confusing forms on his lips, wiping away whatever essence of his dream remained. “Are you awake?” A voice rings out seconds after the rapping. It’s the woman from the night before, Seokmin was too tired to connect the dots quite yet.

“Yes,” He responds groggily, moving to allocate his footing onto the floor. He hears soft footsteps leading away from his door, he supposes his wakeup call is completed. Rummaging around his wrinkled jacket-pocket he pulls out his timepiece, the clock reveals that it is seven forty-five in the morning, he has two hours before his lessons begin. Letting out a soft groan, he places the watch away and pushes himself onto his feet. His knees creaking and cracking as he rises and stretches out his arms, signaling that his sleep must’ve been docile. Once again, his hand moves to his jacket as he recalls the telegram, now crumpled in the crevasses of his pocket. Seokmin pulls out the card, walking to draw open the shades to allow more reading light in.

“Lee Seokmin,” He mumbles out, reading over the first, short line as the sleep is rubbed from his eyes. ‘Mom and Dad are going to kill you if you continue to ignore them. For my sake, please write. - Seoyeon’

An audible scoff after he’s finished reading, he can almost hear his sister’s tone. Seokmin does care about his family, but his sister is as much on his parents’ side as he is against it, it is a giant rift in their already teetering relationship.

The telegram tossed onto the bed as Seokmin takes off his jacket, he has been avoiding his familial issues for a while now and it seems as if they have come back to bite him in the ass. It isn’t entirely his fault for doing so, his father was never a good listener and Seokmin’s ideas were always pushed asunder.

A few moments later he finds himself in a fresh set of clothes, ready to face the day. In truth, he is dreading his lessons but at least it will provide some relief from thinking about the drama happening back in Suji. His shoes drag along the wooden floor as he steps out of his room, locking it with the small, gilded key behind him. Once in the hallway, his posture straightens as he begins to make his way towards the staircase that would lead him into the main lobby. The crushed emerald, green velvet railing runs under his fingers as he descends, swiftly moving into his pockets once his feet land on the granite tiles splaying out an ocean of deep gray below him.

A thin beam of light shines in through the slit in the door of the entranceway, the windows attached to the door are covered in the same crushed velvet encasing the staircase via curtain. It feels like he is in a black hole with how dimly lit the interior of the building is. Eventually he makes his way through the lobby, past the plumes of smoke belonging to the lackadaisical men resting in overly decadent armchairs smoking out of their kiserus.

Seokmin shuffles his way to the front desk, a younger woman manning it instead of the elderly woman from the night prior. “Can I help you?” Voice sullen sounding, or maybe tired, Seokmin still isn’t awake enough yet to dissect it fully. 

Reaching into his pocket, pulling out the letter from Jeonghan with the name of the school, “I’m looking for this?”

The girl leans over the desk, it’s easy to tell the yukata she wears is inhibiting her from her full range of motion. Eyes reading the characters carefully, “Whoever wrote this has awful handwriting,” She mutters under her breath and Seokmin can’t understand it entirely. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk that way,” Hand raising to motion southward, “When you see the sweets shop you should turn right, and it will be a few buildings down on your right.”

A nod of his head as he thinks he caught most of her instruction. He takes the paper back and tucks it away, thanking her as he makes for the door. The heat greets him with a gentle breeze, an inkling of warmth as to what’s in store for later in the day. Seokmin looks to the sky, to see where the sun is positioned so he is able to gauge the direction he was supposed to go. He sets off, pace not brisk or lax, merely at a stride to absorb what’s around him. It’s still early in the morning, plenty of time before the school day begins to wander the streets for a bit.

The street’s crowded, thinning in places where it seems more residential than not, it reminds him of home. Different feel, different language but it has a strange nostalgic aura about it. A sweetness hitting his nose as he approaches a small wooden building, he can’t read what it is but by the smells emanating from it he supposes that it’s the sweet shop the girl at the hotel had told him to turn at. Head tilting to peer down the street, it looks like nothing of note. As he stands there, presumably looking more confused than the average local, he feels a finger gently tap on his shoulder, “Are you lost?”

The voice comes as a surprise, turning Seokmin on his heels to come face to face with a stranger. Eyes wide as he looks the boy over, “A little bit... I’m looking for,” reaching into his pockets as the other stops him.

“Are you Lee Seokmin?” It seems as if everyone here knew of him before he could introduce himself. Before he can speak, a nod of affirmation rattles through him and the other smiles, “Jeonghan said that we’d be getting a new student in today.” Hand outstretching, Seokmin’s a little more practiced with the greeting now, “My name’s Kim Mingyu, I can show you the way to the school if you want?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” He gives a brief smile before another nod of his head, “I’d really appreciate it.”

[ 1909.05.06. San Francisco, CA ] If anything were to be your downfall, it would be that of your impatience. You’d been sitting down with Josh’s mother, a woman you likened to your own family when the one back home was too involved in her own business, when the news broke. She was kind, offered you tea and as always had the little tin of biscuits you loved when you were a child sitting atop the tea tray, and then graciously divulged to you that her son was currently under police custody in Tokyo when the last you’d heard he’d been in Seoul. It would explain the absence of letters, or inability to write. Upon questioning her further you realize that maybe he was in far greater a circumstance than he left you off thinking.

It isn’t a matter of asking your parents to ship you off to a foreign land, it’s a matter of when and how soon you can leave. The money sitting in the dank vault of your late grandmother’s account had laid in wait for some sort of use, and she had wanted you to use it to fulfill some sort of errant dream of yours after her passing. You couldn’t find it within yourself to touch it, seeing it as too prized and too treasured a thing to take away from for some frivolous means. But your grandmother had liked Joshua, the late one on your father’s side and not the vile one from your mother’s. She had treated him kindly whenever he had stopped by, sometimes even saying that she had wished him her grandson more than the monsters that were your cousins. You think that is reason enough to pull from your funds and splurge on a rescue mission to Japan. There were several people you’d known that had been there before, detailing it as a curious place but had neglected to tell you why; you don’t think of the language or cultural barriers separating you until you’re standing on a pier in San Francisco, waiting for your ship to dock.

The brine of the sea had never settled well in your stomach, salty on your lips and your cheeks as the coastal winds torrent towards you. Your ship doesn’t leave for a while yet but the queasiness felt on the decks of other ships returns to the pit of your stomach with a ghostlike vengeance. Perhaps it is anxiousness that riddles you instead of the fear of the sea.

 “Im-a-de-ga-wa Gai-ko-ku-jin Ni-hon-go Ga-kko” words falling from your lips in strange and oblong vowels and consonants that were almost completely incorrect. Joshua had mentioned it in the letter to his mother, detailing that should she not hear from him for another month to contact the school and ask for the aid of a Mr. Jeonghan Yoon, a friend that he’d talked about in passing a few times. Apparently, he is a persuasive sort that would most definitely help him out should the occasion arise. Or so Josh had put it, you aren't really sure what to think of him.

Josh’s mother had insisted that it had been a mix up at customs but a bitter taste in your mouth and gut wrenching feeling in your stomach told you otherwise. He was a rebellious spirit and had probably said a few choice words that had gotten him in trouble, he had said his Japanese wasn’t great but he had learned a handful of colorful phrases from the aforementioned friend in University that could definitely be taken the wrong way by unknowing ears.

If the seas are steady and your luck is good, maybe you can reach him within a month. If not, a week or so longer but you’re not sure if the anticipation of it all would let you, you might jump ship and hope to swim there faster should such a situation arise. Again, impatience being your downfall you can barely stand just watching the large metal steamship land at port and empty its passengers before you were to board.

The air is salty, the gentle spray of foam from the shore landing on your cheeks carefully as you look towards the ship that is to be your dwelling for the next portion of your life. Maybe you shouldn’t have come alone, taken a chaperone or a friend with you, but you were worried, too crunched for time to even entertain the thought as you packed your bags and told your mother you were taking the first train out of town. Your face still stings with the remembrance of the slap she’d given you in her frenzy, calling you something along the lines of a girl too thoughtless to know her role. By no means a heartfelt way to leave her, but your father had said to go, knowing a little more than your mother how much Josh means to you.

Your bags, brown leather and worn from the days when your father was still youthful enough to travel, lay at your feet as the thin paper ticket folds under your grasp. The chatter from the crowds around you mixes in with shouts of vendors and merchants lining the docks over the squalls of seagulls overhead. It’s all too much when your mind is racing with concern, although not too much to deter you from a gentle tapping on your shoulder.

“I think you dropped this?” Deep voice causing you to turn on your heels and face the perpetrator. When you do, you’re greeted with your passport being held out to you and a dimpled smile to go along with a rather dashing face.

“Oh,” Eyebrows raised as you reach out to gingerly take your own booklet from the other, you hadn’t realized its absence since you had thought it stowed away in the depths of your handbag. “Thank you—?” A pause as you wait for an introduction.

“Hansol Choi, or Vernon, whichever is easiest for you,” he nods and then you offer your name before he speaks again. “It was really no problem,” he continues with a smile as he looks down to the bags at your feet, “Did you just get back or are you going somewhere?”

“Well, thank you Mr. Choi.” The innate curiosity of the stranger is mildly perplexing, “I’m off to Tokyo.”

“Tokyo,” his tone faltering as his hand drops down to his side after you begin stowing the passport back away in the small purse slung over your shoulder. “What business is taking you there?”

You pause as you think, it isn’t exactly family troubles or business matters that are taking you across the Pacific, stubbornness, and inability to take your friend for everything he said, more like it. “A friend settled there a little while ago,” a nod after a moment of silence, “it seems that he has gotten himself into a little trouble, so I’m going to make sure everything is alright.” Absentmindedly patting the bag as you can see the other mull it over in his head, “What about you? Are you heading in or out?”

“Out,” The answer is almost immediate, a shift on his feet as he straightens his posture. “I’m heading to Korea; I haven’t seen my family in almost seven years.”

“Seven years?” The most Josh had been gone was the three years he spent studying abroad; you can’t imagine someone gone from your life for that amount of time. “What were you here for?”

“I was staying with a group of missionaries as I went through college,” Hands in his pockets as he turns to the blue horizon overlooking the ocean you are both meant to traverse, “Now that I’ve graduated there’s nothing keeping me here.”

“What will you do when you’re-” you begin to speak when a loud whistle blares from the port your ship had saddled up to. Growing quiet as you begin to hear the general buzz of the people around you grow as they begin to shuffle towards the bridge that linked the port to the steamship. “I guess it’s time,” Reaching to pick up your bags, the leather against your palm somewhat soothing your nerves, “are you boarding too?”

A shake of his head, “My ship doesn’t leave until the afternoon.”

“Ah,” the sound leaving your lips as the thought of, perhaps, having someone to accompany you on your journey was swiftly diminished. “Well,” A small smile gracing your lips, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Choi.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” his smile returns, “Safe travels.”

“And to you,” You nod as you begin to walk towards the front port, looking down to your hand to make sure that your ticket is still in hand.

[ 1909.05.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “It’s not kūremashita, it's agemashita.” writing on a chalkboard, the dust from the small white stick clinging to the ends of Jeonghan’s jacket as he scrawls out the hiragana. “Unless you’re thankful that Seokmin’s parents give him money?” A smattering of laughter echoing the room as he tries to teach the handful of students how to show appreciativeness and the reporting of it to others. “Try one more time.” Seokmin sits back in his chair and looks at a pink cheeked Seungkwan who leans over his notes in an attempt to reconcile his verbal mistake.

There’s another try from the dark-haired man, it sounds good enough to Seokmin but apparently, the structure of the sentence needs more tweaking, as seen by Jeonghan giving out a small sigh before walking to Seungkwan’s side. Seokmin takes this time to look around the small, confined classroom. It is in no means shabby, but one could tell this building isn’t meant to be a school, Seokmin thinks Jeonghan told him that it had been some sort of distillery prior to the deed falling into his hands.

From ten in the morning, when the sun slants in through the two glass windows of the classroom just enough to see the dust flying through the air, until noon is when Jeonghan teaches the native Korean speakers basic Japanese grammar and vocabulary. It’s only a handful of students; Mingyu, whom Seokmin had met on his first day, Seungkwan, who is somewhat timid but roaringly confident at times, Chan, a kid on some sort of exchange trip who hopes to build up his language skills before his university classes start in the fall, and of course, Seokmin himself. It is an intimate learning experience, perhaps that’s why Seokmin now feels miles more confident in his speaking ability now than he did a month prior. Hell, he could now converse freely, albeit somewhat confined in his topics, to the front desk woman at the hotel he still resides at.

There’s a knock at the classroom door, pulling the attention from the room’s occupants away from their work and now to the dark wooden door that leads out into the small foyer where the next group of students is presumably waiting for their lecture. “The next class doesn’t start until noon,” Jeonghan looks at the clock placed atop his desk, “You’ve got five minutes.”

The door opens with a small creaking noise, shadows from the entranceway spilling in as Seokmin catches a familiar face standing there to greet the class. “I was actually hoping to sit in?” A voice Seokmin hadn’t heard since his university days accompanied the squeak of floorboards underfoot as Jisoo strides into the room. “I think my Japanese is a little rusty.”

A small laugh from Jeonghan as he recognizes his friend, “There’s the jailrat.” Jeonghan returns to the front of the room to stand in front of the taller, no doubt feeling the confused gazes of the students behind him staring past him and to the stranger. “I’m surprised they let you out that early.”

“You know I’m persuasive,” Smile lingering on his lips as his head turns and he catches sight of Seokmin looking at him quizzically. He is still caught up on the word jailrat and the connotation behind it, when had Jisoo been incarcerated?  

“Well,” Jeonghan turns on his heels to address the class, “Why don’t we end early today?”

Mingyu’s already leaned over his desk to get Chan’s attention, Seokmin thinks he hears him say something about grabbing lunch at the nearby market, but his interest is far too deterred to be paying full attention to the younger men. The class packs their bags, Seokmin taking the longest time of all as he tucks away his books into his makeshift bag. In all earnest it was a bag he’d borrowed from the reception at the hotel, he’d neglected to bring or buy a suitable bag for school when he left home and arrived in Japan. The worn canvas of the thing is almost wearing through at the bottom, he slings it over his shoulder and makes his way towards Jisoo and Jeonghan, who look to be in deep conversation.

Jisoo spots Seokmin approaching in his periphery, turning to greet him with a jovial smile. “I see you made it here in one piece?” His eyes looked tired, his face gaunter than the last time he’d seen his elder, but he wasn’t going to question, it was neither the time nor the place.

“Mostly,” Seokmin replies, “Jeonghan’s been a great teacher.”

“Thanks for the ego boost,” Jeonghan’s fingers dance on the lapels of his jacket in mock vanity, only then moving into his jacket pocket for a lighter and his infamous pack of Chūyū cigarettes. He offers one to Jisoo and then to Seokmin, to which they accept, pulling their own lighters out of their pockets and lighting the butts of the sticks.

“God, these are shit,” a grit through Jisoo’s teeth after he pulls in a drag. “They confiscated my Lucky Strike back in Tokyo.” Seokmin’s brow furrows as the other begins to speak again, “Let me know when you’ve got a free night. I’d love to grab dinner and catch up; it’s been a while.”

“I should have time this Saturday?” Seokmin thinks of his schedule, it’s not that he had massive time commitments here, but he was making a point to travel around the city in his free time. “If that works for you, of course.”

“It sounds doable,” A nod as Jisoo moves his hand to tap his cigarette against an ashtray atop Jeonghan’s desk, the wood around the tray stained with the ashes of past smoking ventures. “Are you still staying at that hotel I told you about?”

Seokmin shifts on his feet, “I am, are you staying there too?”

“Jeonghan has offered me residence in his home until he is sick of me,” Jisoo nods to the aforementioned, “I can meet you in the lobby around five then?”

“Sounds good,” Seokmin agrees, looking at the clock hanging on the wall, “I think Seungkwan wanted to go over the homework together so I should go and help him out.” It’s something of an excuse but Seokmin could feel as if there was some sort of pregnant secret looming over the heads of the other two.

“Would you mind sending Junhui and the others in?” Jeonghan asks as Seokmin snubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and makes his way to the door.

Metal knob in hand, Seokmin turns and gives him a brief nod, “Of course.”

There’s something that doesn't sit right with Seokmin. Jisoo had noted that he’d planned on staying in Seoul for a while in the letter he’d sent to Seokmin a few weeks ago. It’s not as if plans can’t change or anything of the sort, yet he’d seemed vehement about it, detailing something about a someone he was going to visit before heading home to America. He isn’t one to question where questions aren’t due. If his friend was to stay in Kyoto for the time being, he’d be nothing more than appreciative of having a familiar face around.

[ 1909.05.18. 今出川ホテル、京都 ] When Seokmin ascends the staircase, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, he can immediately tell that Jisoo sits in one of the large armchairs by the hotel’s unused fireplace in the lobby. Although his face is obscured by the wings, with the way his hand taps in rhythm with the song wafting through the air, the excitedness of the movements are a telling sign that it is his friend. 

A glance to the victrola that lies in the corner of the room, the audio scratchy and soft as it emits a tune that Seokmin does not know. He strides over to the plush chair, glancing down to its occupant before speaking. 

“Good afternoon,” the words escape him and Jisoo turns to him with a jump and widened eyes before he realizes who it is. 

“Dokyeom!” Jisoo smiles from the armchair, rising to his feet to greet the other with a quick embrace, “Long time no see.”

“I’d prefer if you called me my real name,” he nods awkwardly as Jisoo steps back from him, his hand rising to scratch the back of his head, “helps me forget the meaning of that epithet.”

“Still having family issues?” Jisoo’s brow furrows as they break their embrace, “I thought you wrote that you had sorted that mess out?”

“More or less,” another awkward smile, “But enough about me— I thought you were supposed to be in Seoul?”

“Change of plans, there was someone I was meant to meet in Tokyo, but they left during the time I was imprisoned.”

“Jeonghan mentioned something like that when you first came in, what happened?” Jisoo holds out his hand, motioning to the door, as Seokmin questions. The latter begins to walk forward, towards the entrance of the hotel as his friend trails behind him, “Were you really taken into custody?”

“They thought I had ties with Homer Hulbert,” A laugh as the two make their way out the front door, trapezing down the steps and onto the sidewalk, “Which is correct, but they had no grounds to imprison me on the notion that I know him alone or had one of his books in my possession.”

“Hulbert— is he the one that—?” 

“The very same,” Jisoo waves the notion off, “But that is more than contrived at this point, let me know how you are. It sounds like things are the same with your family the last time I saw you.”

“If things were okay then I would have stayed home,” a huff of heated breath leaving him in something of a passive laugh. “My father is still trying to set me up with that girl, the past runs deep, I suppose.”

“I cannot agree with you more,” Jisoo agrees with a nod, “Have you even met her yet?”

“The last time I saw Seungwon was when I was thirteen, even if I saw her now, I cannot say I could point her out in a crowd if you asked me to.” Seokmin's hands find purchase in his pocket, hidden away from the sunlight that falls onto his head and burns the back of his neck as Jisoo and he walk further down the street, through the masses of people.

The older one nods solemnly, almost as if he understands the situation, "I have a friend who's in a similar predicament as you. Although her parents haven't found her a match or approved of anyone she's liked, I'd say her feelings mirror your own."

"Is that right?" Seokmin questions rhetorically as Jisoo digs through his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes, "Is that the girl who you spoke so much about during our classes together?"

Jisoo sputters, his hands failing to ignite his cigarette at Seokmin's words, the object dangling from his lips, "Did I really talk about her that much?"

"So much so I feel like I know her," Seokmin smiles and shakes his head, a familiar pang hitting his stomach once he looks back to the street before them. "Do you want to grab something to eat? I don't think I've eaten since lunchtime yesterday."

"Too busy studying?"

"Something like that..." In actuality, he'd received yet another telegram, this time from his mother, scolding him for staying away again.

"You always were more studious than me," the other nods and looks to a small restaurant they begin to pass on their left before stopping in his tracks, "What about this place?"

"Soba?" The intensity of the sun once again baring down above him as he looks at the sign on the door, he nods quickly, "Sounds great."

