Steal Your Heart

by dreamstardust

Summary:

Jung Sungchan does not know what it's like to not own life's every luxury. Every possession he had ever wanted was his. And if it wasn't? Well, he could just buy it.

It's a shame that you can't buy love.

Granted, you can always just take it.

Chapter 1: Steal

Jung Sungchan was rich—very, very rich. Born into the most affluent family in the country, he did not know what it was like to not own life's every luxury. The finest clothes, the most dazzling jewels, the most flavorful of foods, and the prettiest of girls. Every possession he had ever wanted was his. And if it wasn't?—well, he could buy it.

The Jung family's pockets were deep, so deep that it would perhaps be incorrect to call them pockets. They were a canyon of wealth, a cavern of capital incomprehensible to most. And although the Jungs had everything there was to comprehend, they all had their favorite treasures. Sungchan's mother happened to be most fond of the blackberry fruit tarts that her personal chef prepared every day. She would try to indulge on them only at the end of each week, but most days her resolve would break. At this point, it was a staple of her diet.

Sungchan's father had a penchant for his collection of miscellaneous weapons. If it was a different model, style, color, or place of origin, his father would buy it. He had swords of every style from every nearby country. Bows and arrows and guns and maces and spears and scythes—he owned it all. He spent most of his days caring for and cataloguing those dangerous tools.

Sungchan's three years elder brother, Jungwoo, had a peculiar treasure. His treasure was a girl. She was pretty and poor, and Sungchan just could not fathom what was so special about her. There were plenty of other girls just as pretty as her. There were also girls who were just as pretty but more rich. Sungchan had told Jungwoo this once, but the older of the two had just shook his head and sighed disapprovingly. 

"It's not about how pretty she is, nor about how rich she is. She is my most valuable treasure for reasons more than you could possibly comprehend."

Sungchan had raised an eyebrow at his comment, then told him the following, "We own everything there is to possibly comprehend. Did you buy her, brother? Tell me what I am not understanding."

Jungwoo had startled at his response, positively offended at the implication of it. "I did not buy her. You are just too young and too much of an ass to understand." And then he stormed off, leaving a confused Sungchan to ponder his words. He wasn't an ass. He just had priorities. Where was the value in romancing someone of such low class?

Regardless of that, just like the rest of the Jung family, Sungchan had his own prized possession. His treasure was a delicate thing, and it was his favorite thing because of its intrinsic soft beauty, skilled artistry, and admirable origins. It was a glass blown canola flower colored yellow and green just like the plant on which it was based—the same size to boot. Its stems and petals were so thin that Sungchan often worried he would break it when he touched it. The craftsmanship was excellent though so his worries were unwarranted. Only a good fall could shatter it.

Sungchan would only handle the object with gloves for he hated the idea of smudging the piece. He was careful to never even let anyone near it. It was his and his alone. He had commissioned the country's most revered artisan to create it for him. He was a young prodigy of growing fame and a picky sort with his projects. The flower ended up being the last thing he had made before he died. Thus, its value was astronomical. In fact, it was probably the most expensive singular possession the Jungs kept on themselves.

And it was because of this that Sungchan exploded.

It had been a very pleasant day so far for him. He woke without the sun shining in his eyes and his bed the perfect warmth. When he went to bathe, he found the servants had already prepared the water and its temperature not too hot nor cold. He'd gone down to the dining room to find his favorite meal prepared. Afterwards, he went for a long stroll in the gardens to enjoy the weather and admire his family home. It had been passed down through the generations from first born to first born. It was unfortunate that Sungchan would not inherit the property, but he was content enough with being a part of a family with such a powerful legacy. His feet on their forty acres of land was enough for now.

Sungchan had spent the rest of the day aimlessly wandering, tending to his horses, and mooching snacks off of the kitchen staff preparing dinner. 

Eventually he had grown bored so he headed back to his room, planning to spend the remaining hours of the day working on whatever sort of fiddly project his whims would bring him to. When he arrived at his bedroom's door, his heart had dropped. The door was open. It occured to Sungchan then that the day's pleasantries had led him to forget to lock it. He never let anyone in his room for he was rather protective of his privacy—and, more importantly, he was protective of his most prized possession; the one that he kept in that very room.