 The pair make their way inside, settling down at a small table in the back corner of the shop as they wait for their food to arrive. Seokmin moves his hand to unbutton a few fastens from the front of his jacket to allow some of the shop's cooler air to hit him. His hands then move to rest atop the table, his long and slender fingers tapping as Jisoo smokes the last of his cigarette, snubbing it out on the ashtray settled at the end of the table. 

"How's your family doing? Is your father's business going well? I saw a few copies when I was in Seoul.” Lackadaisical in question, Seokmin can hear something edging behind his friend’s tone that tinges upon suspicion. 

“It’s going well,” a silent nod as a server comes to their table, the two order quickly, leaving little room for questions before Seokmin asks, “What about your family?”

“Willfully ignorant as ever,” Jisoo frowns, shifting in his seat. It looks as if bitter words reside on his tongue but he swallows them down with a redemption of a smile. 

“About what?” Seokmin pauses as he reaches for the pot of tea the server had brought on her arrival, his hand hovering over the handle. 

“Everything.” Jisoo’s shoulders shrug as Seokmin eventually pours himself and his friend a cup of tea. “Joseon politics, American politics, hell- even the politics of their own inner circle. I refuse to believe they aren’t intelligent; they refuse to accept anything that isn’t affecting them personally.” 

“I see…” He winds off his acknowledgement with the abating of his words, woefully aware that his parents are of the same mindset. His own father being the worst of all of them, claiming that any interaction or deals with unsavory businessmen were for the benefit of the family, not to the detriment. 

“My father’s own brother died in ‘07 and he seemed unfazed by it at all,” Jisoo huffs out, “At the hands of the Imperial Army, and yet he said nothing.” 

Seokmin’s eyes widen, and he raises a finger to his lips as if to tell the older to lower his voice, unknowing if anyone within the shop understands Korean. “Even if he did, there would be nothing your father could have done about it. Not only is he in America, but he also holds no authority in Joseon.” 

“No one wanting to do a damn holds any authority in Joseon anymore, you know better than me what the yangban have gone through, what everyone’s gone through.” Jisoo leans in closer to Seokmin, ceding as he lowers his tone, “It may be easier said than done but I believe we have the ability to change that.” 

“How would-” Seokmin begins but is interrupted when the server comes back with their food, carefully setting each dish atop the table before retreating into the depths of the kitchen. “How could ‘we’ possibly do that?” 

“There are ways, I know there are. I just need time to think of a proper solution,” Jisoo nods as he reaches for his chopsticks, eager to sate his own hunger that had risen during their conversation. “If you’re interested, I’ll tell you more when I have an idea.”

[ 1909.05.27. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Seokmin’s mind doesn't return to that conversation with Jisoo until a Wednesday afternoon about a week later. The sun begins to sink down in the sky as Jisoo, Mingyu and himself clean off some blackboard tablets in the main room of the school. Jeonghan is busy teaching a class down the hall as Seokmin’s fingers begin to prune from what feels like endless scrubbing with a rag and vinegar ridden water.

“You know,” Jisoo speaks up after an eternity of silence, brushing his hands on his pants after setting down a board onto the floor below. “I think we can really change something here.” His shoes quickly tap on the floor in a sort of anxious apprehension, “Jeonghan and I have been talking and the resistance effort in Joseon seems to be strengthening again.”

“What are you implying?” Seokmin asks, confused at the sudden statement. His brow wet with perspiration, even having the windows cracked open doesn't allow for much wind to travel throughout the building.

“I am saying that we can try and do something to change the… trouble happening back home,” Jisoo shows no anger but a passion resides in his voice that remains hard to mask. “Do something before something more is done to us.”

“That is…” Mingyu begins, looking up to Jisoo from his task of drying off the boards.

“Idealistic?” Seokmin interjects, biting his lower lip before continuing, “Jisoo you do realize if someone hears you talking about that you’ll get thrown in prison again?”

Eyes trailing around the space as if he hadn’t already known they were alone, “Every one of us are sitting ducks. You know that” a point to Mingyu and then a point to Seokmin, “and you know that. Is fighting back against that such a bad thing?”

“How do you propose we do that? Drop everything now, hop on a ship back to Joseon and just roam the countryside looking for this supposed group?” Blood rushes to his ears and it sounds like waves crashing on a beach’s shore. 

“Not at all,” A shake of his head. “There are ways of resisting that do not rely on fighting, think peaceful, diplomatic.”

A nervous laugh escapes Seokmin, it’s involuntary but he can’t help it. “Hong Jisoo, I knew you were insane, but this is another level.”

“I— uh— I’m going to get some chalk refills from the storage room,” Mingyu excuses himself from the conversation, a glance at him as he walks away tells Seokmin that he doesn’t know how to interact with the situation and was looking for an easy escape.

“Seokmin, if you would just listen to me and get that stupid doubt out of your head you might just be able to make some sense of it all.” A sigh from Jisoo as he stands, reaching into his jacket to rummage around for a pack of cigarettes. “Can I bum one off of you?”

Cheek bitten as he grabs his pack out of his pocket and tosses it to the other, “Do you have any idea what they would do to my family if they knew we were having this conversation? Your family and Mingyu’s are across the world and have no worries about what they say or do. The other student’s and mine are not privileged with that.” Cigarette carton tossed back, the sound of a lighter igniting and the smell of smoke pervading through the air as he tucks the pack away into his pocket.

Jisoo thinks, an exhalation of smoke through troubled lungs as his outward breath intermingles with the dust thick in the air. It dissipates without a sound, quietly invading the space as Seokmin is overcome with a sense of trepidation from the other, he picks his words meticulously, trying to string them together as carefully as possible, “This is not just about you or me or my family or yours. It is the fate of a nation on the line, is that so hard to understand?”

It causes the younger man to pause for a moment, his hand falling to his pocket, hovering there before he pulls on the fabric as if he’d meant to straighten the coat all along. His throat clears, thinking of his parents and brother he’d left behind in Suji, what any actions that Jisoo’s ideals cause may entail for them. Even if he was trying to get away from his obligations back home, he’d never want to intentionally put them in any sort of danger. 

Seokmin opens his mouth to speak before catching a bright glimpse of color passing by one of the front windows, followed by the school door opening with a large slam against the wall. Silhouette standing in the setting sun for a moment, not looking at all familiar to Seokmin. An equally confusing circumstance when the words, “Joshua Hong,” spill from your lips.  It’s a confused expression that crosses your face, standing in the front door of the school as the one named leans leisurely back against one of the walls. 

Cigarette in hand, Jisoo turns at the call of his name, nearly falling over in surprise to see you standing there. No, not surprise- bewilderment, shock or some form of abject horror as you take a few long strides to stand in front of him. It’s as if a child’s been caught by his mother and Seokmin is playing witness to it all.

Seokmin watches the scene in a state likened to childlike curiosity, he understands not one word that falls from either of your or Jisoo’s lips, but he can tell you’re angry and him beyond apologetic. Hand movements gesticulating, he catches the words ‘Seoul’ and ‘Tokyo’ at some point as you huff something out under your breath. Voices rising, Seokmin’s surprised Jeonghan hasn’t come out to tell them to be quiet, but if he were in Jeonghan’s shoes he wouldn’t as you sound royally pissed. When you turn on your heels Seokmin looks to Jisoo for some sort of explanation, but his gaze is solely locked on you leaving.

“Shouldn’t you chase after her?” Mingyu asks, the two others not realizing he had returned, box of chalk in hand as the three men watch you storm out into the crowded streets.

“She needs to calm down before I talk to her again or she might really kill me.” Jisoo sighs, bringing the cigarette to his lips before taking in a long drag. A hand runs through his hair as it looks as if all of the blood had drained from his face upon your arrival.

“Is that the friend you mentioned a while ago? You showed us a picture I think.” Seokmin questions, somewhat relieved at your intrusion into their previous conversation.

“It is,” the answer not coming from Jisoo, but from Mingyu. “And by the sound of it she’s ready to pack you into her suitcase and take you on the next ship home.” Head nodding as he looks to the space you once occupied, “You really didn’t tell her you were coming here?”

“You understood that?” Smoke leaving him he turns to the younger, “You didn’t tell me you speak English.”

“It never really came up.” Shoulders shrugging as he sets the box of chalk he’d been fiddling with down onto a nearby chair. “I was raised in Canada for the first eleven years of my life.”

“Son of a bitch, Jeonghan never mentioned that.” Jisoo muses, tossing the cigarette from his hand and smothering it with his shoe. “But yeah, that’s her. I may have neglected to mention that but I was a little held up,” he looks confused as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to the door, peering out in the street. “I just don’t know how in the hell she found me.”

“She probably used the wrath of God to do it,” Mingyu suggests, “That’s how my mom says she knows everything I’ve ever done wrong.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” A shake of his head as Jisoo turns to Seokmin. “She said she’s staying at the hotel you’re in. Would you mind meeting up with me tomorrow morning in the lobby to talk some sense into her and get her to go back home?”

“I don’t even know her though?” Hands dried on a nearby towel, Seokmin stands and reaches for the bucket of now dirty water. He walks past Jisoo and into the street to dump its contents out, “I don’t even speak that much English.” 

“It’s more of moral support than anything,” Jisoo steps aside to let Seokmin back in, “I wasn’t joking she might actually kill me if she gets the chance.”

“Fine,” Seokmin sighs, walking to pick up his bag from the corner of the room. His hands smell of vinegar and he rubs his still pruned fingertips together as he thinks of what the next morning would hold. “You owe me, though.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jisoo breathes a sigh of relief as Seokmin makes his way to the front door once again, this time with the intent of leaving. “Nine work for you?”

“Nine works for me.” A nod as he walks down the two steps and onto the dirt road below, the indentations from your shoes leading off down the almost empty road. He glances back to Jisoo with a, “See you tomorrow,” and then to Mingyu with a question of “Do we have a quiz on Friday?” before waving it off and beginning his trek back home.

The night descends on Kyoto quietly and without noise, the stores closing long after the sun has fallen behind the western mountains in Arashiyama, lanterns aligning the street as Seokmin shuffles his way to the hotel. It’s quiet, the city typically is at this time of night, he’s learned over the course of his stay in the ancient former capital.

Before he goes inside, he stands outside of the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he stares up at the night sky blooming with stars. His bag lays at his feet, more worn now than it had been on the first day of class. Crumpled in his fists, buried away into the depths of his coat lies a letter, the ink that had adorned it far too smudged and water damaged to read now. Seokmin hadn’t meant to ‘accidentally’ drop it into a puddle when it had arrived that morning, so the contents lie unknown. However, on the corner of the envelope, a blurred name, ‘Seungwon’ stays virtually untouched as if to remind him of former obligations. 

It’s as if there’s a clock ticking in his chest, counting down to a day, a time, when he’s meant to take up the holstered responsibility of his family and place it onto his own shoulders. A burden not yet ready to bear, he sighs out into the calm night and makes his way inside of the hotel. 

[ 1909.05.28. 今出川、京都 ] Seokmin wakes to the knocking on his door, his head burrowing into the tangled blankets and pillows from a restless night’s sleep. It takes a moment for him to find himself, writhing around the sheets before pulling himself out of his own stupor. Feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, he drags his lethargic body to the small bathroom, running his hands under the cool water of the faucet before splashing some onto his face to wake himself further. He meets his own gaze in the reflection, tired eyes and the slightest shadow of stubble beginning to darken on his jaw and upper lip. He’d have to visit the barber at some point in the coming days before he becomes totally unkempt.

He dresses himself in casual attire, a white linen button up, the most breathable thing he’d wear today, before he dons the dark blue of his three-piece suit, a light gray and black one still residing in his wardrobe. He notices the threading is nearly worn as he buttons the bottom half of his jacket, the things threatening to fall off should he exert too much force. The soles of his shoes too lie in disarray, wearing thin from endless wandering the streets of Kyoto after his classes have finished. It’s not that he’s searching for anything in particular, maybe a solution to his current situation. But he can’t find that at a merchant’s stall.

The route to the dining hall located on the first floor is a path easily tread, remembered in his first few days of arriving in Kyoto. The carpeted floors give way to a wooden expanse the further he delves into the hotel, the scents of varying breakfast foods calling out to his aching stomach. 

His hands keep busy with the morning paper, perhaps yesterday’s or the day prior to that one. It takes a while for the Korean post to arrive in Kyoto, the postage system seems to take years for important things to arrive, yet the letters from home seem to be weekly. A sigh as he sets down the news, reaching out for the carafe of coffee situated some ways away from where he’s seated. He begins to pour himself a cup, only pausing when he catches something out the corner of his eye. 

A few darkened drips from the coffee pot settle into the white linen of the dining room tablecloth as he spots you stalking towards him. His eyes go wide and his breath hitches when your gaze narrows on him, almost causing him to choke on coffee he’d just brought to his lips.

The way you saunter over to his table reminds him of his mother when she’d be out to scold either him or his brother. Seokmin doesn’t know you but can easily tell that you’re not a force to be reckoned with. 

“Where’s Josh?” You ask, standing before him, arms crossing over your chest as you look down at him expectantly. “You were one of the men with him yesterday, right?”

“What?” Seokmin asks, trying to make some sense of what you were saying. When he was a young boy, his parents had allowed him to take English lessons with a handful of the Christian missionaries that had drifted through Suji, but seeing as he understands nothing of what you just said, it’s obvious he hadn’t retained much, if any, of his vocabulary. “What are you looking for?” He sees no glimmer of understanding in your eyes as your brow furrows, probably trying to decipher what he’d just said. “Jisoo? Are you looking for Jisoo?” It’s the common connection the two of you seem to have, it’s his best bet on trying to figure out what you want. 

You nod at the name, recalling that his mother shouts that at him whenever she’s angry. “Where is he?” If you’d taken up Josh on any of his invitational Korean lessons, you may have had much better luck in this situation. But you’d gone off to learn French because you were enamored with one of your classmates at the time, you could almost hit yourself seeing where it’s gotten you. 

“Whe-” Seokmin pauses, lips pursing together as he thinks of the word. Jisoo was meant to be in the lobby when she came downstairs, but it’s now clear he’s nowhere to be found. 

 “School.” It’s one of the words he can pull from memory. “He’s probably at the school,” he says again and gestures in the general direction of Jeonghan’s academy. 

“The school- The language school?” You’ve said the name of the institute hundreds of times to yourself that you think it’s the only Japanese you know. Not that you fully understand what it means, just knowing that it’s the name of the place. 

Seokmin nods, somewhat surprised that you know the name. 

“Can you take me?” The question falls out quickly and you see he’s confused, so you repeat it again slowly in hopes that he comprehends it. It seems that he does, reaching for his coffee and finishing the cup before rising to his feet, motioning for you to follow him as he heads towards the exit.

The walk to the school is painfully awkward, drenched in a silence that neither of you want to address. Both of you are not confident enough in the other’s mother tongue to make small talk as the two of you begin to walk the streets. 

“Hey!” Seokmin hears Mingyu call out as the schoolhouse nears, “Took you long enough, you’re almost late.” When the younger sees that you’re accompanying him he gives you a small wave, “You’re Jisoo’s friend, right?” 

“I am,” You say after a moment, not having expected to hear English today. But with the company that Josh keeps, you can’t be too surprised at anything now. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, he’s not here yet,” he shakes his head and turns to Seokmin, “Didn’t Jisoo say that you’d meet him at the hotel?”

“He did,” Seokmin’s lips curve into a frown as the three of you make your way into the school. “She’s been interrogating me about him, I think. Although I can barely understand what she’s saying.”

Mingyu laughs at the older and then turns back to you, “My name’s Mingyu.” His demeanor has a lightness to it that descends onto you as something of a godsend. It’s an ease that you’d probably find with Josh if he were here, and you aren't still angry at him. 

“It’s nice to meet you Mingyu,” you offer him a smile before your eyes go wide and you turn to your partner, “I uhm, I never asked him what his name is.”

“Seokmin,” Mingyu answers, another chortle leaving him, and the elder looks confused as to why his name’s just been called out. “What’s your name?”

You respond quickly, glancing over your shoulder to see if Josh is on his way in, to your misfortune, he isn’t. Mingyu quickly introduces you to Seokmin, probably so he has a gist of who you are. It’s hard to tell if Josh’s said anything about you to these men, but it doesn’t look as if he’s said too much.

“We’ve got class soon,” Mingyu’s voice pulls you from your search and you turn back to him, “I’m sure Jeonghan would let you sit in on the class if you wanted to, although I’m not too sure that you’ll understand much, I don’t even get all of it.”

“It’s alright,” you shake your head at him, “I’ll just wait out here for Joh- Jisoo.”

The man in question strolls into the school around thirty minutes later, the local paper tucked under his arm as his brow raises in surprise to see you, “I thought I said I’d meet you at the hotel.”

“I got impatient,” a frown as your gaze flickers over to him. “Jail Josh? Jail?” You fume, storming over to the taller, “Do you have any idea how worried I was, how worried your mother was? God- If you don’t write to her today and tell her that you’re okay, I'm stuffing you in my suitcase and taking you back with me.”

He laughs heartily, despite you glaring him down, “I wrote to her as soon as I got out. I wrote to you too, but it doesn’t seem like you got the message.” A few more chuckles escape him as he holds his arms out, “I missed you.”

You sigh, falling into his embrace, “I missed you too.” After a moment you pull away, stepping back from him, “I’m glad to see that you’re okay, but if you ever do something like this again-”

“I’ve missed your hollow threats,” Josh smiles and glances around the school’s empty halls, “Do you want to get out of here for a while? I know a good cafe nearby, they have a lovely castella.” 

“Don’t you have class?” You question with a tilt of your head, the gentle murmurs from the classroom some ways away drifting out into the hall. “Mingyu said that Seokmin was already late, I wouldn’t want to stop you from your lesson.”

“I’m not a student,” Josh shakes his head, “I’m just… in town for a while and Jeonghan’s putting up with me for a bit.” He flashes you a grin before you have a chance to ask him exactly what he means by that, “Now come on before they run out.”

The two of you walk out into the dense heat of late spring, passing by a group of students as you do so. Josh recognizes some of them whereas you don’t, him saying something to them that elicits a laugh or two before you’re both back on your way to the city center. 

“Why were you arrested?” You can’t stop yourself from asking the question as you turn onto the main road from the alley in which the school is situated. There are only a handful of people perusing the streets, but none look interested in what you’d just said. “It wasn’t serious, right?”

“Of course not,” he reassures you and looks to a few buildings ahead, “We’re almost there.” Josh walks in silence for a moment, his fingers rubbing against his palm as he looks back to you, “I lost my passport, can you believe it?” You recall when you were leaving San Francisco and you had lost your own passport, if it hadn’t been for the man that found it for you, you’re not sure where you’d be.

“Well, actually, I didn’t lose it, it fell between the pages of one of the books that I bought, which reminds me- I have a few for you, I wrote you about them, just remember to tell me to give them to you,” Josh says quickly as you approach the building he’d been eyeing earlier, walking into the opened door confidently and heading to the nearest open table. 

You can tell he’s lying. You’ve only known him since you were children and he’s the closest person to you, you know almost every little quirk about him. And one of the first things you’d learned was that he talks quickly when he’s not being truthful. Yet, you don’t question him on it, seeing as you’d just calmed the tension between you, you don’t want to ignite it for the second time today. So, you just nod and follow him inside.

More oft than not, you hide your feelings behind a veneer of snark, of a bite that seems to sting but never lasts. It’s a sham way to hold yourself together, for if you let the dread of reality seep into your veins any longer than you allow it, you may just become the person you’re trying to hide. A vulnerable being who longs for the company of others but finds errant ways to keep them close instead of just outright saying it. 

Josh offers out a seat to you and you sit, hands folding neatly atop the tabletop as you look to the menu scrawled onto a chalkboard near the cafe’s counter. You’re not sure why you do, the mix of Japanese alphabets is still foreign to you.

“I’ll go grab something, just wait here,” he says, noticing your confusion, still standing before he turns on his heels and strides over to the counter. You turn away before he begins to speak to the barista, looking out of the glass window at the front of the shop, 

“How long were you planning on staying in Japan?” Josh’s voice stirs you some time later, the gentle sound of two cups being placed on the table making you turn in his direction as he sits down across from you. 

“As long as it took me to find you.” You smile at him, reaching out for the small cup, “I guess that means I can pack my bags and leave now.” The smile placated on your lips is joking, but you hold a sincerity in your gaze as if to ask him if that’s what you should do next. He was the entire reason you were here, to find him, to make sure that he was okay and to bring him home if you could. 

Josh’s finger traces the rim of his own coffee cup, gently lifting after a moment to tap along the surface of the tabletop. He hums, low and obstinate, as if to ponder the significance of you being here. 

“I guess you could,” a slow nod of his head, “You know, you were never obligated to chase me half-way across the world to try and get me back home. I’ve been detained before-”

“You have?” eyes widening as you look from your coffee to meet his eyes, “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“I’ve been detained before but,” he continues, gaze hardening at you as you interrupt him, “I really thought I had lost my papers so I sent my mom a letter saying I may need my official documents back home to get me out of the mess I found myself in. This was a little more serious than the others.”

“What happened the other times?”

“Well, in London they stopped me for taking too much tea out of the country, I guess they thought I’d run them dry of it,” a teasing smile twinges on the corners of his lips, “and in Cairo, I tried to sneak off with a few things from Cleopatra’s tomb.”

“You know,” you lean back in your chair, a snide frown on your lips, “lying less might help you out in the future.”

Josh laughs, reaching into his jacket pocket to procure his pack of smokes, it isn’t until he’s got a lit cigarette dangling from his lips that he speaks again, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He suddenly gasps, the smoke he’d been inhaling filtering into his lungs and causing him to sputter for a moment. You reach for and hand him his cup of coffee  so he doesn’t choke on himself. After a moment of hitting his chest and extinguishing his cigarette into the ashtray on the corner of the table, he speaks up, “You didn’t use your grandmother’s money to get you here, did you?”

“Well, technically it isn’t hers anymore,” a guilty exhalation of a chuckle, “but yes, I did.”

“Oh,” He’s crestfallen in the most faux of ways, “You said you’d take me to Italy with that.” It’s a joke, but you can see his concern wavering behind the sincerity of his words. 

Your hand falls to run over the textured brocades of your dress, a wavering smile delicately tugging at the corners of your lips, “I was just worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do,” brow softening as he reaches for his coffee, voice still a bit hoarse from his earlier choking. “But you don’t need to throw everything you have away for me, I know the trip probably wasn’t cheap.” 

Josh’s not wrong. It had taken quite a large portion from your deceased grandmother’s account to get you here, and the subsequent stay in the country. 

“I had to make sure you were okay,” you shrug your shoulders with a coy smile, reaching out to pick up your teacup and bring it to your lips. It’s then you realize something, setting the cup back down and looking around the shop, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Josh questions, noticing your shift in demeanor. 

“I haven’t ever been abroad before, I thought maybe I’d travel to Paris or London, Milan, even… Never…” A small hum as you turn to look back at him, “Never to Kyoto.”

“I’d have loved for you to see Seoul,” Josh smiles softly, his fingers tapping along the sides of the cup, “It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“You make it sound as if it’s impossible to go,” a tilt of your head. Josh had told you stories from his time studying abroad, of the antics he and his friends would get up to and of the history he’d learned. 

“It would be a little difficult to go back right now,” the smile lingering on his lips looks sad now, almost wistful in a way, “I’m sure we could go in the future if you want to.”  

“I’d love to,” you nod, glancing out of the window once more to watch the passersby walk up and down the crowded street. 

[ 1909.05.30. 今出川、京都 ] Japanese is difficult. You expected it to be, and you never expected yourself to have an aptitude for language seeing as how your conversational French lessons had left you with a minor understanding of the language itself. Most Korean words that Josh had tried to teach you over the course of your friendship had evicted your mind as well, so when Jeonghan asks if you want to sit in on the Korean student’s class as they learn Japanese, you’re not sure why you accept. 

You stay in that class for a few days, struggling to get along as you furiously scribble away into your notebooks. Jeonghan has offered you an English to Japanese dictionary and you copy and try to memorize the words as best you can, albeit the characters you draw are choppy and cause your instructor to spend a few more minutes with you trying to aid you in your quest to master hiragana. 

“Do you think we should have an English only class?” Jeonghan questions you one day after the class has ended, a few minutes remain before his next, so he pulls you aside as the rest of the students filter from the room. “Jisoo failed to tell me that he never taught you any Korean and I can see you struggling more than you have to.”

“If I’m going to be the only student, I cannot see the point,” you smile and shake your head at him, “Doing so would only amplify your workload.” 

“Never mind that,” a wave of his hand, “I can scrounge up a few of the boys who I know are a bit more… multilingual and have them sit in. Actually,” he thinks for a moment, his eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling before settling on you, “I think it would be rather beneficial for them… So, what do you say?”

You ponder on the thought for a moment, not wanting to seem selfish enough to steal away a few of the men from the other classes for your own personal gain.  

“If they’re okay with it…” Nodding slowly, “Then I don’t see why it should be a problem.”

“Great,” a toothy grin from the teacher, “I’ll see what I can do.”

[ 1909.06.05. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Kim Mingyu is sitting in the back of the schoolhouse’s main classroom, his nose buried inside Jeonghan’s mandated textbook, when you approach him. 

“I’m sorry to have pulled you from the other class,” you sigh out, taking a seat at the desk in front of him, yet turning in the chair to face him, “You must think me horrible for it.” 

“On the contrary,” Mingyu says after a moment before he sets the book in hand atop the table, a glance downwards shows that he had been hiding a small paperback book behind his study materials. He must’ve been reading that while looking so studious. “Ever since I switched classes I think I’ve actually learned more now that Chan’s not whispering in my ear or Seungkwan isn’t cracking a joke.”

“That’s a relief,” you smile, pausing for a moment as you take a deep breath, “I have a favor to ask of you, if it isn’t too… much.”

“A favor?” Piqued eyebrow as he looks quizzically at you, “Can I inquire what it is you’re asking of me?”

“You know Korean, right?”

“Well, uhm,” the question causes him to falter, “I should think so?”

“Teach me.” Hands finding themselves latched onto the back of the chair you sit in, you lean towards him, voice whispering as if you’re embarrassed, “I never bothered taking Josh up on it and now he’s too busy to help me study. And all I’ve been learning is Japanese except for when the others teach me a word or two.”

“You might want to forget those… most of them were pretty,” his face pinkening as he shifts in his seat, “inappropriate.”

“Oh really?” You feel your own cheeks warm with embarrassment, “I suppose I should’ve realized—”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell them to stop.” Mingyu says quickly to save you from any further mortification, “Are you free this weekend?”

“Are you asking me out?” Knowing the question will fluster the other, as it does, you stifle a laugh. “I am, should we meet here to study?” 

“If that works for you?”

“I’ll see you on Saturday.”

[ 1909.06.12. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Have you given any more thought to what I asked?” Jisoo stands in the doorway of Jeonghan’s main classroom, Seokmin scribbling away at something, too concerned with what he’s writing to notice that his door had opened.

With a small jump, he turns in his desk chair to his friend, “About?”

“Trying to organize something here.” With a cautious motion, Jisoo steps into the room. “I’ve been mailing the consulate in Tokyo but haven’t gotten a concrete meeting date set, I’m sure someone of your influence— of your family’s influence could—”

“Jisoo…” A frown settling onto Seokmin’s lips as he tucks the paper he’d been writing into the desk, away from the other’s prying gaze. “My family’s newspaper is scrutinized enough and it’s already considered pro-Japanese, what’ll my family do if they find out their son is working against the very thing keeping them afloat?”

“Where is your sense of justice?” Jisoo returns the grizzled grimace, “Didn’t you flee here to escape that reality for a while?”

“That is— It isn’t just that.”

“I am not trying to force your hand. I know that you’re smart and I know deep down you disagree with everything that’s going on.” A pause, “We’re meeting in Gion on the ninth, in Hanami. You’re welcome to sit in and hear what everyone has to say and make your decision after that.”

“... Okay.”

“You’ll go?”

“I’ll go, but don’t expect me to sign my life away just like that.” A sigh and Jisoo wordlessly leaves the room. Seokmin waits a moment more and pulls out the note sheet he’d been working on, as well as the letter he’d written earlier. He scans the letter once more before he sighs, folding it and tucking it away into an envelope and then into his bag.

‘Jihoon,

Much has happened since I left Suji. I hope things at home are still stagnant. 

The friend I told you of before leaving (the one who acquainted me with Yoon Jeonghan) has arrived under the most peculiar circumstances. I thought him to be in Seoul, but he arrived in Kyoto mid-May unannounced. And the strangest thing is that not even a month later, his friend from America shows up to scold him profusely for a litany of issues. I found her first impression rather intimidating, but I now find it rather endearing the more I try and speak to her.

I suppose I should ask how my family is doing, yet with their barrage of letters I feel as if I never left. The plague of this marriage overwhelms me constantly, I am not the heir to the company, yet my father and mother find it imperative to make a match. 

Enough rambling from my end, I hope your store is receiving the customer base it deserves. Starting any business now is sure to be wrought with turbulence, but I know you can and will persevere.

Seokmin’

[ 1909.06.15. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Excuse me,” Heat sweeps through the schoolhouse this afternoon, saturating the air in a humid gale that seeks to suffocate the air from one's own lungs. Seokmin stands before you as you sit in the main lobby of the schoolhouse, the textbook Mingyu has given you in your grasp as you look at him. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask, lowering the book in hand to look up at Seokmin. 

The toe of his shoe scuffs on the wooden floorboards as he rummages around his coat pocket for a moment. His brow furrows, and then lightens before he now moves his hand to search around his bag until he finds his fingertips brushing along a folded piece of paper. 

“For you,” he says, pulling out the parchment and holding it out to you. 

“Me?” A ginger grasp on the paper as you take it into one of your hands, unfurling it to read the contents. “Is this… the alphabet?” Various characters, both Korean and English, litter the page before your eyes in a haphazard, yet somehow meticulous, manner. 

“To help you study,” Seokmin says with a nod, his English vocabulary not proficient enough yet to tell you that he’d seen you studying the language after your class and Mingyu had mentioned in passing you were trying to learn. In no way is he sufficient enough in English to teach you major words but the alphabet… maybe that would be more doable.

“Oh,” your eyes still scan the page, eyes widening in recognition at some of the letters that Mingyu had taught you, before you return to looking up at the man, “Thank you, Seokmin. This will really help a lot.”

His heart flutters at your words, and he can only nod and return your smile before awkwardly rushing past you and towards the class he’s already late for. 

“What was that about?” Seungkwan guffaws as he settles into his seat, “Trying to make friends?” The younger looks back through the doorway of the class to note that you still have the paper in hand, carefully looking over its contents.

“It’s not like he fancies her or anything,” Chan shakes his head, noting Seokmin’s almost coy expression. “Oh my God, you do, don’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Seokmin bites, looking up to the front of the room where Jeonghan’s about to begin his lesson. “She just seems… lonely.”

The lesson drags on quietly after Seokmin’s sunken into his seat, his fingers aching with the sheer amount of notes he’d taken over the course of the hour and a half. When Jeonghan has finished his lesson on preposition making, somehow managing to reprimand Seungkwan in the process, the teacher dismisses his students out into the hall. The handful of men shuffle out into the narrow space, bursting into the lobby like salmon fighting their way upstream.

“Mingyu?” Seokmin thinks he catches his eye as he presses through the throng of Chinese students heading to class.

“Yes?” He locks eyes with him, the two stopping in the hall as the crowd recedes and it is only the two of them remaining.

“You know English, right?” He asks his friend, stepping towards him as to not clog the entirety of the hall.

“Why does everyone keep asking—” Mingyu sounds almost exasperated at the thought, “Yes, I do.”

“Would you mind teaching me? Or at least helping me with mine?”

“I mean, I can try to,” his hand runs through his tousled black locks, “I’m learning that I’m not the best teacher though, so it may take some time for me to get the hang of it.”

“That is fine enough with me,” Seokmin nods with a small smile, “Thank you.”

“Of course…” Mingyu says as the other begins to walk off, “Actually, Seokmin?”

“Hm?” The elder turns on his heels to tilt his head at the other.

“Why do you want to learn English all of a sudden?”

“Oh…” Shaken by the question, a flush of pink over his cheeks as the main object of his want for learning lies only several meters away in the lobby, in other words: you. He shrugs, “I just thought it’d be a good language to get a leg up on.”

[ 1909.06.21. 鴨川、京都 ] “Arthur? Really?” Josh chides as he walks along the sidewalk, his hands busy holding several blankets as he speaks to the man. Behind him and Mingyu, you and Seokmin walk step in step, carrying assorted picnic gear of your own. You notice the way Mingyu’s shoulders shrug in the summer heat as Josh speaks again, “It’s not a bad name, but a little Doyleish,” he turns to glance back at you before looking ahead, “don’t you think?”

“I think it’s a perfectly fine name,” you shrug loftily, your hand raising to your brow to wipe away a few droplets of sweat.

“Defend him because he’s got an author’s name, I see—” Josh scoffs jokingly as he sees Jeonghan waving at the three of you as the river’s bank draws near. “I’m going to go and help him set up.”

“Forever the busybody,” you sigh, looking to the other two accompanying you, “Why did you come to Japan, Mingyu?”

“My dad’s company is thinking about extending its outreach here, he’s in Tokyo trying to negotiate something and I’m here just… Well, I’m really just here,” he laughs, something rattling in the basket he holds.

“Are you going to take over his business?” The inquiry falls from you quickly, not realizing that he comes from a presumably affluent family.

“When I get older, maybe,” he sighs out apathetically, “I want to be a novelist.”

“A novelist?” You perk up at the word, “Who do you like?”

“I really like London.”

“He’s great,” A nod as the three of you walk onward, “You know, if you have anything, I’d love to read it.”

“Really? You’d do that?” His eyes widen as he looks to you, stumbling over an uneven stone as he asks.

“Of course, Josh typically sends me novels from all over the world, but now that he’ll be here for a while I haven’t got anything.”

“I can give you a few pieces tomorrow at the schoolhouse.” A sheepish blush dusts his face, “I’ve started a manuscript but it’s still fairly rough.” 

“That’d be great.” You smile and look at the others in your party, but before you can ask, Mingyu speaks up.

“And what about you, Seokmin?”

“Me?” The elder looks confused, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to the prior conversation. His attention elsewhere along the river before being interrupted. 

“What are you doing once you go back home?”

“My father set up a position for me at his business,” A sour frown on his lips, “I think that’s where I’ll put myself.”

“There’s nothing else you want to do?”

“Of course, there is, but I’ve given up my frivolity for the working mindset,” another frown as he lies to himself. The only reason he’d fled to Tokyo is because of his frivolity and unwillingness to settle down so soon.

“I see…” Mingyu sighs, turning to you, “And what about you?” 

“I suppose I’ll get married, live unhappily with my husband until I’m old and gray, and maybe after he dies, I’ll be able to do what I want,” humming as you’ve already given too much thought about the topic considering there aren’t many options for you. “If I were to have it my way though, I’d die a spinster, a book reading, novel writing spinster.” 

“You write too?” Mingyu interjects.

“Not well,” a bashful smile spreads to your lips, “I’ll let you read some of my works once they’re written.” 

“What did she say?” Seokmin asks, noting your change in demeanor.

“She wants me to read over a few of her things,” Mingyu says, looking from him to you. And then as if a light sparks in his head, he snaps his fingers, “You know. If you’re trying to learn Korean and you’re trying to learn English, I think helping each other out would be better than me trying to teach you.”

“If someone wasn’t chasing after James McAllen or whatever his name was, maybe she’d be a bit more proficient.” Josh guffaws as he saddles back to the three of you, the blankets he’d once been holding now lain on the bank of the river.

“French is still a good language to know,” you murmur, then looking up to Mingyu, and then glancing at Seokmin, “Although, that doesn’t really seem like such a bad idea, does it?”

[ 1909.08.10. 今出川、京都 ] “Is something wrong?” Your question pulls at Seokmin. For the last few minutes, you’d noticed that he hadn’t been working on the letter practice that you’d given to him when the two of you began your joint lesson. Instead, he’d been absentmindedly looking off into space as his hand draws thoughtless circles onto the page before him.

“No,” Seokmin jumps in his seat across from you as his gaze returns from the void where he sought nothing. “I’m alright.”

“Okay,” you nod, returning to penning out the sentences that Seokmin had given you. It only takes a few more lines of script before you get tired, stifling your mouth with a yawn before you turn back to your partner. “What does your father do for a living?” 

“My father?” Seokmin asks, wondering what could’ve spurred this question, “He’s a founding member of the biggest news publication in Korea.”

“News publication?” 

“The Seoul Daily,” he responds, “Although I have to admit I don’t read it often.”

“I see…” You say, not wanting to bore him with the simpleness of your own father’s profession as a clerk. “You know, I find it surprising that Josh’s here. He never likes to sit still. I thought he would be teaching somewhere by now.”

“Is he a teacher?” Seokmin questions, looking up from his work.

“Teacher, tutor, whatever the term is… but yes. He said that’s what took him from Seoul to Tokyo in the first place. And what took him from home.”

“Is he really?” Seokmin cannot recall Jisoo ever professing that his job was that of a tenured teacher, his degree had been in something of business administration if he recalls correctly. 

“Did he not ever tell you?” A prickling of suspicion biting at your lips. During your luncheon with Josh some time ago, the same inkling of distrust in your friend’s word invaded you, you had brushed it off then, forgetting it until now. “He said he was staying at the American ambassador’s home.”

“The American legation shut down some time ago in Seoul,” Seokmin muses, catching the glimpse of shock in your eyes before he moves to speak again, “That isn’t to say that the ambassador has left… To be honest I’m not well versed in Joseon’s political affairs with western nations to know such things.”

“Really…” You hum, pursing your lips as you try to process it. Not wanting to lower the already stagnant atmosphere of the session, you look at the sleeve on Seokmin’s jacket, noticing something peculiar about it. “Seokmin?” 

“Yes?”

“Is that hole in your suit?” You point your finger to the bit where the button should be on the sleeve.

His finger moves to trace the outline of the threadbare hole where his button used to lie, “I suppose it is.”

“If you ever want me to mend that for you, I should be able to.” You offer, failing to mention that your handiwork would be subpar at best.

“I may just take you up on that offer,” he smiles, only then to look back down at his notes, “Now, should we get back to work?”

[ 1909.08.15. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The light of the candle on your desk flickers ominously behind its pale shade as you reach for the wrapped parcel Mingyu had given you earlier in the day. You’d received it just as he, Josh, Seokmin and a few of the other students were leaving the school that afternoon. They hadn’t asked you to go with them, citing some sort of man’s meeting in which you could only presume a visit to one of the city’s geisha districts again. It was a favorite pastime of one of the men, saying it was much better to talk business in the confines of a private room where one language was known among them all. 

What they mean by that, you’re unsure. This is a school group, not a business venture, right?

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the thought as your fingers trace along the twine at the top of the large envelope. Unlacing it swiftly, you reach your hand inside to pull out a substantial amount of writing from Mingyu, some in his hand and some seemingly typed on a typewriter. The letters are strong, bold, and in the margins lie a mix of notes in both English and Korean. You try your best to decipher the latter but find it too scrawled to read, you’d practiced reading typed or printed Hangul rather than a messy author’s handwritten scrawl. 

Eyes flickering to the top page, you begin to read over his work,

‘The halls of the Haut have lain in wait for a mildly jolting occurrence for some time now. Ebbed in an inky and sickly black of gloom that settles itself on every person, beast and object that dare enter its halls. Yet for those that traverse its rooms, the darkness is felt more as a way of life than of a looming threat, some finding solace in the flickering lights of the candles that adorn the walls every handful of feet while others have succumbed to the habitual nature of torment that resigns itself to its home.