Sungchan rushes inside the room now, eyes immediately searching for the glass canola flower he keeps on display near the back. His room is quite large, so it takes no small bit for him to reach it. When he does, he finds his brother's most prized possession marveling the flower at a fair distance. 

Sungchan seethes.

"YOU! What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

The girl jumps and spins on her heel to face the sudden noise. Her eyes open wide upon seeing him, at a loss for words as he lurches forward and pulls her far away from the flower. They switch places now—the girl where Sungchan once stood and Sungchan where the girl was once. He is the barrier between them, protecting his precious flower from sully.

She stumbles on her feet for a moment then straightens herself. She stares straight into his eyes, unwavering in her glare. "The door was open and I was curious as to what was inside for I had never been before." The girl speaks firm and evenly. "I did not touch anything. I did not break anything. You have no reason to be upset."

Sungchan thinks he has every reason to be upset. This worthless girl had just trespassed, waddled her way into his room without a singular care for his privacy and then had the audacity to speak back at him? He may have asked for an explanation but he did not actually have an interest in one.

He yells at her now, volume increasing incrementally as his tirade goes on. "You have no right to be here! You trespassed in my room, my house, and put your dirty footprints everywhere! I don't give a damn if you're with my brother, you awful wretch—you don't belong here!"

The girl closes her eyes and balls her fists at her side, resolutely quiet.

"You are nothing compared to me and you are nothing compared to even the most useless, dirty objects in this home. You're a worthless peasant—hardly worth a penny. What were you planning? To steal my flower?" The girl shakes her head. Sungchan hears footsteps, the sound growing closer as he rampages on.

"Did you plan to take it? Stealing my possessions to make a pretty penny? Do you know what you are to my brother? A pretty penny—a dime a dozen. I promise you that there are plenty of girls more beautiful, more skilled, more educated, and less poor than you. He is with you out of pity. Do not mistake that for love," he says scathingly.

Sungchan sees the girl's composure crumble a little and her eyes water the faintest amount, but she remains headstrong. He takes satisfaction in that—it's a small victory.

Jungwoo is in his room now, quickly making himself to the girl's side and shielding her from his brother with his body. She hugs him close to her, though still refusing to stand down.

"What the hell did you say all that for?" Jungwoo demands. "She didn't do anything wrong. If you were upset you could've just asked for an apology and for her to leave, but instead you chose to berate her? What's your problem, brother?"

Sungchan looks at the pair haughtily. It is a shame the home will be going to him and not the clearly more refined of the two brothers. "I was teaching her a lesson. I do not lie to you. We are all alike in thought—the Jung Family. Jungwoo is the one who speaks lies. He has deluded you. He is one of us—extraordinary. You are less than even the ordinary."

Jungwoo swears something foul as the girl lifts her head to give him a glance and tug him out and away from Sungchan. Jungwoo gives Sungchan one last look before taking her hand and heading to the door with her.

Sungchan calls after them, "Stay the hell out of my room, vermin; I'll be leaving a trap for you to step in."

Jungwoo whirls to face him with anger in his eyes. Pure loathing is etched across his face as venom drips from his voice. "Watch your mouth" and then the two leave the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

Jungwoo and Sungchan speak little the following week. Their mother and father often wonder aloud what could have possibly happened between the two, but they never bother to ask. 

"You two are so young, so immature—tsk. Would you please talk to each other and make up quickly? I am tired of this silliness already" says their mother over dinner. Her husband agrees with a nod and a fork in his mouth.

Sungchan carefully stabs a piece of steak and cuts a thin slice. "I will not. Jungwoo should apologize to me first for allowing that pest in my room." He chews slowly, watching boredly as his brother slams a hand on the table, sending food flying and knocking a precariously placed cup of cider to the floor. A servant runs over from their post outside the room to clean it up.

"I am sick of your behavior. You think she's a pest? You think she is not worthy of your respect because she is without wealth, because she is not rich like us? You have no concept of value, brother. You have no clue of what is of importantance. I hope you learn it." And then he storms off, abandoning the rest of his family and the servant washing the floor.