The spark of candles igniting save them from that horror, for a time. A thought of hope, a taste of the light that has been longed for for eons at this point, as the doors never open and the shutters remain bolted in place. Candles are the only light available to the residents of the Haut, whether that is a welcomed gesture or not. 

As the fires in the candles flicker endlessly throughout the day, I have come to a realization during my stay in the Haut. The light, shadowing across faces; new ones, ones they would see every day and faces they would never see again act as more than just a breath of hope to see the sun again. It acts as a catalyst, until their wick wanes low and it is to be tossed out like the ones before it, returning to an obscurity that prevails over all in the end.’

Mingyu’s thoughts penned down onto the page confuse you more when you read them over again. It is clearly alluding to more than a fictional Haut and the symbolism of candles is more than noticeable. You wonder why, of the fictional pieces that he’s told you of writing, he chose to place this one first. If there even was a reason, or if he had shuffled his papers together haphazardly before he left his apartment that morning. 

You look from the page to the window by your bedside, noting the sun had sunk some time ago, the small clock on your desk reading half-past eight. 

Almost as soon as your eyes settle on the clock, a knock resounds around your room. It causes you to jump and you quickly rush to the door to see if the men have returned. Upon opening the heavy door, you’re met face to face with Josh.

A bitter taste fills your mouth, but you hide it with a smile. The conversation that you had with Seokmin about your mutual friend had revealed a few things that you hadn’t known about your friend, and you’re still struggling to come to terms with the untruths he may have told you over the course of the years.

“I honestly expected you back later,” you say jokingly, noting the flush of red on his cheeks. He must’ve been drinking.

“Decided to call it a night early,” he shrugs. Josh stands there for a moment, as if he’s debating on whether to step into your room or not. It seems as if he opts not to, parting his lips to speak, “Listen… There’s something I want to talk to you about, you and I have known each other for a long, long time and I don’t think I’ve been very honest with my thoughts.”

“Your thoughts?” You give him a puzzled look; you had expected him to speak about something other than that.

“You see,” he starts, “I-”

“Oh,” a voice from outside of your room speaks up, both you and Josh look to see who it is. “If you’re in the middle of a conversation I’ll come back another time-”

“No, no,” Josh says quickly, motioning the other over, “We were only just chatting, Seokmin.”

“Hello Seokmin,” you give him a small smile as he returns the gesture. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I um, I wrote down a few poems for you to try and translate if that is of any interest to you.” The folded paper in Seokmin’s hand crinkles at the margins as he holds it toward you. You hadn’t seen it upon first glance. Through the thin parchment you can see his handwriting that has bled through a bit.

“Thank you,” you say, a small fluttering of butterflies in your chest as you take the paper into your grasp, “This was very kind of you to do.”

“It was no problem, really,” he waves his hand. “Well,” Seokmin says quickly, looking from you to Josh, although his expression shifts slightly when he looks to the elder, “I’ll leave you to your chat.” And with that, he quietly turns on his heels and walks down the hall, towards his room.

“That was cute,” Josh muses once Seokmin’s out of earshot, “Almost like a lovelorn schoolboy.”

“Don’t tease him,” you scoff, gently nudging your friend with your hand. “What was it that you wanted to talk about earlier?”

As if he’s remembered what brought him to your room in the first place, he quickly shakes his head, “Never mind it now, it’s a conversation for another day.”

[ 1909.08.19. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The wicker wiring of the basket’s handle is rough and almost sharp in your grasp as you lug the thing down the long street in front of you. One of the ladies at the hotel’s reception had offered to help you but you’d kindly refused. Yet with the beads of sweat beginning to form at your hairline, you almost wish you had taken them up on your offer. 

As you burst your way into the lobby of the school, several heads turn in your direction. Seokmin and Seungkwan look up from their hushed conversation and Jeonghan looks perplexed as he looks at what’s in your grasp, but makes no comment on it, only asking, 

“What are you doing here so early?”

“Seokmin Lee,” a sly smile as you hoist the basket up, “Do you have the availability for me to steal you for the day?”

“I…” his eyes travel to those around him, their heads tilting in confusion as they probably think that this is you coming to reign hell upon him just as you’d done to Josh upon your arrival. 

“I think he does,” Mingyu pipes up, realizing through the tone of your voice that there isn’t any ill will to be found. “Go,” he nudges Seokmin, “skipping class for a day won’t hurt you, believe me.”

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you smile as Seokmin walks forward hesitantly. Turning to Seokmin you smile, “I hope you’ve worn walking shoes; we’ll be going on a small trek.” 

The two of you take a trolly south, and then another one even more south to the edge of the city’s limits. Seokmin had offered to take the basket from your grasp as he noticed you shifting your weight with it as you stood in the interior of the crowded car. 

“I thought I might treat you to lunch,” You say as the car comes to an abrupt stop, jostling the passengers before you disembark, him following closely behind you, “if that’s alright?”

“Well, if I’m already here—” Seokmin accepts without outright saying it. “Where are we going?”

“That’s a secret,” you smirk, continuing to walk down the street.

It takes a moment, but you soon recognize several poignant features of the landscape that the hotel’s reception had pointed out to you. The town dwindles away, opening into a swath of open greenery and hills that roll on, seemingly forever. A few homes dot the landscape, you assume them to be the living spaces of the families that farm the land.

A rocky, dirt path leads you and him through a thicket of brush before coming out into a large field, yellow flowers saturating the landscape.

Noticing the way that your gaze seems to linger on the flowers as the two of you approach, Seokmin asks, “Do you like sunflowers?” Fingers dancing up one of the large stems beside him once the two of you near the field enough, his digits flitting up towards the petals bursting towards the blue of the afternoon. 

“They remind me of home,” wistful thoughts as you turn towards him, attention turning from the blossom in your gaze. “My mother grows them in her garden.” You set the picnic basket on the ground, reaching to pick up a fallen flower before you look back to him.

Eyes locking together, his own breath catches in his throat as he realizes how close you are, how the sunlight cascades onto you in a serene beam, not unlike a spotlight from a stage production. A cough and he looks to your grasp, to the yellow petals and browned florets in the center. Seokmin doesn’t know this now, but he’ll come to associate you and these flowers together in a harboring memory locked in the library of his mind when some time comes to pass. 

“Every summer the flower peddlers would come into town with their bushels of blossoms,” the memory can be recalled almost as if it were happening right in front of him. “My mother loves blue bells, my father and my brother both like carnations.”

“And you?”

“Sunflowers,” a nod as his hand retracts from the stem of the plant and into his pocket.  “I like sunflowers.”

“You must be happy that we came here, then,” a smile flaring onto your lips, “I bet everyone else at the school is jealous I stole you away for a while.”

“Jisoo more than any of them,” head shaking in disagreement, “he dotes on you, you know.”

“Dotes and guards are two very different things, Seokmin,” the smile falters a bit as you think of your friend. He had been acting strange lately, almost as if he were a caged animal with no escape. Was it because you had followed him here? 

“As he is not here I see no reason to fuss over him,” you shake your head, dropping the flower to the ground gently and turn to the assortment of snacks you’d brought. You open the basket, settling yourself down onto the ground near the stalks, and motion Seokmin over.

You reach inside to procure two glasses laying empty before you as well as grabbing a dark green bottle from its depths. “I had the lovely ladies from the front desk put this together for us last night.” Another rummage through the basket has you revealing a wine opener, the screw end eventually finding itself plunged into the cork in the bottle’s neck. 

“Thank you,” you say once you’ve poured Seokmin and yourself a generous glass of wine each. While you’d fiddled with the cork, Seokmin set out to lay out the small bites you’d brought along.

“For what?” A piqued eyebrow as he reaches for his glass, slight confusion shadowing his face. 

“Talking to me. I know Josh and Mingyu do as well, but I feel like everyone else ignores me.” 

Never mind the reason being that they’d heard of how you’d tracked Josh down and were worried that should they get on your bad side they’d suffer a similar fate— Seokmin found their fear rather funny but would make a note to try and tell them to open up, it isn’t as if you’re a monster. 

“Even if things are lost in translation— it’s nice.” Glass raised to your lips, giving the deep red a small sip before setting it back down. 

“I’ll tell them to talk to you more, and that you’re not that mean,” he chuckles and takes a drink from his own glass, the spirit flowing rather smoothly down his throat. It doesn’t stop him from making a face, though. 

“Are you implying that I can be?” A joking question as you peer over to him.

“Jisoo’s told me a select few stories,” Seokmin smiles, “but don’t worry, I’ll keep them private.”

“Promise?” You laugh out, only imagining what your friend had uttered. For a moment you catch Seokmin looking at you, a softness in his gaze and the smile on his lips seeming nothing less than genuine. It makes you pause for a moment as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“Promise.”

The two of you sit and talk in the midafternoon light until the sun slowly starts to sink beyond the horizon. Not wanting to be caught in the countryside at dark with no source of light, you and Seokmin make your way back to the southern edge of Kyoto. Another trolly ride and a brisk walk, the two of you find yourself back inside of your shared hotel.

“Mr. Lee?” The receptionist calls out just before the two of you pass the desk. By now far too familiar with the myriad of Jeonghan’s students who filter within the walls of the hotel, many of the staff seem comfortable enough to call out to them whenever a parcel, letter, or telegram arrives. “A letter arrived for you this afternoon.”

“If it’s from Suji I want nothing of it until tomorrow morning,” Seokmin sighs before waving off the offer of the envelope.

“It’s from a Mr. Lee Jihoon,” she reads over the address, “It seems to be from Seoul?”

“Ah,” you note a glimmer in Seokmin’s eyes and a slight smile overcoming him as he retracts his steps and moves to quickly take the letter with a ‘Thank you’ before heading up the staircase, you following closely behind.

“Who’s Lee Jihoon?” You ask as he ascends the steps, the sound of the envelope being torn open quickly ripping through the air.

“A friend,” Seokmin muses as he reads his friend’s words, chuckling at a witticism or two strewn among the mass of text greeting him. “He writes of home, of my family and….” He pauses before he allows himself to speak further, stealing himself away so as to not embarrass himself.

“And…?”

“Of you.”

“Of me?”

“Ah, yes, uhm,” he scrambles for words, his cheeks flushing as he recalls having mentioned you in his letter a month prior. Had he known his feelings would have coalesced into something more than an intrigued observation and into a budding courtship, he may as well have left your presence from the letter to deter Jihoon’s prying ways. “I mentioned your arrival and he’s inquired on whether you’ve turned out to be kindly or not.”

“Well?” You question, brow raised as the two of you stop walking in front of his room, the basket in your hand reminding you that you’d forgotten to return it upon your arrival back to the hotel. “Have I?”

“If your actions today don’t speak volumes to your generosity, then I should call myself a fool for saying you’ve been anything less than kind hearted— more so than anyone else I’ve met here… To me, at least.” His small smile once again prods at the corner of his lips, “I won’t speak on Jisoo’s behalf.”

“Thank you, Seokmin,” another smile creeps onto your lips as you look down the hall, “I suppose I should be getting to sleep—Jeonghan’s homework won’t finish itself.” Before you’re able to turn back towards him, you feel Seokmin’s hand gently pull you closer and then the soft feel of his lips against yours.

You had kissed a boy once before, but it had been at one of your family’s Christmas parties when you were a little over the age of sixteen. Josh and a few of his friends had smuggled some of their own spirits into the festivities, so while you danced and sang the night away, you were barely able to establish the stupor you were in until the next morning where it had formed into a splitting headache. 

Yet before the night had ended, you found yourself under the large oak in your family’s front yard, kissing one of Josh’s friends that eventually flittered aimlessly into the night, never to call on you again. 

That kiss had been sloppy, a drunken miasma of endearing regret that culminated from one glass of madeira too many. This kiss though holds words and emotion far too under the surface of both of your skins to be relinquished properly. Of unsaid promises and a look for direction in a darkened tunnel. 

It stays brief, his lips on yours lasting a few seconds, burning as they pull from you and his eyes widen. 

“I’m sorry,” his hands fly to the hem of his coat, messing with the fabric as he searches for words, a flush of red coating his cheeks, “something came over me I just—”

And you kiss him this time, wordlessly as your empty hand places atop one of his fidgeting ones. He leans into you, the fear of angering you subsiding as more spontaneous feelings begin to manifest deep within his chest. 

The two of you part, not gasping for air but feeling a significant lack of oxygen in your lungs. Seokmin stares at you for a moment, something forming in the glimmering of his eyes in the dimly lit glow of the hallway’s lamp. 

“I—” lips parted before you interject. 

“I should be going,” quickly speaking as you hoisted up the wicker basket in your grip. “I should return this before the ladies yell at me… See you tomorrow?” 

Seokmin nods too eagerly to look remotely collected, “See you tomorrow.” 

[ 1909.10.26. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The leaves had just turned color the prior week, the sickly smell of their sweet decay wafts into the classroom’s open window as the sun shines directly onto Seokmin and his desk. If he weren’t in class, the man might have found himself basking and napping in the midday glow.

His mind remains anywhere but Jeonghan’s teachings at the moment. The courtship between you and he had only remained steadfast in the weeks following a short confession the day after he’d kissed you. Both you and he are meant to go to dinner this evening at a place Mingyu had recommended, although with the younger’s cruder palate, both you and Seokmin want to venture there on morbid curiosity alone.

Seokmin’s daydreaming of the evening to come ends when the sound of heavy footsteps begins to echo throughout the building. Having attended the school, as well as gotten to know its attendants, for a while now, Seokmin can tell it’s Seungkwan who’s just barged into the building.

“Itō’s been shot,” Seungkwan pants as he races into the classroom, “the paper just announced it.”

The younger looks absolutely pallid, sweat on his brow as his heavy breaths remain the only sound emanating from the group of students and lone professor.

“Shot?” The name stings Seokmin’s ears as he straightens in his seat. “Where?”

“Manchuria,” the paper procured from the bag in Seungkwan’s hands, extending out to the group so that anyone may take it. 

Jeonghan reaches it first, scanning the headlines, “Itō Hirobumi, a prince of Japan, but the greatest commoner in the empire, who was assassinated by a Korean today, had stood for two years between Korea and the degradation of immediate annexation, hoping to build up that country anew. He was shot down as he alighted from a special train at Harbin, Manchuria, whither he went from Tokyo in his capacity as president of the privy council on a mission of peace.”

Gaze lifting from the print, he looks to the class, the paper falling down atop the nearest desk as others move to read it, “This is… troubling.” 

Seokmin rises from his seat and walks to Jeonghan, scanning the rest of the article with bated breath, knowing that the ramifications of this were to be far more than just troubling. His stomach drops, knowing full well that this could mean a swift return home depending on how the Japanese government reacts to this, and even more worrisome- how the general public around them would treat his fellow countrymen residing in Japan.

[ 1909.10.29  今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Can I speak with you for a moment?” Josh looms over your desk where you’ve sprawled out your notes for the day. Ink stains riddling your fingertips as you close the textbook and look up to him, his hands buried in his jacket pockets. 

“Of course,” you nod, standing from the small wooden table. Your hands brush the front of your skirts, smoothing the disturbed fabric before you watch him begin to walk off. Quickly, your footsteps trail after him, down the hall of the school, through the lobby and out of the front door. 

You pass Seokmin and Mingyu on the way out, offering them both a curt wave before the cool winds of autumn greets you on the streets of Imadegawa. 

“What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

Josh stays silent, his back turned to you as a cart ambles down the road. His shoulders shrug as if he carries Atlas’ burden before he turns to you and speaks, “The thought of you getting hurt if you stay around here for too long worries me greatly.”

“What do you mean by ‘hurt’, Josh?” A bubbling of strife in your tone as you ask, further culminating as you continue to speak. “Are you going to get hurt if or when I leave?” An angered step towards him, “I know you lied about having a tutoring job, why are you here?”

“I never meant-” He frowns, mutters ‘shit’ under his breath as he breaks his gaze away from you. Hand tousling the already disturbed locks, dredging down his face as he gently pulls at the skin with his fingertips before relinquishing his hold on his own face. “Who told you?” The question sounds accusatory as he fails to answer your own questions, “Was it Seokmin?”

“Even if it was, why do you care?”

“Because the longer you stay here you become more enraptured by everything you know nothing about. I see you fawn over him -- have been seeing it for the last few weeks now,” Josh shakes his head.

“And what of it? Am I not allowed minor courting?”

“The longer you throw yourself at him the more you will come to regret it when the time comes to part. You should be home, safe. Here you are neither of those.”

“Do you really think I am staying here for that reason alone? Just for him?” You nearly roll your eyes at him, “I went to Tokyo to find you! I followed you to Kyoto, I traveled across half of the world for you!” 

“And you fell into the arms of the first man who showed interest in you! You never think rationally and look where you are!” His voice raises, not to an octave to draw attention, but enough to make you want to raise your own as well.

“I can say the same for you!” You huff, stomping off for a few feet, only to take a deep breath and turn to him.

“If you cannot believe that I have paused on the possibility of me leaving I would call you insane,” the incredulity drips from your words as venom does from the hollowed teeth of a snake. “There is absolutely nothing here for me in the grand scheme of it all, I know that. And yet there is nothing for me at home except for the anticipation of a life that I do not want without you in it.” Breaths heaving from your chest as you try and compose yourself to the best of my ability, “You’re my best friend, Josh, but don’t think that I can’t make my own rational decisions without your input.”

“You two are more similar than I could have ever imagined,” His eyes rise to the clouded sky as if he’s having a conversation within himself. After a moment he sighs, exhaling all the air in his lungs before he shakes his head and looks at you.

“I was never planning on going back to Seoul,” he frowns, “I really did have a job in Germany, not in Seoul, though. I received news that a friend fell ill. I decided to visit should he not recover from the illness. He passed on the first of May and asked me to visit a friend in Tokyo for him prior to his death.”

“Why you, though?” 

“There wasn’t anyone that he knew in Seoul that would be allowed in Japan because of their acquaintance with him.”

“Who was this friend?”

“Ernest Bethel, I met him while I was with Daniel Lim in London.” Josh shakes his head, “He began a publication that called out the atrocities of the Japanese soldiers in Korea. They put him on trial for it and barred him and anyone that worked under him from entry into Japan.”

“Josh…” You begin but he cuts your words in two.

“With the climate now… With the growing disdain for foreign nationals after Itō’s assassination, I cannot guarantee your safety here,” the look in his eyes reminds you of an abandoned pup, lost and almost hopeless, “And that scares me more than anything.”

[ 1909.11.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The days since your conversation with Josh had been nothing short of meandering, lessons, studying and then more lessons. Time with Seokmin had been almost always interjected with another student hoping to make conversation or with the looming presence of your aforementioned friend somewhere beyond. Although you remain unsure if Josh had spoken to Seokmin about his malcontent with your new budding relationship, you can almost ascertain something has been divulged unto him as his more public displays of affection have become intermittent throughout the days progressing. 

And you cannot find it within yourself to press him on it. Jeonghan had assigned him a presentation project that he was to give in a handful of days and Seokmin had spent most of if not all of his free time in the little library of dictionaries and manuals that lay scattered about in the back of the classroom. Ink stuck to Seokmin’s fingers most evenings, and oftentimes most mornings as he seems rather unable to clean the stains himself. 

As your thoughts linger on this, you look to the sedentary streets outside, the inside of the schoolhouse dim with the waning light of worn lamps and lanterns scattered around. A few passerbys occasionally look into the building, most just move on without a second thought.

Quiet resounds around the building, only the gentle scratching of your pencil atop your paper. The interior is quieter than usual on this Tuesday evening– many of the boys had gone out, drinking, no doubt. But you cannot be too angry at them, apparently Jeonghan, in his chase of school authority, had given them a rather difficult test last week and had announced the results earlier this evening. Judging by the demeanor of those who left the classroom, this is a much needed getaway. So, after a chaste, secret kiss on the cheek, Seokmin was swept off by the other students, leaving you sitting alone to complete your work in silence. 

The seconds, minutes and hours tick away as you scribble and oft daydream into the ever becoming night. Then, you hear voices, feet scrambling and foreign words you only begin to comprehend as the doors to the school burst open and a plethora of bodies pour inside. 