His mother sighs and dismisses the servant. The servant protests silently for only a moment, but she insists, so he goes. Sungchan catches his eye as he exits. The servant does a quick bow of the head then quickens his pace out of the room. Sungchan finds this curious.

"Why does he bow to me but not to you?"

His mother ignores him. "Sungchan, we have discussed this. You have no reason to treat her with such disrespect. We raised you better than this." 

Sungchan's father gives his son a disapproving glare. "I thought we taught you to respect others. Especially someone who will most likely be a part of our family soon."

Sungchan gasps. "You would let him marry that girl?"

His father knits his eyebrows together while his mother clicks her tongue. "Of course we would," she says. "I demand—" she looks to her husband— "we demand you be a little kinder to us all. Us, your brother, his lady friend, even the servants…" She pauses for a moment, then continues, "If you would like to know, that may be the reason they feel so compelled to bow to you and not us." Then, the three of them sit in silence for the rest of dinner. 

When dinner ends, Sungchan leaves irate at his parents' scolding. He is aggressive as he speedily walks out of the dining room, following a familiar path to his bedroom. His parents were ridiculous, are ridiculous. How is it possible they think it appropriate for Jungwoo to marry a girl of such status. Sungchan scoffs at the notion—what could be so good about her?

Preoccupied with his own thinking and walking at breakneck speed, Sungchan is a hazard to everything in his vicinity. He manages to avoid all obstacles—some on purpose, others on accident—until he rounds a corner and slams into a very large object. He falls to the floor, cursing as another thud rings through the halls.

Sungchan looks up to inspect the object in front of him that had just fell, that he had just crashed into, only to find it's the servant from earlier. For the first time, he studies him. He has a small face and round cheeks with a bottom lip a bit bigger than its top. Currently, the servant's nose is scrunched to a squished circle—reacting to the brunt of the fall. The servant's features are topped off by large, dark brown eyes and a mop of similarly dark brown hair. Sungchan supposes he's nice enough looking.

The servant identifies Sungchan properly now and takes to his knees. He places his palms of his hands straight down on the floor below, avoiding eye contact with Sungchan, choosing only to look down. Sungchan rises to his feet, frowns. "Is there a need for this groveling behavior? Stand."

The servant stands, still resolutely avoiding eye contact. Upright now, Sungchan can see he's a fair few centimeters shorter than him. This comes to no surprise to Sungchan really—he's always been one of the tallest, if not the tallest, whenever he went. This had made him the frequent object of many girls' affections, but he would always turn them down. He had never been interested.

The servant apologizes dryly, "I am sorry. I was not looking where I was going." His voice is marginally on the higher side and has a slight nasality, but the sounds are round and lilting. Soft in quality and quiet in volume—it is not unpleasant, Sungchan finds himself thinking.

The servant's tone and what he says processes within Sungchan slowly. Sungchan knows very well that he-himself was the one not looking—and judging by the servant's tone, he does too. But, Sungchan feels acknowledging this servant's sarcasm to not be worthy of his time. He walks away, pointedly ignoring the servant's raise of eyebrow as he does. 

Sungchan fishes out a large gold key from his pocket as he approaches the door to his room. He had been diligent ever since the incident with that girl. Every day without fail he would lock and double check the lock before he left; on occasion, triple checking for good measure. Absolutely no one would ever enter his room again without his express permission. And absolutely no one would be allowed near his most prized possession.

Sungchan enters his room and locks the door behind him. He walks to one of the windows and looks outside to the vast acres of his family's land. He peers down to the outside below his window to see a large ugly shrub. Sungchan makes a mental note to to request for one of the gardeners to get rid of it.

He leaves the window to study his flower. There is not a single soul bar himself that knows of his obsession with the object. Its value is far beyond anyone else's comprehension. Only Sungchan alone can understand it. Know it.

He admires the canola flower—the way it sparkles and shines when light reflects on it, within it; the way the glass stems taper off to a slender edge and bloom into large flowers. The love and care put into the piece is exquisite. Sungchan feels a sense of melancholy looking at it.