“What happened?” The confusion sweeping into the room, overwhelming as an amalgamation of movement and shouting in several languages begins to overwhelm you. It’s then you begin to count heads; Seokmin, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Chan… 

“Where’s Josh?” Amid the chaos you look at Mingyu, dread in his face paling as the seconds pass. “Mingyu,” you ask, voice growing softer as a sickening dread begins to clamp around your abdomen, “where is he?”

“He was injured.” A voice to your right. Seokmin stands in the gentle twilight of the school’s entranceway, dusk falling behind him as he moves to shut the door. “Jeonghan has taken him to his friend’s home to get him treatment.”

Mingyu begins to call out to you, to deter you from what Seokmin’s just relayed. But you still feel that clutching dread begging you to ask for more information. 

“Injured? Is he okay? Can I go and see him?” Voice now fraught with panic, you begin to question everything. “What happened?” Even if you and Josh had been at odds earlier, he is still a dear friend to you. 

A glance downward and you see Seokmin’s hands, stained not with the ink you recall from earlier but red with what you presume to be the blood of your friend. Another glance around the room and you see some of their shirts and pants have oblong streaks of drying cruor adorning them, almost as if they’d been carrying the injured party. 

“I think it would probably be best that we fill you in tomorrow,” Mingyu says with a frown, his own hands shoving into his pockets as if to hide any evidence of what had occurred, “all of us are… trying to understand what happened.” 

“Hey, Mingyu,” Seungkwan says something offhandedly to him, but you’re too hyper focused to try and translate. 

“Really?” Mingyu says to his friend and sighs out, shaking his head, a few beads of sweat that had been clinging onto the ends of his soaked locks fall onto the floor. He returns his gaze to you, a grimace set on his lips before speaking, “The group is going to go back out, we can walk you to your hotel if you need us to.”

But you do not feel like walking, you’re not sure that you can with the weight surmounting in your legs as the joints are locked into place. You let yourself have a strangled gulp before trying to compose yourself, “I will wait here for you all to come back.”’

“Are you sure?” Mingyu says hesitantly, “There’s a good chance that we may not be back until morning.”

“I don’t think I could leave if I tried,” you offer a weakened attempt at a smile. Hands clenching to try and stop the undeniable tremble coursing through you, the nauseating dread making you want to curl up and cry. 

“I’ll stay back with her,” Seokmin speaks up from beside you, his voice soft among the chatter that’s occurring elsewhere in the hall. 

Mingyu doesn’t speak, only looks from you to Seokmin before nodding his head in acquiescence. He calls the others over to tell them of their next plan, each resounding off a stuttered goodbye before leaving the school and treading back out into the now darkened streets. 

You stand staring at the doorway for a while, you’re not sure for how long as time feels both encased in ice and unbelievably fast at the current moment. It’s only when Seokmin moves to close the door once more are you pulled from staring out into nothingness and onto something real. 

His hands, bloodied and crude, remain at his sides as he removes them from the door’s handle and looks to you. There’s a glimmer of what looks like weariness in his eyes as he glances down to his palms, perhaps now only realizing to the extent they were stained. 

“Let me get you some soap and water,” you tell him, quickly leaving him standing alone as you whisk yourself off to the small bathroom in the back corner of the building. 

You grab the lye soap that sits atop the porcelain basin of the sink, only then to grab a bucket sitting next to it typically used for mopping. The contents dumped into the basin, you refill it to the best of your ability with the lukewarm water from the groaning pipes. 

Returning to the lobby of the school, you find Seokmin sitting at one of the tables lying at the entrance. He’s watching the world pass by as he sits, his eyes lost as he distracts himself with anything but his present. 

“Let me see your hands,” you say, setting the bucket down on the table top, as well as setting down the towel you’d slung over your shoulder. 

Seokmin jumps before he turns to you, startled by your presence as he probably hadn’t heard you come back. 

“There are bigger things to worry about other than my hands,” he begins to protest, only to have you shake your head at him and motion for him to extend his hands to you. And he does reluctantly, still sitting as you take his hand into yours. “Thank you…” his voice is quiet as you take the towel in your free hand and dip it into the water, only then to do a precursory scrub of his palm and fingers before lathering the soap onto it. 

“...Can you tell me what happened?” You ask, dipping the towel back into the water, noticing the liquid turning a tinge pink as you do so. Stomach twisting, you can tell Seokmin’s reluctant to answer by the way the digits on his hand twitch. 

He coughs to clear his throat, “We were in Gion meeting with one of Jisoo’s acquaintances. The name escapes me, Donggeun, I think— But things turned sour quickly, some man started yelling at us after he heard us speak and then Jeonghan tried to calm him down. He was speaking so quickly that I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”  Seokmin recounts the event to you, but it’s still hard to get the gist of what had happened. “I know he said something about Itō’s death, but that wasn’t our fault,” tongue swiping over his bottom lip as you switch to his other hand, “even if it should have been. He got so riled up he called over a pair of policemen, we thought after talking to them they would let us go, but as we were leaving there were two shots that rang out. One hit the pavement beside us and the other hit Jisoo in the leg.”

Your grip on Seokmin’s hand tightens at his last statement, he winces and pulls away, settling his hand atop the coarse towel and beginning to brush off the suds and water that remain stuck onto his hand. For the most part, the gore and viscera that stained both his skin and nails had muted into a softer pink, splotchy, but for the most part gone. He heaves out a breath, unable to look at you as he composes his thoughts,

“I don’t think it was the officers who fired, though. Jisoo said that it was as we were carrying him off but when I looked back the officers had the man who was yelling at us pinned on the ground.” It’s hard to say why Seokmin’s relaying this piece of information, almost as if he’s doubting himself. “We took Jisoo to one of Jeonghan’s friend’s houses, you should probably be able to see him late tomorrow or the next day depending on how things go.” 

Hands fumbling around with the rag in your hands, you nod and drop it into the bucket with a soft plop. “Thank you for telling me.” After a moment you move to grab both sides of the bucket, returning to the sink in the small bathroom and dumping the bloodied contents down the drain before placing it on the ground. 

You meet your reflection in the grimy mirror atop the basin, the dim light overhead casting strange and oblong shadows on your face as you notice how downcast you look. Eyes with dark circles, hair unkempt, more so than the typically casual look you adorn yourself with. 

A tear, hot and scorching, rolls down your cheek, a mass of guilt engraving its way on the hallows of your face before it drops into the sick. 

“Are you… okay?”

Maybe you’d been in here longer than you thought, Seokmin’s voice calling out after a gentle knock on the bathroom door. The light above flickers from the rumble of an incoming train somewhere in the distance, your hand falls to grip the basin of the sink, porcelain cool against your skin as you brace yourself to speak.

A cough into your hand, a look from your bleary eyes into your bleary visage in the mirror at Seokmin’s words. 

“I’m alright,” you say to yourself more than Seokmin, turning to open the door. You meet him, face to face in the dark hallway of the school and absolutely crumple. “I’m alright,” this time you say it while falling into him, face pressing against his shoulder as the wells of tears brimming stain into the gray of his coat. 

His hands find yours after a moment, gently pulling you towards the lobby of the school, the quiet sounds of your footsteps ringing around the hall. You find seating on the staircase leading to the second floor, Seokmin quietly sitting next to you, letting you weep all you need to. 

Soon you find that your tears run dry, leaving hot and sticky trails down the sides of your face as Seokmin continues to provide quiet comfort, one of his hands still entwined with yours. 

Head on his shoulder, your eyes trail to the dimly lit street outside, not a single person caring or knowing the strife you’re riddled with. It’s hard to ascertain whether you’re unbelievably angry or unbelievably upset, but your breaths lay heavy in your chest laden with that uncertain feeling. 

“I think I’d like to go back to the hotel,” the statement cold as it leaves you, anything but the comfort of which you desire set into every syllable. 

The walk back is forgotten in the haze of the events that transpired earlier in the evening, glowing lanterns buzzing with an electricity seen only to you and dimmed in the darkness encompassing your very being. 

Your lips don’t speak another word until you’re standing in front of your door at the hotel, Seokmin standing beside you in silent solidarity. Fingers grasping for the small key in your bag, hesitating before you slide the gilded thing into the lock. Turning to Seokmin you softly ask, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

The statement that would typically leave him flustered and pink takes on the air of a silent plea tonight. Anguish in your eyes and voice that you lay in front of him, vulnerable and nearly at your wit’s end. 

“Of course,” it’s nothing short of a quick response, his hand sliding into yours as he waits for you to take the first few steps towards his chamber. 

As you enter his room, you find that the only garment you discard is your jacket and shoes, flung atop the sofa and scattered on the floor before you fall into Seokmin’s bed. The scent of him fills your senses, only more so when he comes to kneel by the bedside so he can speak to you. 

“I’ll sleep on the settee, try and get some sleep so we can visit Jisoo tomorrow.”

“Seokmin, I can nearly see your breath from here,” you reach out, taking his chilled hand into yours, gently pulling him towards the bed, “sleep in your own bed.”

“I should think a lady deserves a proper–”

“We can sleep on it together,” a pause as heat rises to the flesh on your cheeks, “Separately, of course. I just need the proximity of someone comforting.”

“You honor me,” Seokmin's smile curls at the edge of his lips, “I’ll go change in the bathroom, please make yourself feel comfortable.” 

For a moment more, Seokmin pauses, looking at you before you relinquish him from your grasp. He makes a slow approach towards the bathroom before heading inside, the door locking with a small click, leaving you alone with the empty space of the main interior. 

[ 1909.11.19. 今出川ホテル、京都 ] The space of your dreams is nothing but a black, endless void that only aids in helping grow the gnawing anxiousness that pervades you even during sleep. It isn’t until the unfamiliar feeling of a hand ghosting your side pulls you from slumber. For a moment your heart races, your own hand reaching to grasp as the one hovering over you now—

“Sorry if this is too-” A sigh escapes you as Seokmin’s whisper grounds you in quiet reality. “You seemed troubled.” 

“Don’t apologize,” your voice rough from sleep, the ghost of your fingers atop the smooth surface of his hand, gently pressing the pads of your fingertips to him as a quiet gesture. You don’t turn to him from your side, instead looking towards the thick blue velveteen curtains that obscure any notion of light from the outside in front of you. “It’s alright, I promise. Are you alright?” 

From behind you can feel the bed shift with a short, unfunny laugh from his chest, “I don’t know. I suppose I am but tonight… I think it’s shaken everyone.”

“Do you think Josh will be okay?” A murmur from your lips as you gently pull Seokmin’s hand closer to your chest in want of comfort. 

Another shift, and you can tell he’s gingerly moving himself towards you, “He has to be.”

The call of the darkening void begins to etch its way around your vision. How can you sleep at a time like this? You should be racing over there now to see him. But that would make it real, the peril, why Josh had been anxious about you staying those handful of weeks back… 

With a squeeze, you relinquish Seokmin’s hand from your grasp and he returns it to its original position on your side, “I don’t know if I made the right decision coming here,” voice lost into the darkness of the room, in the breathing by the being beside you, you think to be asleep. 

“I don’t know if I did either,” a sleepy response from Seokmin, voice riddled with a tired concern ringing in its whisper. “But I don’t regret it,” his hand laid across your waist ever so slightly grasping at you as if to show his unspoken thoughts.

[ 1909.11.18. 滑川康男の住居、京都 ] The areas of Kyoto you had previously traversed seemed to be marketed towards a more foreign influence, you’ve come to surmise. Now as you walk anxiously with your hands threaded together through rows and rows of wooden-sided homes with thatched or tiled roofs, you’ve begun to see past the veneer of opulence that sought to bring in the traveling and wanderlustful for what the average citizen sees on a day-to-day basis. It is no more humble than the homes of Boston, in a way it reminds you almost nostalgically of what and who you left behind across the ocean and near an entire continent. A cat lazing on a nearby stoop gives you pause for a moment before you continue, lengthening your strides as you return to your party. 

“When Josh’s better he’ll need to return to Minnie.” You say rather assuredly, willing it to be, as Seokmin and you trail behind Jeonghan.

“Is that his… Friend?” With the way Seokmin emphasizes the last word you cannot help but let out a stifled chortle.

“She’s a cat,” you answer him quickly and he nods in understanding. “Did you have any pets growing up?”

Seokmin looks ahead at the road in front of him, the bustling streets hindering your path for a moment, the crowds coming in and out like the tides along the river. “We had a dog to guard the house, he might still be there but he was old and gray when I left. Not really a pet, though.”

“I see…” 

“We’ll be there soon,” Jeonghan calls from up ahead, “It’s just around this block.”

With those words you subconsciously find your legs moving even faster towards your friend.

The house that you arrived at was much like the other ones lining the streets. You’re welcomed in quietly by the host, their name eluding you as your vision tunneled to where they said your friend lay in quiet rest. 

“He should be awake,” Jeonghan says quietly, “Go and speak with him, we’ll be out here if you need anything.”

Down the hall, first room on the left. That’s where you find Josh looking outside, one of the sliding doors open to look towards the inner garden of the home, facing away from the sliding door you'd entered from. He lays in a futon, a stack of fresh bandages on the tatami next to him. With the way his breath rises and falls, you're unsure if he’s asleep or not.

“Josh?” You ask gingerly, stepping into the room. “Are you awake?”

When you hear him mutter out something you take a few strides toward him. His injured right leg remains covered by a blanket, held up by what you assumed to be a propped up pillow. There are beads of sweat pooled on his forehead as he turns slowly to meet your gaze.

His name leaves your mouth in a whisper as you fall to his side, knees thudding atop the tatami as you inch yourself closer. “How are you?” You wince at the question, fully knowing it wasn’t the best one to be asked.

“I’ve…” The words are slow to come, hoarse from a throat rung raw from pain, no doubt. “I’ve been better. Would you mind fetching my water? I’m not very amble at the moment.”

“Of course,” You say quickly, looking to the nightstand where a singular glass and water filled bucket lay. You notice your hands trembling slightly as you hand him the glass and help move it towards his lips. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, I just had to see if you…” 

“I understand,” he says, you notice his face is pale. Too pale for comfort.

“You’re absolutely feverish,” the back of your hand pressing gently against his forehead. Your free hand reaches to one of the rags already submerged in the basin of water atop the nightstand. “Were you injured anywhere else?”

“My pride remains intact, my morale slightly asunder but I’m sure it will recover in time,” he flashes you a weak smile. “I never like making you worry, even if it seems that’s all I make you do.”

“Do you remember when you were twelve and you had scarlet fever?”

“I remember being absolutely miserable,” Josh murmurs out, wiping the beads of water away from his eyes with the fabric of his shirt.

“Your mother sought out any doctor she could find to try and help you, and the plethora of holy men too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rabbi and an Episcopal priest in the same room as each other before,” you snort, recalling how frantic his mother had been. It had been scary, but he had made it.

The frown on his face encapsulates him for a moment and his eyes close, his head hitting the wall behind him gently, “You said that you loved me.”

It feels as if your heart has dropped into your stomach. You remember kneeling by his bed, whispering prayers to any and all gods that would help him recover from that illness. His pinkend and rashed flesh on display as the doctors said exposing the areas of effect would cause it to weaken the strain of disease, maybe. Under heavy sedation of laudanum and whatever other mystery tincture, it had stripped him of happiness and prayer was the only thing you offer, it wasn’t as if you were a physician or miracle man. Also, hadn’t he been asleep when you confessed that at his bedside?

Freezing before you’re able to dip the rag in the bucket again, “That was years ago, Josh. I do love you but not…”

It’s him that stifles a laugh, “I know. But it is still endearing that you’ve stayed by my side, I really do appreciate it.”

“You ass,” a gentle nudge, “You must truly be ill if you’re complimenting me for my duty as your best friend.”

“You’re probably right,” he replies breathily. His hand reaches out, and you take it instinctively. His grip is weak but reassuring. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You sit there in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the rustle of the barren branches tapping against one another and the occasional chirp of birds. The tranquility of the scene contrasts sharply with the turmoil you feel inside. Josh has always been the strong one, the one to pull you out of your own dark times. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and dependent, shakes you to your core.

“You should rest,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “You need your strength. Did you want me to close the doors? It’s getting rather cold in here.”

He shakes his head, but you can see something stirring within. Words lay heavy on Josh’s tongue, you can see him formulating his thoughts before he speaks abruptly. “I’m going to Tokyo,” Josh sighs after a moment, sounding resolute. “After this,” his hand waves to his blanketed leg, “is healed.”

Now it is your turn to frown, “Tokyo? Whatever for?”

“It’s come to my understanding that my friends haven’t been making any headway for our cause,” Josh sighs out and you have the feeling he’s intentionally being vague.

“Why not ask the American government for help?” Even if he chooses to don the masque of ambiguity, you can still infer what he means.

“America and Japan have been formulating plans together for some years now, exercising their rights with one another. That’s how America gained control of the Philippines and Japan got control of Korea, the Pescadores, Taiwan and parts of Manchuria,” Josh relents after a moment. With the way his eyes widen briefly you can tell he’s already opened the door slightly for what his intentions may be., “I have hope and reason to believe that I can be more impactful if I reach the Korean consulate in Tokyo. I fear America will not be of any aid.” 

You take a deep breath, your hands still trembling slightly. “I understand your passion, Josh. I truly do. But promise me you won’t make any hasty decisions. Rest, heal properly. Then we can talk about how best to proceed.”

He nods, though you can tell he’s only partially conceding to your point. “I’ll rest. But I can’t promise to delay for too long.”

His stubbornness is both frustrating and admirable, and you feel a surge of protectiveness over your friend. “That’s all I can ask for now. Just... don’t push yourself too hard.”

Josh gives you a faint smile. “I’ll try not to, for your sake.”

You return to the main room, Jeonghan, Seokmin, and Jeonghan’s friend sitting around and not speaking. 

Seokmin stands as you enter, his hands twisting together as he notices the dour look on your face, “How is he?”

“As stubborn as ever,” you sigh out, “But I think he’ll be okay, I cannot be certain about the usage of his leg though–?” Eyes trail to Jeonghan and his friend, the latter of whom stands to address you.

“Apologies for not introducing myself, my name is Otomonoi Hiromu. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances but the doctor that was here earlier this morning said your friend would recover, albeit the mobility of his leg may be altered. The bullet failed to hit any major artery but shattered the bone of his femur…” 

Your stomach rolls and you nod your head slowly, “How long will his recovery take?”

“With the application of the Thomas splint anywhere from three to six months,” Jeonghan interjects, “We’re planning on having him moved to my residence within the next day. I fear we’ve encroached on Hiromu’s kindness too much already.”

“It’s truly no issue Jeonghan,” Hiromu nods and looks back to you, “Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” You say curtly and glance to Seokmin, “Did you wish to speak to him?”

“I think Josh needs his rest,” Seokmin says softly, and as if your apprehension is palpable suggests, “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“Oh? Okay,” you murmur and take the arm Seokmin offers you. 

“We’ll meet you back at the school tomorrow evening if you wish,” Seokmin states to Jeonghan. “I cannot imagine that classes will be held today or tomorrow?”

“No, they won’t be.” Jeonghan nods, “I’ll send out letters informing the students of our reopening sometime later this week or next. Until tomorrow then.”

“Until then,” Seokmin then leads you outside, past the gate of the home and back to the busy streets. The two of you walk in silence, the churning in your stomach not lessening, despite your far proximity to the house in which Josh lay. “How are you feeling?” His voice breaks through to your thoughts after another few moments of walking.

“I did not see his leg,” you murmur, “but with the blood and panic of everyone yesterday I can surmount that it is no simple injury…”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Seokmin says softly, “I can only imagine the horrors you have felt in the last twenty-four hours.”

“No more than you, I suspect. I was not there when it happened.” You wince as you speak, unable to conjure the imagery of the attack in your mind. “I know Josh will get better, know that he is alive. That alone is enough to make me okay for now, at least.”

[ 1909.12.31 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Josh’s leg never healed fully. While he can apply pressure, a tearing pain sometimes courses the length of it, so, rather to be safe than sorry, he’s become acclimated to walking with a wooden crutch to catch himself should he ever find himself unstable. Aided by the arm of another, Josh slowly makes his way down the streets of Kyoto.