He heads to his bed, not bothering to change out of his formal attire, and buries himself under an avalanche of pillows and blankets and comforters and sheets. It is early in the day, but right now he only wishes to sleep the sensation off.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

The next day, Sungchan receives a letter—two actually. One is addressed to him while the other is addressed to the Jung family. He opens the one addressed to him first for it is the sole one with a return address. It is an invitation from one of the fellow affluent families in the area for a day out with their youngest daughter. He frowns and heads to the fireplace to burn it, but before he can toss the letter in the fire, Jungwoo comes and plucks it out of his hand.

"What's this?" and then he reads the letter, sprouting a grin that flowers ear to ear. "I see… I'll be showing mother and father this."

Sungchan scowls and swats at his brother in an attempt to get the letter back. They both know Sungchan despises his arranged dates. "Give me that back, it's my letter."

Jungwoo holds a hand out to keep his brother at bay. "No."

"Is this your idea of revenge for what I said to your girl?"

Jungwoo snorts. "This is you getting what you deserve." He looks at the other letter in Sungchan's hand. "What's in that one?"

Sungchan ignores him but stops his assault on Jungwoo soon after realizing it's pointless. He can't get that letter back, and even if he did, Jungwoo would snitch. 

The second letter has no return address nor any other indication from where it came; Sungchan supposes that information will be inside. The only words on the envelope are 'To the Jung family' scratched in plain black ink. At the front is a messy white wax seal. He picks it off and opens the envelope, extricating its contents as he does so. Inside is a single, small, piece of paper with a messy message in the same ink scrawled onto it.

'I will be stealing your most valuable possessions. Go ahead—try and protect them well'

Sungchan thoughts immediately spring to the flower. He runs through memories in his mind, looking back to when he had left the room earlier in the day. The doors most definitely are locked, he can recall checking plenty. The windows must be too for he can remember closing them due to the drafty night. His flower is surely safe…

Jungwoo reads the letter from over his shoulder with a curious expression on his face. "Hm, I think we have enough things, do we not? What would I care if one of those was stolen?" Sungchan swallows—there is no reason to be anxious; his prized possession is safe under lock. There is no possibility where any of the house staff could have broken in and taken it because Sungchan is the only one with the key to his room, and it is currently on him.

"I suppose…" he mumbles, then races off to his room. He'll check on it anyway. Just in case.

Sungchan receives curious glances from the few he passes on the way to his room as he runs. On his way up the stairs to the second floor, he encounters the servant who he had crashed into the day earlier heading the way Sungchan comes to. Like the others, the servant stares, and also like the others, Sungchan does not acknowledge. There are much more important things to attend to.

He fumbles with the key as he hurriedly unlocks his bedroom door, locks it again once he's inside and then rushes to where he keeps his flower on display.

Sungchan sighs a breath of relief. It's still there.

It is fine.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

Jungwoo tells his parents about the letter and soon after a day with the An family's youngest daughter is arranged. Sungchan protests, calls it pointless. None of their other arrangements had ever worked out and this one will be no different. His parent do not lie. They agree with the sentiment but they do not care for it. He is twenty now—a grown adult—and should be looking to find a partner for the future. Sungchan tries a different approach, tries to warn them about the ominous letter threatening to steal their valuable. Wouldn't Sungchan find more use at home guarding their things? His parents simply wave it off.

"Dare I say it may be a good thing if some of your father's weapons were stolen? They're taking up an awful lot of space. And besides, my dear, what use would any of us really be against a supposed thief?"

Sungchan gapes at the ridiculousness of the statement, but before he can come up with something clever to say, he's whisked out of the house and on his way to the local town where he and the An girl are planning to meet.

The small two seat carriage brings him and his chauffeur to the town slowly. He sulks silently the entire ride.

Eventually, they arrive at the town; chauffeur assisting him in exiting the carriage. The locals stop and stare. It's not terribly often that someone so luxurious, so handsome steps into their world. Sungchan glares at the onlookers, regretting that he did not bother to bring one of his plain cloaks to hide his lavish attire. Although he supposes, considering his height, he may have always been doomed to stand out.

He looks around, searching for the central fountain where he and the An girl had agreed to meet. He spots it a short distance away and heads towards it. As he gets closer, he spots a tall girl with brown hair and similarly lavish clothing. Sungchan and her stick out like sore thumbs with his gold buttoned velvet and her gold trimmed, brightly dyed, colored red dress.