“I could have made it on my own, you know.” Josh’s voice escapes him in a plume of white, the breath intermingling with a few flakes of snow dancing towards the icy and muddied street below. A thin line of perspiration begins to form along his brow, but as it hits the frigid air it makes his body seem almost colder. “My speed has been reduced but I do not need such constant attending to.”

“She asked me to escort you,” Seokmin says, releasing Jisoo from his grasp, “I could do nothing but oblige.” 

Jisoo lets out a short, dry laugh at that, “She has a way of ordering us around.” 

The two of them walk still, their cheeks becoming more and more reddened with the wind that whips at them, slashing through the air at no measurable pace. There are few others on the road at this hour, the streetlamps glow in the nighttime, leading them further into the heart of the city. It isn’t until they come upon the familiar building which houses Jeonghan’s school that a liveliness begins to pervade the wintry night. Music drifts from the building, as does the sound of chatter and laughter.

“Is that…  A piano?” Seokmin asks, both he and Jisoo know there were no instruments to be found in that building prior.

“A phonograph, perhaps.” Jisoo murmurs as they stop outside, noticing a figure loitering around the front. A plume of smoke rises from the turned figure, Jisoo lets out a sigh and calls out to them, “If your mother knew you were smoking, she’d have your head Mingyu.”

“Shit-” The younger jumps as he’d not heard the two approach. “She only wrote a scathing letter once about my allowance usage and that’s all you can remember of her.” Mingyu turns to the pair, “I’m happy you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Jisoo flashes him a small smile. ��I think it’s a bit too cold out here for me, so I’ll see you inside?”

“Of course,” Mingyu nods, “And be careful– I think Jeonghan was a bit… heavy handed with his pours tonight.”

It isn’t long until the two of them make their way into the now cramped space, soon finding themselves with a respective rum punch in hand. Jisoo notes the faces that pass, most looking to the crutch at his side, and it leaves a sour taste on his tongue. Despite the people, he doesn’t find you among the faces that shift by him, and by the way Seokmin scans the crowd next to him, he cannot find you either. 

Eventually Jisoo and Seokmin find you at the keys of an upright piano. An upright piano that had not been there the week prior, which had been the last time Jisoo had visited the school. A cordial glass in hand, your free one seeks to play a small accompaniment to a piece that Seungkwan plays while seated next to you on the bench.

“I never knew you knew how to play!” Seungkwan says loudly, lifting his hands from the keys and reaching for his own glass atop the piano. 

“My mother made me take absolutely tear-inducing lessons when I was younger,” you laugh, taking a sip from your drink. You recoil a bit from the flavor, “Although I must admit it has come to my aid at parties, even though there is much to be desired.”

“I was unaware you played as well,” Seokmin notes as Jisoo and he approach the bench, “You play wonderfully.”

“It was Seungkwan doing all of the work,” you admit, “And Josh can attest to my skill, as poorly as it is.”

“I’ll adamantly deny your assessment, you played a lovely set at my mother’s birthday several years ago,” He gives you a warm smile. “So much so that she begs me every year to urge you to play again for her.”

“Well, if I am back in time to play for her next year, you can consider me booked.”

“Then I must write to her to let her know of it,” He says and you turn your attention back to the piano. Jisoo’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he sinks into the crowd, looking for Jeonghan. It isn’t long until he finds his friend mingling with a few of the Chinese students in one of the classrooms. 

“Would you all mind if I stole him away for a while?” Jisoo asks the group, while nodding his head towards Jeonghan. “Business, I’m afraid.”

Within a few moments the students have cleared the room, only leaving the two of them together. Josh sighs, setting his glass down onto one of the tables, and leaning against it slightly.

“Where in the world did you acquire a piano?”

“Do you like it?” Jeonghan smiles, “Hiromu’s sister was moving houses and had to do away with it… Too gauche or something of the like.” He hums and takes a sip of his drink, an old fashioned by the look of it. “Now, what is it you want to talk about? I know you cannot have asked to clear the room over a piano.”

“Am I that easy to read?” Jisoo laughs, glancing to the hall to make sure no one was listening. “It is my intention to go to Tokyo within the upcoming week or so. I hope to have your discretion on the matter.”

“Who is it that you wouldn’t want to– Ah.” Jeonghan begins to ask, “You’ve already run off on her once, are you so eager to do it once again?”

“It isn’t as if I wouldn’t come back to her, I never intend to hurt her as I did before.” The taller sighs out, reaching for his drink. He takes a hearty swig, “She is my oldest friend and confidant of all things unrelated to the reasons that brought me here. I had only hoped to keep these two spheres of myself from ever colliding. But she is a whirlwind I can never account for.”

“And what is to stop her from following after you once more?” Jeonghan prods, “She is a whirlwind, after all.”

“Seokmin.” Jisoo says simply.

“He’s staying here?”

“No,” Jisoo shakes his head, “He’s coming with me. With both he and I’s assurance she will have to accept that we will return. She adores him too much to allow him to put himself in harm’s way.”

“What a gamble, thinking that she’ll do just that.” Jeonghan muses, knowing fully how well you seem to take heed from either of the two men. “As a friend I will not say anything to make her feel untoward towards your departure. But you cannot be angry with me if she chooses to go after you.”

“How could I?” Josh says with a small, thankful smile. “Now, I was also hoping to get a few contacts from you, although I suppose that can wait until after this little soiree. Apologies for taking you away from it.”

“It’s not an issue,” a wave of the thought away. “Now have fun, be merry. Mingle before everyone begins falling over themselves.”

And fall over themselves they do. The hours seem to pass in minutes with games, stories and revelers in abundance. Jisoo finds himself flitting from group to group, with Mingyu and you speaking of prospective stories, to Seungkwan, Chan and Junhui arguing about some type of grammatical dissimilarity in Japanese compared to Korean and Chinese. He passes Seokmin at some point, who seems to be chatting with one of Jeonghan’s invited friends about the news industry. The party goes on late into the night, and it seems by the quarter hour another person has to step outside to regain their composure from the drunken stupors they find themselves in.

At one point, as the clock nears towards the end of the night and into the new year, Josh escapes from the bustle and sits on the stairs that lead to the second story of the building. He settles down, a third drink of the night placed on the stair next to him and his wooden crutch leaning against the wall.

A sigh escapes him and he tilts his head backwards, several joints popping in his neck. His eyes close and for a moment he listens to the chatter floating by him, of merriment and not the sinister dread that invades him most hours of the day. In another life he may have been able to enjoy tonight, but that path died early on in his life, especially since his first visit to Korea nearly fifteen years ago. A pang shoots up his leg as he shifts, reminding him more of the peril that he puts himself into. And another pang begins in his stomach, clenching and festering as he is reminded of the danger he has put you into. 

Jisoo laments not writing to you before he left Korea, perhaps that would have diminished his fears. He laments telling his mother a portion of the truth of his detainment in Tokyo. He should have known word would get to you and that only God himself would be able to stop you from reaching him. He laments for keeping his thoughts to himself when he should have been more honest with you. There are many things he regrets, the ire of which is now before him as he hears movement coming from the hall of classrooms. With stiffened movement, he straightens and looks over to see you leading Seokmin out of one of the busy classrooms, your hands intertwined with his. 

He thinks of saying something, to announce his presence, but before he can he sees your face near Seokmin’s. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek as you whisper “Happy New Year”. Seokmin’s hand breaks free from your interlocking fingers as he goes to caress your cheek, it lowers and he guides you to meet his lips in a kiss that Jisoo would not describe as chaste.

Jisoo looks away from the two of you, suddenly now very interested in looking at a poster of the hiragana alphabet hanging on a nearby wall. The two of them leave for the party after a few more words that are too whispered for Jisoo to hear, and he himself decides that he should return as well. After more mingling among the students and friends, he excuses himself, but not before asking Seokmin to join him for a cigarette.

“Okay,” Seokmin cedes as he bids you a short farewell, promising to be back soon. He follows Jisoo out to the school entrance, the few flakes that had been falling from the sky becoming nothing more than a flake every moment or so now. “It looks as if the weather has taken a good turn.”

“If only it will stay that way,” Jisoo says, reaching for the case of cigarettes and matchbook in his coat. “Would you mind striking this for me? I’m afraid I am still hindered.” 

“Of course,” Seokmin says, taking the matchbook and swiftly igniting one of the matches. He holds the flame to Jisoo’s dangling cigarette, making sure it’s ignited before dropping it to the snow below. 

“Thanks.” Jisoo takes a moment, letting the smoke mingle with the cold in his mouth before exhaling deeply. “Have you been enjoying your night?”

“It’s been quite a lovely party.” Seokmin nods, “Have you had any issues maneuvering around?”

“No, not at all.” Jisoo responds before taking another drag of his cigarette. “I was wondering if you had told her about our plans to leave in the coming weeks, or if I should be the one to break the news to her–?”

A look of almost panic takes over Seokmin’s face momentarily, Jisoo can’t tell the full extent as the streetlamps light only but so much. His brow furrows as he looks on to the younger, “Am I to take that as you haven’t mentioned it?”

“No– No, I have mentioned it to her.” 

“Then why do you look at me if I am a parent about to scold you?”

“I invited her to join us,” Seokmin says quickly as Jisoo lets the cigarette fall from his mouth to the snow below, “And I know you made note of not asking her to but with her aid I truly feel that–!”

Before Seokmin can finish speaking, Jisoo finds himself grappling the younger to the ground, the pain tearing through his leg be damned. “You fool–! It was expressly my intention not to bring her, are you deaf or so lost in your way you defy reason? Do you love her?” Both a question and a realization wrapped in a sentence too pained he hadn’t wanted it to spew from his lips. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Of course I love her.” Answered as if the question had been as simple as ‘Is the sky blue?’ Seokmin shoves Jisoo, so the two are now parted, sitting on the muddy ground. “But not like a disillusioned oaf. Think, for a moment, of the circumstance and not of her beguile that you too, seem to fall asunder to.”

The wetness of the earth begins clinging to Jisoo’s trousers, seeping up from the ground below. “In what way would she aid us? You’ve just about solidified her acquaintance with us and if we were ever to be found out…”

“Do you not think that she is aware of that?”

“No, Seokmin, I do not!” Jisoo shakily rises to his feet, reaching for the crutch he’d discarded in his fury. “I have had many friends die because they thought to speak their minds. Would you bear that responsibility for someone whom we both deeply care for? Her blood would be on your hand–” 

It’s Seokmin who acts out not, sending a fist flying that collides with Jisoo’s cheek. The older falters, but is otherwise unmoved from the display of rage from his friend. His hand raises to the site of the newfound injury, and he tenderly touches it.

“I will take your anger as drunkenness. But you know the truth as much as I do.” Jisoo says solemnly, “I cannot make her stay, but you have put everything at risk by bringing her. It would be in our best interest to send her home.”

Seokmin’s breathing remains heavy as he nurses the hand he’d used to assail Jisoo, “You know she would never let us.”

“Then we do not allow her a choice.” Jisoo frowns, his hands reaching back into his coat for another cigarette, “I will play the villain but you must not fill her head with promises of a bright future. Everything grows more uncertain by the day and I wish for her to be as far away from this politicking and scheming as she can.”

[amourcheol]

ave, general (teaser)

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | approx. 15k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t s : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched (send an ask if you wish to be tagged <3)

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : can you tell i have a thing for generals…formally apologising to jay from enha LAWL but a big thank you for gladiator 2 coming out the movie has revived the urge to revamp this fic !! enjoy the teaser everyone <3

back to masterlist | READ FULL FIC HERE!

"WHAT IS THE LAUGH FOR?"

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe. 

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

[ihavethedreamies]

Her Hero | Lee Know

Lee Minho - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5k

Pairing: Podocheong! Lee Know x Noble! AFAB! Reader

(The Podocheong were like the police of Joseon Era Korea)

Genre: Historical AU!, Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Frenemies-to-Lovers (ish)

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Pet Names (Sweetheart mostly), Fingering, First Times (Readers), Breeding Kink (kinda), Breathplay, A Single Spank, Masochist! Reader (surprise~!), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…)

Summary: When a political rival of your father kidnaps you for a ransom, your father calls on the Podocheong (Police) to rescue you. An extremely handsome Bujang (Lieutenant) rescues you, but you would be loathe to admit you need (and like) a hero.

Author's Note: Here's Lee Know's!! Working on Changbin's, should be up very soon.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use, most of which are to do with the clothing they wear.

P.S. I'm having so much fun with these but I have to help watch our dog so she doesn't get on my uncle's furniture and so then I can't work on these during the day :\

Also, if any of my historical information/words are inaccurate, I apologize, I did the best with what research I could and what I know from watching too many historical K-Dramas.

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I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

Your father was an important man who did important things. Unfortunately, some people didn't like the things he did or the way he did them. Namely, the Right State Minister…your father was the Left State Minister, so they should work together. No. They hated each other. Even more so because your father refused to let you marry the other Minister's son. That made the other man's son hate you…for some reason, like you had any say in the matter. You didn't even know the guy existed till your father told you he had prevented your marriage.

One day, as you waited by the entrance to your family's estate, you draped a sseugaechima over your head, waiting for your brother to join you. He was going to escort you to your friend's house, and you were getting impatient.

"Sorry!" He dashed through the courtyard, leaning down and panting to catch his breath. When he stood, the top of his gat wacked you on the chin and you flinched back.

"Sorry!" He floundered, peeling the head covering off so he could look at your annoyed face for any injury. He was such a klutz but at least he tried to make up for it.

"Let's just go please, orabeoni." You sniffed, recovering your head and you left the estate grounds. Your older brother weaved through the crowd, you held onto the belt of his hanbok to make sure you didn't get separated. There must have been some kind of big event or something going on because there were people everywhere.

"Ah, wait!" You cried out, someone bumped into you hard, and you let go of your brother.

"(Y/N)?" He turned around, his height allowing him to look over most of the crowd, but your own height hid you more. You were shoved and pushed as people whirled around you and called his name out.

"(Y/N)!" He shouted, but before you could reply, something hit you hard in the back of the head and you saw black.

~~~

When you woke up, you hurt. Your head hurt the most, but your whole body was sore. As your senses returned, you looked around in confusion. You were in a bedroom of what looked like an inn or other kind of lodging. Sitting up from the bed, you rubbed at the back of your head, looking around. Did your brother find you? If so, why did he bring you to a lodging rather than just back to your home? He also wasn't in the room. Did you pass out and a random person bring you here till you woke up? At the other side of the room, on the other side of a folding divider, you heard the door open. Unfortunately, it was not your brother that came in, you actually had no idea who it was. He was dressed all in black and his face was even covered.

"W-who are you?" You backed up on the bed, back hitting the wall, like that would really be of any use. He didn't say anything, but he pulled out a dagger and you froze in shock. Logically, you knew you could scream, but you couldn't physically get one out. He stalked forward and you closed your eyes, waiting for the worst. You squeaked when he grabbed your hair, right above where your daenggi was tied, and…cut your hair. He left as quickly as he came, the end of your hair along with the ribbon in his hand. What? Reaching around, you brought your hair over your shoulder to look at where he cut, nearly half of the length was gone.

"That-" you were madder more than anything else. Couldn't he have just undone the ribbon to use as proof? It was clear he didn't want to hurt you because you were in a nice room, not tied up, and other than a throbbing spot on the back of your head, you were unharmed.

After what felt like around an hour of sitting in the corner, contemplating what to do, you got up to look around. You weren't sure about trying to escape. Just because you were unhurt up until then didn't mean your captor would be so merciful if you tried to leave. Plus, you might get more hurt escaping, you were pretty sure you were on a second or even third floor. Just to check though…nope, the window shutters were locked from the other side it seemed. Plus, obviously, so was the door. Great. As time ticked by, you messed with the various objects of décor, trying to prevent boredom. Didn't work. All the drawers were empty and there wasn't even a baduk board for you to mess around with. After being nosy even more, you found a book wedged in the back of a dresser, between the back panel of the drawer and the piece as a whole. You weren't sure how it got back there and when you finally yanked it out, you sighed.

"Better than nothing." It was some old romance book that had been there for probably at least ten years. Sitting at a table in the room, you started the read, not really enjoying it, but it was better than nothing. More time passed and you were glad there was at least a separate room with a chamber pot, but it was getting dark. Your stomach rumbled and you wondered just how long you had been out cold because you and your brother had left the estate fairly early in the morning. When night fell, you found a lantern but had no way to light it. So, you had to sit in the dark, only the faint light of the moon flowed in through the slits of the locked shutters. Sitting back on the bed, your stomach growled again, and you sighed, laying down. You might as well pass time with sleep.

~~~

You were startled awake when there was a loud commotion outside of not just the lodging but also your room. Getting up from the bed you went to try and look through the slats of the windows but couldn't see much. There was a loud crash, and you turned around just in time to see the door break into pieces as someone kicked it open, not even bothering to try and unlock it first. It was the Podocheong! The man that came in had the uniform of a Bujang, and he sighed in relief upon seeing you. Another officer came in then, taller than the man who had kicked the door in.

"We believe we arrested all of the perpetrators, sir." He bowed slightly to the lieutenant, and he nodded, waving him off.

"Are you okay, Lady (Y/N)?" He came forward, brow furrowed in worry, looking over you. You shrunk under his gaze, embarrassed, hiding your face. His hands went to your jaw, making you look at him so he could see if your face was harmed. Your cheeks felt hot under his thumbs, he was strikingly attractive, but also familiar.

"When your brother couldn't find you, he came straight to me." He told you, letting you go, and you nodded, stepping back, looking away again. He then realized how intimate his action had been, and he bowed, apologizing.

"Are you friends with my orabeoni?"

"Yes, my lady. When we both got to your estate to look for you, your father informed us that a ransom letter had been sent for your safe return. I apologize for not getting here much sooner." You shook your head, casting a glance up at him, not sure if you were allowed to really show him your face.

"Here." He removed his jeonbok, draping it over your head so you could hide under it. Thanking him gently, you pulled it down over your more, it smelled like him, which was amazing.

"Let's get you home."

"W-what is your name?"

"Minho of the Lee clan, my lady."

~~~

When you returned home, not just your mother and brother were in tears like you expected, but your father was as well. He wasn't cold normally, but he just had better control of his emotions.

"Thank you, hyungnim." Your brother bowed to Bujang Minho, still sniffing a bit.

"Yes, we cannot begin to express our gratitude, Bujang." Your father thanked him as well and you let your mother lead you further into the estate so she could hug you. You hugged her tightly back, incredibly grateful to be home safe.

~~~

You weren't sure what Minho had asked of your father in return for rescuing you, but he seemed to be hanging around a lot. While, yes, he was mostly with your brother, you would always find him watching you if you happened to be around or passed by. One day you were sitting at the edge of your family's pond under a parasol, messing around with some embroidery work. You were not very good at it even though you enjoyed it.

"Is that supposed to be a flower?" You heard a teasing remark to your side, and you sent a glare at the owner, but, it was not your brother. Quickly, your face reddened, and you looked back down.

"U-uh yes, but as you can see, I am a little poor at this." You huffed a nervous laugh.

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I like it, just-" You yelped when you poked yourself with the needle, quickly putting the tip of your finger in your mouth. Setting the frame on the ground and putting the needle back in the cushion, you ran a finger over the messy stitching.

"What else do you like to do?" You froze when he sat down next to you, not close enough to touch you, but you weren't expecting it. He wasn't in his Podocheong uniform, the light greenish-blue fabric of his hanbok complimented him well. Looking away from where the material seemed to be struggling over his chest, you cleared your throat.

"I enjoy painting, but once again, I'm not great at it."

"Is there anything you enjoy that you are good at?" You saw him tilt his head to rest it on his fist, elbow resting on his knee, from the side of your eye.

"I…" You were a little stumped.

"N-not really." You enjoyed creative and artistic work, but you were not skilled in the field.

"That's not what your brother told me." Your eyes widened and you shot him a wary look.