"Hello, is this An Yujin?" Sungchan says stiffly. He curtsies as he sticks out a hand to shake hers, and with a white gloved hand, she does.

"That is me," she confirms with a nod of the head, "and is this Jung Sungchan?"

He nods and then they both stare, taking each other's appearances in. Sungchan studies her. Objectively, he can see she is quite beautiful. Observedly, judging by all the men ogling, he can see that she is quite beautiful. Subjectively, well, quite honestly he can't understand what there is to be excited about.

"Shall we walk?" he says. She nods.

They walk.

They talk.

It is terribly dull.

Sungchan finds out Yujin is two years younger than him, likes strawberries, and only has one sibling—an older sister four years her elder. Sungchan is just as reserved in his volunteering of information. He tells her that he also has an older sibling and has a mother with a penchant for berries. She seems wholly unenthralled by the conversation.

They nibble on some bread bought from a local market for a while. Sungchan is on his third bite when she finally snaps. "I am terribly sorry, but I am afraid I have no interest in you whatsoever." He makes a noise of agreement in between bites. "I think we should part ways now. We both know this to be a waste of our time."

Sungchan speaks with a mouthful of crumbs; Yujin wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I think our time would be better spent elsewhere," he concurs. She nods curtly in return and leaves without a proper goodbye. It's quite rude of her really, but Sungchan cannot bring himself to care.

He ambles around the town chewing on his little loaf. He has the readily available option of returning to his chauffeur and back home, but Sungchan then feels that if he does that, the trip there will have been for naught—a complete and utter waste of time. He does not mind staying a little longer, and besides, the locals are interesting to watch even if it's all terribly mundane. The hustle and bustle is captivating regardless of how uncomfortable all the staring eyes on him are.

As he examines a flower stall with a vast array of colorful flowers, a girl approaches him batting her eyelashes and puffing her chest out. She introduces herself as Sooyoung then asks for his name. He rebuffs her, tells her to scram. The elderly flower shop's owner makes an intrigued noise at the interaction as Sooyoung stomps off.

"Not many people turn her down, ya'know? She's a real looker—whole town knows the color of her bedroom's wallpaper at this point. It's common knowledge out here… but I suppos' you wouldn't know that, eh?" The owner's eyes twinkle with amusement as Sungchan shakes his head. "Ah well, now that you know, I suppose you're not going to change your mind, are ya?" Sungchan shakes his head again.

The old owner laughs full belliedly. "Of course ya wouldn't. You're a Jung, right? I'll let ya in on the know—your brother comes 'round often although he always—" the man gives him a once over— "blends in better."

Sungchan frowns, then looks around—suddenly aware of all the eyes hyper fixated on him. They stare because of his clothes, because of his looks, because of his height, and because of his slight at the town's harlot. He's never been partial towards unasked attention, so he shrinks in on himself, averts his eyes resolutely away from his surroundings.

The flower shop takes pity on his glaringly obvious newfound discomfort. "Take any flower you want. Free of charge—next time ya come it's double though." He gives a toothy grin.

Sungchan scans the stall in hurry, giving many silent thanks to the shopkeeper for allowing a scenario where he doesn't have to spend time standing around and counting money while simultaneously searching for a familiar yellow bloom. After a few moments, he spots it and grabs a single stalk, rushing away from the flower stall right after.

He moves without any real aim but with real purpose. He just wants to get away from the prying eyes—away from their fixation, their judgement. It is strange to be so prideful of everything that represents his person yet so self-conscious of how it looks on him, but that is how he is. He is, likely, a product of a life spent isolated at home and socialized by those subservient to him. It is insecurity and bad manners, really, that make him such a miserable person in attitude and inner feeling.

Sungchan eventually tires. He looks around at his surroundings and decides he's far enough away from the scene of the previous crime. He finds himself still in an area for shopping, but this place is moderately less busy; occupants more occupied with themselves than anyone else. In the distance, Sungchan spots a familiar person buying a host of vegetables at a stall. A worn, overly large cloak envelopes said person entirely, hiding their primary identifying features as they pull a large cart filled with assorted foods behind them. It all looks awfully heavy.