"Your father isn't even here." Minho rolled his eyes, and you clenched your jaw. He was kind of getting on your nerves. Mostly because he was stupidly attractive, and you didn't like being teased to begin with.

"I haven't shot a bow in years." You whispered, still weary.

"Worried a man won't want to marry you if you can fight?"

"Archery isn't fighting, and I'm not worried about that." You stood up then, leaving the parasol jabbed in the ground, gathering up your frame and embroidery basket, walking around him to head back to your room.

"Let's go do it." He caught up to you, walking backwards, smirking as he walked ahead of you.

"No." It was too risky, you got caught last time your brother took you to his make-shift archery range.

"We can go to the Podocheong training area, no one will know. No one's there now." You had reached the stairs to get up onto the deck of your house, and you halted at the bottom. The offer was extremely tempting…

"Fine, let me get something to change into."

With a bundle of your brother's old clothes in tow, Minho helped you sneak off the estate grounds. He had at least told your brother, so no one thought you got kidnapped again. Your father didn't check on you after dark so he wouldn't know you weren't in your room. After you arrived at the training grounds, you changed in a bathing room and came out.

"You really look like your brother like that." Minho scoffed and you rolled your eyes.

"I know." You sniffed and he led you toward the back where the archery targets were set up. Without waiting for his prompt, you looked over the different bows on the rack and picked one, then grabbed a quiver as well. It felt instantly familiar, and you were glad for that, but your aim was rusty.

"You're supposed to hit the middle." Minho hummed next to you, pointing to where you had hit off to the side quite a bit.

"I know." You grit your teeth, shooting off another arrow and it missed as well. Was it the bow?

"Here." He moved to adjust your grip on the bow, and you yanked away from his hold.

"I don't need your help." You were embarrassed because you said archery was something you were actually good at.

"You did a few weeks ago." The little string of control you had snapped, the fire of your annoyance singing the ends, and you turned to him, glaring at him straight in the eye.

"What, you want me to say thank you? After my father showered you with gifts and allowed you to loiter around our estate? Fall to my knees in gratitude to my hero? Huh? If you want that go to another girl." You turned back away from him, not noticing his amused grin and you shot another arrow, hitting the red bullseye.

"What?" You nearly growled, standing at the door to your room's building, having opened it to find Minho leaning on the wooden column next to the stairs. He was relentless for the next few weeks, and you were really pissed. More so that you missed when he wouldn't show up with that stupid smirk on his pretty face. Why were you starting to like him when he just teased you all the damn time? Wasn't he your brother's friend? He constantly pestered you to go shoot with him, or go ride on his horse, or some other stuff, and you said no to almost everything. You would only eat with him if he brought snacks or a meal because who says no to food?

"I think you dropped this." You looked to see your eunjangdo dangling from his index finger.

"Give it!" You swiped at it, but he held it up and back behind him so you couldn't reach it. The silver shined in the sun, and you jumped to grab it, falling onto him when you couldn't make it.

"Give it back!" You pressed against him more, fingers barely touching the sheath of the dagger.

"Hm, no." He chuckled and you yiped when he wrapped his other arm around you, holding you to him. Your face bloomed with heat, and you could even see the red on the tip of your nose when you looked at his face, very close to yours.

"I really should stop helping you if you don't want a hero so bad." He finally relented and brought the dagger back down, but he didn't let you go. He was warm against you, and you could feel the muscle he had underneath the layers of clothes and even through your own. Your head was swimming, and you didn't even move to grab your eunjangdo from him when it was within reach.

"Have you heard the rumor about the watermill behind your house by the stream?" Instantly you knew what he was talking about.

"Y-You!" Your face's redness changed from embarrassment to rage, and you pulled away from him, slapping him hard, then turning on your heel and going back inside, the silver dagger still dangling in his grasp.

You didn't want to admit why you were crying, but you held the cushion to your chest closer, pressing your tear-stained face into the pink silk. You weren't overly fond of romance and sweet gestures, but the crassness of his suggestion hurt. Did he only want to bed you and then move on? You hoped deep inside he liked you back. And it wasn't until you cried for a good hour that you realized why you were so upset. You liked him. That’s why you wanted him to like you back.

"Dammit." You sniffed, wiping hard at your face with your sleeve.

"(Y/N)?" A soft voice called from just outside your window, only moonlight coming in through it, one small candle illuminating your room softly.

"(Y/N)? I know you're awake." You registered the owner of the voice, and you deflated further into your cushions.

"Go away." You spat at him.

"(Y/N), please?" Minho's tone was like nothing you had heard before, and it was beginning to compel you.

"No." He could probably hear the insincerity in your voice.

"(Y/N), sweetheart, please?" Your heart stopped, then sped into a gallop when he called you that. Your body seemed to act at the will of your heart and not your brain, because you got up, using a step stool, and opened the window. He smiled, genuinely, and it made you swallow hard. You wanted to cry again.

"I'm so sorry." He stepped forward, the window just the right height for him to rest his arms on the sill from where he stood on the porch. You didn't say anything, you were worried you would burst into tears if you tried.

"I said something horrible; I was just trying to tease you and I hurt you. Will you forgive me?" You hadn't heard such a sincere tone from him since he rescued you at the lodging. Your uncertain gaze met his intense one and he sighed.

"What you said awhile back made me think. You said that your father showered me with gifts for saving you? He didn't."

"But…orabeoni said you got confections and a bunch of other stuff."

"That was from him and your mother. Your father had a different gift, but I told him I didn't want it. Not without you agreeing." What?

"Huh?" He smiled at the clear confusion all over your face, the sad look falling off.

"Your father offered you as a gift. As my wife. I said yes, but I wanted to court you first. I didn't do a great job though I guess." Minho sighed and you couldn't hold back then, tears spilling over your cheeks.

"(Y/N)?" He stood up straight and you stepped closer, and he gently cupped your cheek in his hand.

"You should have just said so, you stupid idiot." You hitched a sob with each word, and he smiled, letting out a small laugh.

"Yes. I should have."

~~~

It seemed, to Minho even more than you, the wedding couldn't have been soon enough. It was also hard to hide from your family just how clingy he was. If no one was around, his arms were around you at the very least. He had you sit in his lap while you did most things, his chin on your shoulder, watching you sew or read. More than just a few times he would be standing next to you or hugging you and his hand would sneak lower than he really should have put it. The first time he got a not-very-strong hit to his chest, and he just chuckled.

You were a bit sad to move out of your family home, but you and he were given your own separate house on his father's estate, so far on the edge of the land that it felt like your own. As you stood in your new bedroom, dressed only in your sokchima, flinching at every noise as if it was your… You giggled finally thinking of him as your husband, and you hopped a little with glee. Every noise though made you hope that it was him, returning from his own bath, but most of the time it was just an animal outside, or the wind making the window shutters creak slightly.

Finally, the door to the bedroom opened and he peaked his head in, a serious look on his face.

"Are you ready, (Y/N)? Because I'm running out of restraint." The sharp look in his eyes made you shiver, but you nodded anyway. As he stalked in, the door falling shut behind him, he tugged at the goreum of his sokjeogori, and time slowed down as it fell to the floor. Your eyes skated over the skin that he revealed, and you didn't have time to react, he scooped you up in his arms and easily carried you to the bed. He pinned you to the yo, raised onto a platform and you gasped as his lips sealed over yours. His hand snuck under your head, fingers weaving through your hair at the base of your braid, pressing you even closer to him.

His other hand wandered, snaking up your leg, pushing your sokchima up higher and higher. Feeling his hands on your bare skin made you shiver despite the heat he seemed to be setting. You panted when he finally pulled his tongue out of your mouth, licking his lips like a hungry dog. His eyes though reminded you of a cat on the hunt.

"How rough can I be?" Minho's lips brushed the skin of your neck as he spoke, then his mouth attached, and he sucked hard. You huffed at the feeling; mind not able to stay on track for very long.

"Huh?" You finally managed to get out, hands balled into fists over his shoulders, your pulse seeming to thud harder where he had sucked the skin nearly raw.

"I've been waiting to have you so long, sweetheart, that I just want to breed you like a bitch in heat." The vulgarity of his words shocked you, but it somehow fueled your arousal rather than offending you.

"I want to brand you as mine." He licked a path over your throat, ending at the hickey he had left under your ear. His blunt nails dug into the flesh of your upper thigh as he pulled it up to his waist, his hand sliding down to cup your rear.

"M-Minho-!" You couldn't help but throw your head back with an airy moan as he rolled his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing to your bare core through his pants.

"Tell me now, so I can slow down." You could hear the strain in his voice, his breathing was hard too.

"Don't." So, he didn't. He didn't hesitate either and you squeaked when he rolled you over underneath him, landing on your stomach. Instead of untying your sokchima like a civilized person, he tore the straps at the seams, then yanked the white garment from you and tossed it to the side, leaving you completely naked. Your skin immediately rose into goosebumps from the sudden chill, but the heat of his bare chest pressing to your back instantly took over.

"You're just perfect." He hummed, nearly laying completely on top of you, hard cock nestled in the crest of your butt. Minho's arm snuck under you, sliding up to nestle between your breasts, his hand gripping your jaw. You whimpered at the restraining feeling even though it was nowhere close to tight, and you felt his dick twitch at the noise. His free hand also snuck underneath you, holding himself up with pure core strength, only the elbow of the arm holding you supporting him. As his fingertips ran over your lower stomach you sighed, the muscles twitching at the stimulation. He hummed and you recognized the noise that he always made when he smirked, and your body jerked when his fingers finally met your cunt.

"So wet already, sweetheart." His nose nuzzled behind your ear, the hand at your jaw loosening even further but sliding down just a bit to cup your throat. Quickly, his index finger brushed over your clit, and you whined, and he chuckled, feeling the vibration at his palm.

"M-Minho…" Your head was swimming, and you let out a choking noise when he buried a finger into you.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll loosen your tight cunt enough to take my cock." While Minho wasn't always outstandingly proper with you, his crass words still surprised you some. They went straight to your core though, and he felt your gummy walls spasm around the single digit. Slowly, he pumped his finger till you relaxed, the slight sting from the entrance dissipating. You had never even used your own fingers and based off what you felt nestled into your backside, you did need to get prepped. Whether it was on purpose or not, when Minho finally added a second finger, his hand at your throat tightened just enough to put slight pressure on your windpipe. Your cunt spasmed again, harder, and your heart sped up as well, wondering why the sensation excited you so much.

"Oh?" He chuckled, speeding up his hand at your pussy, palm pressing to your throat a bit harder. His palm pressed at your clit and a strong pulse hit your core, and it was getting stronger and stronger.

"W-wait, Minho!" You gasped, having an idea that you were close even if you had never felt it. The intensity startled you a bit.

"Go ahead, (Y/N), fall apart." The hand at your throat pressed enough to make your vision swim and you keened out a moan as you came. He huffed at the squeeze on his fingers, but helped you ride the high out, kissing behind your ear as he did. When he unwrapped his arms from around you, you fell limp on the bedding, still trying to catch your breath. Swallowing a few times to ease the slight soreness of your throat, you heard him shuffle. You, however, had no time to look behind you at him before his hands were on your hips, pulling them up, forcing your butt up in the air.

"What are you-?"

"I said I wanted to breed you like a bitch in heat." Oh, he meant it literally. Unfortunately for you, he hadn't given you the chance to see him bare, because you were not prepared for when he brought the head of his cock to your entrance.

"Breathe, sweetheart." His hands wrapped around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin of your back, and you focused on measured breaths as the fat head of his dick finally started to press in. Stinging heat seared through you from your core out as he entered, and you couldn't tell what it felt like. Somehow it hurt like hell but also felt so good, so much so you thought you might pass out. You fisted the bedding below you, gasping for air as he slid in, the slick of your arousal aiding the entrance.

"Your cunt's hugging my cock so good~" Minho sighed, the noise turning into a groan as he buried even further. How much further would he go? The searing heat was so deep you wondered if he would stop anytime soon.

"Just a bit…" He chuckled when he finally bottomed out, the tip pressing snugly to the base of your womb. Tears had sprung to your eyes, your whole face felt hot, and you panted hard, trying to get used to the odd feeling. Yes, it hurt, but it felt so much better than you thought it would.

"Tell em when you're ready, my love." He leaned over you again, kissing your shoulder gently and petting your hair.

"Go." You answered almost immediately, and his soft touches halted.

"Love, are you sure?"

"Fuck, please!" You weren't sure why you needed him to start already, logic told you it would hurt, but you craved it. It felt so dirty to like the burn so much, but you couldn't help it.

"Yeah?"

"Please!" Your breath was forced from your lungs when he rolled his hips, pulling out halfway before snapping back into you, hard. He felt your core pulse around him, a rush of your arousal soaking his cock, and he grinned like a madman.

"So fucking perfect." He immediately began a brutal pace, but still held back some, only pulling out half before driving his cock back home, battering your womb.

"W-wait, oh! Ah! Fuck!" The same waves of pleasure were already cresting, so much stronger than before and Minho relished in feeling the clench of your gummy walls around his cock instead of his fingers.

"So good." He mumbled to himself, licking his lips and as you got closer…

"Fuck!" You squealed when his hand came down on your ass, leaving a red print on your skin and you came again. He gasped a laugh as your arousal drenched his cock and his groin, leaving a shining trail down both your thighs. Minho laughed at your whine of disapproval when he pulled out, but it turned to a gasp as he flipped you over. He threw one of your legs over his shoulder, ankle at his ear, holding the other to his side, and he filled you again. Your vision spotted from the stinging pleasure the overstimulation was causing you, but you focused on his gorgeous face. He had that cocky smirk on his face, sweat beading down from his forehead and you whimpered at the sight. With what little strength you had, you propped yourself up to see where he was splitting you open. Whether it was the sight or his next thrust, you fell back limp and fisted the sheets as he fucked you like a rabbit. His shallow movements were even harder than before, and your eyes rolled back, back arching as your next orgasm rose.

"Oh, what a good girl, cum for me, love." Minho took your hands in his, your legs barely wrapping around him to hold on. His fingers wove through yours, lips meeting once more as his pace stuttered. He must have felt your moan against his tongue as you came once more, the tight vice of your cunt spurred him over the edge as well. Your core burned even hotter as his cum filled you to the point where it spilled from you, mixing with your own. Your body went limp, and Minho hummed, kissing your forehead.

"I love you." He left little pecks all over your face and you giggled sleepily.

"I love you, too. I'm glad you saved me that day."

"No, (Y/N), I think you saved me."

Sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over their heads. Gat - this is the hat that noblemen would wear, more specifically the ones that were black and made of mesh. Orabeoni - more archaic/historical word for older brother to a girl. Hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. Daenggi - the ribbon that was tied around a unmarried girl's braid. Baduk - Korean word for the Chinese game of Go. Podocheong - essentially the Joseon era police. Bujang - a Lieutenant-level position in the Podocheong. Jeonbok - kind of like a long vest worn over a hanbok. Hyungnim - a more commonly used term historically for a man to an older brother or friend. Eunjangdo - a silver dagger that many women wore as an accessory, mostly nobles. Sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. Goreum - the ties that fastened the top of a hanbok. Sokjeogori - a shirt worn as an undergarment. Yo - a Korean floor mattress.

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Taglist: @huldrelokken, @estella-novella, @astrobebba, @kayleefriedchicken, @minghaosimp, @cassandramrn, @qwonyoung23

[fantasyescapes17]

Manners (Part 2, Final)

Viscount Joshua Hong is by far the most eligible bachelor in London. Rich, handsome, and renowned for his excellent manners and refined tastes. Young woman would kill for the chance to be the Viscount's chosen bride. But nobody can quite determine which of the young ladies he prefers, and you are beginning to have your doubts. Is the Viscount really as gentlemanly as the ton seems to think?

Genre: Joshua Hong x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are a sibling to all the Lees (Woozi, DK, Dino) so your last name is Lee but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.

Word Count: 5.2k+

Part 1

Series Masterlist [I would highly recommend reading the earlier stories in this series, Patience, and Candle, before this one but it's not strictly necessary.]

You had never been formally courted before, and therefore had no inkling of what to expect from your new courtship with Viscount Hong. Indeed, you had scarcely even processed the events of the night before. The entire evening- right from Viscount Hongs' unannounced arrival up until his proposal of marriage- felt rather like an intense fever dream.

You were awoken from a fitful sleep early that morning by your maid. 

“Miss- oh miss, you must  awaken, there has been a delivery for you!” she cried frantically. 

You sat up in bed and rubbed your tired eyes. Lily and Nessie ran into your room in their nightgowns, giggling as they climbed up onto the bedcovers. They were followed by two maids struggling to carry an enormous basket of arranged pink and red roses between them. They placed the assortment precariously on your bedside table. 

“What is this?” you asked, confused. 

“A delivery for you miss- there is a card as well.” 

The maid handed you the card and your sisters climbed up behind you eagerly to peek at it. 

“Read it aloud!” Lily ordered, and you had no choice but to take the card into your hands and read out the message written in Viscount Hong’s neat and careful handwriting. 

Miss Lee,

I thought perhaps some flowers would brighten your morning- I hope the events of last night have not caused you too much distress. I did fear that writing to you would be too forward but then again, I believe we can agree that the mistake I have made so far is failing to be forward enough. 

May I persuade you to join me for a ride in the park this evening? If you are concerned about the lack of a chaperone, you may bring Chan- I will ensure an extra horse is available for him. 

Yours, 

Joshua

Lily and Nessie squealed in delight and even the maids were biting back their smiles. Sending flowers and a personalised invitation was a bold and romantic gesture indeed; you could not help the fluttering that arose in your heart. 

It appeared that Viscount Hong meant business. 

—-----------------------------------------

“I did suspect that Joshua might harbour some affection for you,” Jihoon admitted over breakfast. Your father was eating in his study, leaving you and your siblings to speak freely about the previous night's events in the dining room. “He always asks after you whenever he sees me or Seokmin.” 

Seokmin agreed, mouth full of scrambled eggs. “He does ask about you often, now that I think of it, but I thought he was only being polite. The Viscount is always so well-mannered.” 

You frowned at your brother. “Unlike you, Seokmin. Please swallow your food before you speak.” 

“It’s only us siblings here,” Seokmin protested.  

“You should be setting a better example as a gentleman for Chan.” 

Chan scoffed before sipping at his tea. “Please don’t insult me, sister. I know better than to emulate anything Seokmin does.” 

They began to argue and you did not have the energy or inclination to interrupt them. The gravity of your situation was slowly beginning to set in. You still harboured a certain girlish pleasure at the thought of Viscount Hong being in love with you- but you were also forced to begin thinking about what this proposal from a nobleman so superior in station to you would mean for you and your family. 

Jihoon noticed your expression. 

“Are you all right, sister?” he asked gently as Seokmin and Chan continued to argue. 

You turned to your elder brother with a hesitant smile. Jihoon was certainly the most mature of your siblings, and you trusted him implicitly.

"Do you think it will be alright? The entire ton has been watching to see whom the Viscount will marry. I cannot even begin to think of  how many young ladies must have their sights set on him. The thought of the gossip alone…"

Jihoon smiled kindly. "I did not think you were the sort of woman to be easily disturbed by gossip, sister."

"I-I am not, but you must admit that people will talk about it and you know that everyone holds him in exceedingly high regard while I am…" you bit your lip and looked at your brother, hoping he would understand your fears. 

Jihoon sighed and nodded. "I won't lie. It is an unexpected proposal and will certainly generate some surprise among the ton."

"What should I do?"

"I am sure word has not spread just yet. You should speak to Joshua about your fears."

You sighed and nodded. Perhaps you should. 

—--------------------------------------------------

It was a warm and pleasant afternoon; perfect for a ride in the park. Unfortunately, this meant that many other members of the ton had made similar plans. You were uncomfortably aware of the curious stares of some young ladies who passed by you on the walking trail. 

The Viscount was already waiting for you and Chan with the horses, but you had to stand aside and wait for a few moments as Chan monopolised the Viscount's attention. Once your younger brother's questions had been answered and he had taken his pick of the horses, the Viscount carefully took the reins of the horse you would ride and turned to you with a smile. 

"May I help you up, Miss Lee?"

Joshua stepped closer to you when you nodded. You tried not to show how flustered you felt when he gently took your hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving you the boost you needed to push yourself up onto the horse and seat yourself side-saddle. 

"Are you comfortable?" he asked with a caring smile. 

"Uh-yes, yes thank you very much," you replied. 

The Viscount and Chan each mounted their own horses. The three of you began a slow-paced ride around the park, but Chan could not resist pushing the purebred horse for a little more speed. 

"Chan! Don't go far, stay within sight!" you called after your brother as he went further ahead. Your brother merely lifted a hand to signal that he'd heard you. 

The Viscount brought his horse up to trot gently alongside yours. He was a skilled rider. 

"I… I received the flowers you sent me this morning," you began awkwardly in an attempt to make some conversation with Joshua. "Thank you. They were beautiful."

He nodded. "I am glad you liked them."

"I did. Very much."

"Have I made you uncomfortable, Miss Lee?" Joshua asked suddenly. He had a worried smile on his face. 

"N-no, why would you think so?"

"You seem to be avoiding my eyes."

You cleared your throat. Why did Joshua have to notice? It was true. You couldn't look at him, and not only because he was extremely handsome and his kind eyes caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. You were simply too aware of the people watching you- there was a group of young ladies near the trees that gaped at you openly, and another pair of gentlemen who had been casting glances at you since Viscount Hong had helped you up onto your horse. 

"It… it is nothing," you said quickly. 

Joshua sighed. "Miss Lee. Please. The intention behind this courtship is to make you more comfortable with me and to trust me. If there is anything that troubles you-"

"There are too many eyes on us," you blurted out. 

Joshua was silent for a long moment. 

"I see. I've made another mistake," he said quietly. 

You turned to him with wide eyes. "No, not at all-"

"I have. It was quite foolish of me to ask you to come here with just your brother and no proper chaperone- and our courtship is not yet common knowledge to the ton. I failed to take your feelings into consideration, and-"

You felt miserable and rushed to correct him. "Viscount Hong, please, I never meant to suggest that you were responsible for this-"

"But I am responsible."

You shook your head and began to explain that it wasn't his fault, that it was your own insecurities and fears that were making you uncomfortable. But Joshua had already set his lips in a straight line and spurred his horse forward to catch up with Chan, leaving you behind. 

This was not a good start. 

Not at all. 

—-------------------------------------------

The ride at the park ended earlier than it should have; Chan was vocally disappointed but you were too mortified by the entire incident to object and Joshua was firm in sending you home safely escorted by his servants. 

Still; the damage was done. 

Word of your potential courtship with Joshua Hong had spread among the ton and you were faced with the full extent of the situation not three days later, at the ball hosted by the Hessingtons. 

Joshua had sent you flowers every single morning leading up to the ball, and had even written to apologise for his thoughtless invitation to ride in the park. He requested you to reserve him a dance at the Hessingtons' ball. 

You had, of course, accepted. 

The reality that this would be the first, formal social event where almost every single person in the room would have their eyes on you was clear from the moment you made your entrance with Jihoon and Seokmin. 

You had become accustomed to blending into the background at balls- Seokmin was lively and charming, hence rarely had trouble obtaining his desired female dance partners. Jihoon was more reserved when it came to women and dancing. But he had many friends among the ton and was often in the company of other gentlemen engaging in conversations about business. You had always been content to sit at the sidelines, accepting the offer of a dance when you received one and mingling with other ladies when they approached you.

But a lady being courted by Viscount Joshua Hong did not have the luxury of being ignored by the ton. 

“Miss Lee!” cried one of the more obnoxious gossip-mongers, Mrs. Patty, as soon as she found you alone at a bench. “You must come and dispel these strange rumours about you. Is it true that you are being courted by our lovely Viscount Hong?” 

You hesitated. “Erm…”

“Ha!” Mrs. Patty cried triumphantly, turning to her companions. She understood your hesitation to be a confirmation of her beliefs. “I knew there was no chance that little Miss Lee could capture our Viscount. I have been quite observant of his attention to the Duchess of Graham of late and I believe it is only a matter of time until they announce their engagement.” 

One of the other ladies tutted with disapproval. “But then Miss Lee must explain how she came to be riding in the park with Viscount Hong!” 

Your response was interrupted by the sound of a strong female voice behind you. 

“Miss Lee is not required to explain anything,” a young lady said sharply as she took your arm. You recognised her immediately, despite never having conversed with her before. 

This was Miss Hong. Viscount Hong’s infamous younger sister. 

"Miss Hong-" you began to greet her. 

"Come, Miss Lee. I have saved a seat for you near the refreshment tables, and you must sit with me until the dancing begins," Miss Hong said simply. 

You allowed her to lead you away from the gossip-mongers. 

You knew what everyone in London society said about Miss Hong. She was praised for being the most skilled pianoforte player among the ton, and it was well established that there was no young lady who could rival the musical talents of the Viscount's sister. 

But Miss Hong also had a reputation for being excessively fashionable, vain, and quick-tempered. While her status and wealth prevented anyone from saying so to her face, Miss Hong did not enjoy the same universal approval of society that her older brother did. 

"Miss Hong," you said gently. "Thank you for interrupting on my behalf. I really did not know how to answer their questions."

She brushed off your gratitude. "You need not bother about Mrs. Patty. That odious woman has been trying to make my life miserable since I was a child. I am not surprised she attempted to sink her claws into you."

You smiled awkwardly. "I see."

"I have been looking forward to meeting this elusive Miss Lee that seems to have the power to make my brother miserable," she said. You were shocked by her words, but when you turned to look at her, she was giggling. 

"I-I am so sorry, I really have no intention of upsetting the Viscount," you tried to explain. 

"Oh Miss Lee, you are such a sweetheart!" Miss Hong said with a carefree laugh. "I meant that my normally suave brother makes the most foolish mistakes around you and then renders himself miserable afterwards. You needn't apologise to me, I find the whole affair quite entertaining."

You relaxed a little. You had been anxious about how Viscount Hong's family would react to your courtship but, judging from Miss Hong's behaviour, she at least did not openly disapprove of you. 

"I warned Joshua he was being hasty about the proposal and that he should have someone speak to you first to assess your reaction," Miss Hong continued as she gestured for you to join her on the bench. "But he said it was not appropriate and that naturally he had to seek your father's permission before speaking to you."

You nodded. "I see…"

Miss Hong gave you a sympathetic smile. "My brother is kind but he is still a man. Society is more forgiving towards his type. He does not understand the fears and pressures that we face as young ladies."

You felt the need to defend your Viscount. 

"He has certainly been very thoughtful and considerate towards me-"

Miss Hong laughed. "Has he? Or perhaps you are blinded by your love for him."

"But the entire ton agrees that the Viscount has the most excellent manners, and-"

"Oh," Miss Hong said scornfully. "The ton. Miss Lee, I am sorry to say that if you intend to marry my brother, you must learn to take the opinions of the ton with a pinch of salt. Being a Viscountess is not an easy job. And it is certainly not one for a weak or feeble-minded woman."

Her words struck you like a blow to the face. 

A Viscountess. You would be a Viscountess if you were to marry Joshua. It suddenly occurred to you how much power and authority came from a title like that, and the strength and poise with which women carrying such coveted titles conducted themselves. 

You had certainly never seen a Viscountess who stumbled over her words in front of gossiping old women. 

Miss Hong noticed your sudden silence. 

"I apologise if I have offended you, Miss Lee," she said quickly. "It was not my intention to call you weak or feeble-minded. I am sure you are neither. But if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, purely coming from my goodwill as your potential future sister-in-law…"

You nodded at her. You did not know if Miss Hong was as vain or quick-tempered as the ton claimed. But in this confusing reality, she was the only person willing to tell you the truth. 

 "Please do," you said. 

"You should use this courtship wisely. Not only to consider whether you wish to marry my brother… but also whether you wish to become a Viscountess. If you choose to marry Joshua, you should carry his title as a matter of pride, not as a burden. That is the only way you can be happy together."

Oh. 

You took a deep breath as you considered her words and then turned to Miss Hong, clasping her hand in yours.

"Thank you," you told her quietly. "For your honesty."

She smiled- a sudden, genuine smile that was rare for the fashionable young debutante. 

"Thank you for not being offended by it," Miss Hong replied. "Now, I regret to inform you that the dancing has begun and my brother approaches to claim your company for the first dance."

You nodded before turning to see that Joshua had indeed appeared from the crowd with his usual handsome smile. 

"Miss Lee," the Viscount greeted you warmly, offering you his hand. He raised an eyebrow at his sister. "I hope my sister has not been troubling you."

"Not at all!" you said quickly. "She has been very kind."

Miss Hong stood and smiled as she smoothed down the front of her fashionably decorated ball-gown. "Excuse me- I have promised this dance to Mr. Hessington," she said lightly before disappearing into the crowd. 

The Viscount turned to you. 

"And I believe you have promised this dance to me," he reminded you with a smile. 

"So I have."

You allowed Joshua to lead you out onto the floor for a pleasant waltz. The dance was not very demanding- and it allowed you both the chance to have a much-needed conversation. 

"I do hope my sister did not trouble you," Joshua said slowly. "She is known to be rather…"

"Honest?" you asked. 

"I was going to say impudent," he replied with a chuckle. "Although I dare say she usually means well."

"No, not at all. She helped me put things in perspective. I will admit that everything about our courtship is… new to me. I cannot help but have some fears and concerns about it all, and… I… I do not want you to think that I am ungrateful for the flowers and letters because I really am not, you have been very thoughtful and kind, I-I only…"

You were beginning to stumble over your words and your cheeks turned hot. Joshua's hand squeezed your gloved one reassuringly. 

"Tell me," he pressed you softly. "I would like nothing more than to hear your feelings."

"I wish we could have a conversation," you admitted slowly. "Only the two of us. Without- without any interruptions or eavesdropping chaperones so that-that we could have an honest discussion about the future and what this really means for each of us."

Joshua's expression was gentle. 

"Of course, Miss Lee. I agree entirely. I think we have stumbled blindly through this courtship without understanding each other. An open discussion would certainly help."

You nodded. "Well, yes. Open but…" you cleared your throat and glanced around you anxiously. "Well. Discreet, if you understand my meaning. Since we are not officially engaged."

He chuckled. 

"Of course. I understand perfectly. Would you do me the honour of coming to the assembly rooms on Thursday evening? I believe I can arrange for our… discreet discussion there."

You smiled and nodded. 

"Yes. Yes, that sounds wonderful."

"Excellent."

—---------------------------------------------------

Viscount Hong was a man of his word. 

You arrived at the assembly rooms on Thursday; Seokmin had been glad to accompany you as he had a bet to settle at the card tables with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan. 

Upon your arrival, the Viscount offered you his arm and requested your company for a walk around the gardens. You accepted- after all, you were now openly courting him, what harm could a walk about the gardens do? To your surprise, Joshua led you towards a thick copse of trees at the end of the path that provided complete cover and privacy from the rest of the gardens and the assembly rooms. 

"Shall we speak here?" Viscount Hong asked you. 

You nodded hesitantly. "Yes- I am shocked that you discovered this, it is such a private little corner."

Joshua looked slightly embarrassed. "The spot was recommended to me by Mr. Kim Mingyu. He is rather more… experienced than I am when it comes to finding ways to do things that society may not approve of."

You giggled. "You mean he is a rake."

"He admits it quite openly," Joshua agreed. 

"And we will not be interrupted- nobody will accidentally stumble upon us here?" you asked nervously.

"It is unlikely. In any case, I have asked Mr. Kim to watch over the garden path from the balcony. If anyone begins to walk in this direction, he will send us a warning," Joshua replied. 

You were flattered that Joshua would go to so much effort to indulge your simple request for a private conversation. 

"Thank you," you told him honestly. 

"It is the least I could do, Miss Lee. I understand that I have thrown quite a wrench in your life this past week. You have me quite flustered- I seem to repeatedly make poor judgements in your regard, and I will strive to remedy that."

You looked up to see the genuine regret in his eyes. It was still so strange to you that the Viscount should care so much about you and you could not help but feel a warmth towards him. 

"Viscount Hong, please do not say so. You have not made any mistakes, really."

Joshua reached his hands out hesitantly towards yours. You realised that he was seeking permission to hold your hands- and you offered them to him freely. 

His warm hands clasped yours. 

"May I go first?" he asked. 

You nodded.

"You asked me the other night why I wanted to marry you," Joshua began. He spoke slowly- as though every word was being carefully considered. "I will admit I was not prepared for that question, and I did a poor job of answering it. Will you allow me to answer it again?"

"Of course."

"Over the last year, ever since it became clear that the time had come for me to marry- I have met and considered many young women of my acquaintance. They all have their charms, of course, but I found that only your charms made a consistent and lasting impact on me."

You looked at him with surprise. 

"My charms? I must insist you tell me what these are, Viscount Hong, since I am entirely unaware of them," you laughed as your cheeks slowly turned hot.

Joshua chuckled. "I would be glad to elaborate. I know your brothers well, Miss Lee, and I am familiar with the difficulties that your family has faced. I have watched you bear them with quiet dignity. You have a strength and maturity that is rare among young women of your age- indeed, rare for any person at all. Even in the face of my hasty proposal, you had the presence of mind to stop me and question me. You are kind and generous; but not a woman who is easily swayed. That is what makes me confident that you would be a perfect choice for a life partner, and makes me want more than anything in the world to be your husband."

Your heart swelled. It was strange; you had expected some vague words from him about love and admiration- something along the lines of what you read in novels. 

But Joshua's answer gave you more confidence than any declaration of love could have. 

You now understood that his proposal, as sudden as it may have seemed to you, was not a rash or hasty decision on his part. Joshua had watched you, considered you, understood you… and still chosen you. 

"I… don't know if I deserve such praise," you told him softly. "I have not behaved very maturely this past week."

"What makes you say that?" he asked gently. 

"I have been selfish. My fears and insecurities got the better of me, and I worried about the gossip that our courtship would create and what people would think. How they would react to you proposing to someone like me."

Joshua shook his head. "Those are reasonable fears. And I have not done a very good job of protecting you from the ton's speculations."

You took a deep breath and looked up at him. 

"You do not need to protect me."

Joshua looked startled. "Miss Lee…"

"I have had time to think about what I want from our courtship, and what I can offer.  Entering into this with the expectation that I should be protected from the hardships involved is foolish. If we are to be married, then I will be a Viscountess. I cannot live my life fearing the opinions of the ton."

Joshua smiled. Your face had taken on a determined expression. It was the first time since the night of his proposal that you looked like yourself again- without that fear and anxiety looming behind your eyes. 

"You have nothing to fear from the ton," he assured you. "I will always be with you."

"Your sister said something to me that struck me deeply," you told him. "She said that if I was to become a Viscountess, then I should carry the title as a matter of pride and not as a burden."

Joshua sighed. "My sister has a strange relationship with pride."

"Perhaps so, but I think there is some truth in what she said," you replied. "It boils down to this… I would be proud to call myself your wife. And as long as you would be proud to call yourself my husband, then I do not think that there is anything society can do to ruin our happiness."

Joshua's eyes twinkled. His grip on your hands pulled you closer to him- you were mere inches away from him now and you could not tear your eyes away from his. 

"Dangerous words, Miss Lee," he warned. 

"Oh?"

"You are only making me fall more in love with you."

Your cheeks turned hot but you smiled up at him. "And you are treading dangerous waters, Viscount Hong. We are alone here, without a chaperone. I thought you were a gentleman?"

Joshua nodded. His eyes briefly flickered down to your lips. "I am. Will you allow me to kiss you?"

You flushed. "We are not even engaged…"

"I will stop if you ask me to."

"... Do not stop."

Joshua's right arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. Your hands naturally placed themselves on his shoulders as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. 

It was a delicate kiss; one filled with passion and longing. Joshua was careful with you. One of his hands cupped your cheek as he pulled away slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours and gave you a small smile. 

"Have I made another mistake?" he asked breathlessly. 

You felt light-headed from the kiss but you managed to look up at him with a small pout. 

"You know perfectly well that you have not," you scolded him. 

"I had to check- my judgement always fails me around you. You cloud my senses," Joshua whispered. "You are the only woman that can make me doubt my own actions."

You looked up at the handsome man in front of you with adoration.

"I would never want you to doubt yourself," you told him firmly. 

"Then shall I kiss you again?"

"Please."

Joshua kissed you again- and again, and again, until you were both entangled in a mess of lips and tongues and limbs, allowing your bodies to express the adoration that words could not satisfy. In your heated whispers between soft, sensuous kisses, Viscount Hong became Joshua, and Joshua became my love. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

The passionate courtship that ensued had the ton in an uproar. 

It was all over the gossip sheets, and on the lips of every member of the ton: Miss Lee had cast a spell on Viscount Joshua Hong and he was absolutely smitten with her. 

Joshua made no effort to abate the gossip. Instead, flowers and letters arrived at your doorstep every single morning. Some days he would send you presents; pretty little hand mirrors, ribbons, satin gloves…. always accompanied by love notes stating how they made him think of you. (He even once sent you a set of silk garters that was almost opened by Nessie. You scolded him thoroughly and his gifts remained family-appropriate thereafter). 

Joshua danced with you-and only you- at every ball. It caused an immense displeasure among the ladies of the ton and Mrs. Patty even saw fit to complain to you on one occasion. 

"How unfortunate that Viscount Hong will not look at the Duchess anymore," Mrs. Patty bemoaned openly to you. "She would have suited him so well- so rich and with her own title."

"Yes," you said to the older woman calmly. "It is unfortunate indeed that Viscount Hong has no need to marry for riches or titles. He shall have to settle with marrying for love, instead."

Mrs. Patty gave you a sharp look but you heard no more from her on the subject. 

The whispers were not all pleasant, naturally. Many gossiped about how Viscount Hong was clearly marrying down, how your dowry and station and beauty were so far beneath his. It was painful when these whispers reached your ears- but it was a pain that you would gladly bear for the privilege of being with Joshua. To his credit, Joshua swiftly and politely silenced anything that reached his ears. 

The weeks flew by; and on the 30th day from his initial hasty proposal, Viscount Joshua Hong appeared once more on your doorstep just before suppertime. (This time with notice- Dotty had been able to prepare her venison pie.)

"My father is away on business," you informed Joshua as you led him to the dining room where your siblings were all waiting for supper to be served. "So I am afraid that you will not be able to ask for his permission to  propose to me again."

"How unfortunate," Joshua said with a chuckle as Lily ran up to him and greeted him with a hug. He lifted her into his arms easily and set her down in her seat at the table. "It would be very inappropriate to propose to you without permission- but whose permission shall I seek?"

Chan piped up. "You could ask Jihoon."

Jihoon looked up from his plate with a raised eyebrow. "I would not dare to assume such a monumental responsibility. You will have to seek permission elsewhere."

"Seokmin?" Joshua asked. 

Seokmin shrugged. "Ask me again after supper. I am too hungry to grant any permissions at the moment."

Joshua chuckled. "Chan?"

Chan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I could be persuaded… for the price of an Arabian horse, perhaps?"

"Absolutely not," you said firmly. 

Joshua settled down into his seat and turned to your little sister Lily, who was looking up at him with a big smile and a gap in her teeth. 

"What shall I do, Lily?" Joshua asked her with a mock sigh. "I had hoped to propose to your elder sister tonight, but your father is not in town and none of your brothers will grant me permission."

Lily frowned. "Why do you need permission?"

"It is good manners to seek the permission of a woman's loved ones before making an offer to her."

"Then I shall grant you permission, Viscount Hong! You may marry my sister."

You couldn't hold back your laugh; Nessie giggled and the corner of even Jihoon's lips curved upwards. Joshua gracefully accepted her permission and then turned to you with his usual handsome, charming smile. 

"Well, Miss Lee; what say you? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" Joshua asked you with a chuckle. Lily looked up at you expectantly with big eyes. 

You smiled back at Joshua. 

"Well, since Lily has granted her permission…"

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, Viscount Hong. I would be honoured to become your wife."

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