Sungchan walks to the person, curious to see who. As he approaches, he registers the figure as a fair few centimeters shorter, and just as Sungchan taps them on the shoulder, the familiarity locks into place. The figure turns and Sungchan finds himself face to face with the servant he had once crashed into in his home's halls.

The servant momentarily affects a quizzical look before smoothly putting it away, molding it into a neutral expression of fealty. He bows once—a slight tilt of the head and slant of the back—remaining quiet the whole time, waiting patiently for Sungchan to address him.

Sungchan hasn't a clue what to say.

He blinks, says the first thing that comes to mind, "Your carry seems heavy." Well, that's no good reason to have suddenly interrupted him— "Shall I be the one to pull it instead?"

The servant stares at him, blank and bewildered, then wordlessly hands the handle of the cart to him. Sungchan takes it and pulls it along, following the servant like a dog. He's not pleased to find that his previous assessment of the cart was correct—it is very heavy. They wander the town, stopping at stall after stall as the servant picks foods and pays for them, cart growing heavier as he throws product after produce in.

A fancibly dressed giant sweating up a storm dogging after an inscrutable figure in a ratty cloak attracts a lot of attention, and soon Sungchan finds himself stuck under prying eyes once more.

As the servant inspects the quality of some grapes, Sungchan—exhausted from the labor—breathes a little too heavy, finally catching the former's attention. The servant seems to notice Sungchan's state for the first time. Surprised, the servant pays for the grapes in his hand and takes off. Sungchan resentfully follows the brisk-paced boy as he's led into an abandoned back alley. He wonders if he's about to be robbed.

The servant speaks for the first time that day, removing his cloak as he does. "If you were tired, I could have pulled the cart for you." He pries Sungchan's tired appendages away from the cart's handle, soft fingers and palms pressing into the back of his hand as he does.

"I do not need your help."

Amusement ghosts across the servant's face as he fans out his removed cloak. He throws the large object around Sungchan who flinches at the movement but remains still for the servant is non threatening.

"You were uncomfortable" is all he says as Sungchan processes the thing enveloping him now. The servant's overly large cloak fits nicely on Sungchan's body, and more importantly, it hides his lush attire from view. He pulls the hood up and slouches. Sungchan can tell he's unrecognizable now.

He speaks unsurely, "This is kind of you."

The servant nods in acknowledgement. "I'll be heading back to your estate now—I walk." 

Sungchan is taken aback, he bristles. "But your carry is heavy and the estate is far…" He trails off, unsure of what to add. Should he offer to help? How even? Do either of them even want him to?

The servant reassures him, "I've done this plenty. It's not far for me." He smiles at Sungchan now, a bright comforting sort of smile. The words of protest on Sungchan's lips fumble at the sight as an unusual, unfamiliar feeling creeps up and snatches them away.

Sungchan nods dumbly and pulls the cloak surrounding him tighter. The servant takes that as an indication of approval and then the two make their way out of the alley. There are no prying eyes on Sungchan now as they walk. He enjoys the peace of it fully.

Eventually, Sungchan spots his chauffeur who eyes the cloak with a questioning expression but asks none. He and the servant depart and as his carriage begins to leave the servant behind in be dust, it occurs to Sungchan that he doesn't know his name.

Sungchan stands in the carriage, his chauffeur tugging on the cloak to pull him down into a less dangerous position. He turns backwards and calls over the wind, over the distance, to ask a question he's sure he could have got an answer to later.

"What's your name?" he calls out.

The servant smiles again; Sungchan drops down into the carriage so he doesn't fall. 

"Shotaro!" he calls back.

Sungchan grins and turns to face the front. He lets the name mull around in his mind the entire ride home.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

Sungchan never goes on another outing with An Yujin. The girl had reportedly told her parents that Sungchan made her miserable and vice-versa. Sungchan appreciates that she didn't throw him under a horse's carriage or shift the blame entirely to him. Their incompatibility was a joint effort.

But their incompatibility does not stop his parents from arranging him to go on outings with as many interested women as possible. Over the course of a month, Sungchan meets with five separate women eligible for marriage and clicks with zero of them. He never forgets the servant—Shotaro—the one with a comforting smile all for Sungchan. He encounters Shotaro often and the latter usually has the same pretty smile on his face. The smile is hardly, if ever, for Sungchan but the few are enough. His inability to forget turns to an obsession and soon Sungchan finds himself trying to learn everything there is to know about him. From what Sungchan can gather, Shotaro is one of the many servants with permanent residence at the estate, living somewhere in their quarters. His job is inconsistent in action. It seems that Shotaro's purpose is an odd array of tasks. He finishes the jobs that the designated servants cannot.

One dreary day, Sungchan had returned from a particularly dreadful arrangement with the older sister of the An family. Hyewon had been nice, but their incompatibility had been even worse than his with Yujin. The day had ended with them both hollering indecent things at each other in the town square. Surely his parents are soon to throw in the towel.

Home now, Sungchan tends to the horses. He never actually does anything to tend to them, just pets the animals and feeds them apples and sugar as treats. On occasion, whenever he is exceptionally bored, he'll ride around the estate. Sungchan is very useless when it comes to useful hands-on activities.

Someone enters the stables as Sungchan finishes up feeding his horse, Jinsu, an apple from his little basket filled to the brim with the fruit. Sungchan absentmindedly thinks to himself that the horse could probably bite his finger off if it wanted. The thought sobers him as he turns to inspect the new arrival.

Shotaro stands behind him with an array of tools that Sungchan does not even know half the names of wearing overly large boots and thick gloves. 

Sungchan spasms and dips his head towards him awkwardly. Shotaro seems puzzled by the action but thankfully ignores it. "I'll be mucking out the stalls. Pardon me." He pushes past Sungchan and leads Jinsu out into an empty stall. It occurs to Sungchan he doesn't know what 'mucking out' is but he'll be damned to ask.

Shotaro removes the feeding and water containers from the stall, then begins to dig into the straw on the ground with a long forky sort of tool. He pulls out discolored, dirtied straw with the tool and dumps it into a carrier cart. Sungchan watches with empty interest as every so often he switches to a shovel and leaves to dump the cart's contents outside. Shotaro moves the straw around until the layering is even, then adds some more in from a bale he'd previously carried in. He fluffs the straw, flattens it out, then returns all the containers to their previous locations, leading the horse back into its proper stall shortly after. He repeats the process with the others.

"Usually this would be done while they're out grazing, but the one in charge of mucking the stalls had something urgent to attend to and failed to do so earlier." 

It takes a bit for Sungchan to process Shotaro's words as he rouses from his immersion in the task he is watching—or maybe he just watches the man doing the tasks. "Ah… that's a shame." He cringes internally at his lack of conversational skills.

Shotaro doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he's more bold than Sungchan would ever expect from someone in his position. As Shotaro lobs more straw into the cart, he monologues effortlessly, "The other servants, the maids, the wait staff, the cooks and so on—they all say you're by far the most difficult of the Jungs. Now, I won't be telling you who in specific said so, but it's a common sentiment. I've seen you around of course—everyone employed by the family is familiar with all of you… but I've always thought you were the easiest to please, just perhaps the hardest to read." Shotaro leaves to dump the dirty hay outside, returning with the rest of his speech ready.

"I've worked here a little while—six years now, ever since I turned 15. I was usually called to assist your brother so really, I've never been the most confident in my assumptions about you. You never seemed difficult to me for the number of tasks you demanded from us were little—are little—in comparison to the rest of your family. You are rude and snide and your opinions are often unwanted, but you keep to yourself, often stuck up in your room." Sungchan frowns at the observation. The insult threatens to make him lash out, get the servant fired, but he's too enthralled by his strange behavior and the way his plump lips form such unflattering words.

"You don't seem to observe much, nor are you insightful—your introspection is surely lacking. I believe you saw me for the first time a little over a month ago… You keep seeing me now. But I've always had to see you. Over the years I've seen how you've looked at your arrangements—the girls you've been suited to. I've always found how you looked at them so interesting. Maybe that's why I used to think you were hard to read." Sungchan blanks as Shotaro locks eyes with him, finally looking at each other for the first time in the latter's speech.

"I can see how you look at me. You're not so hard to read anymore." Sungchan freezes, a deer cornered in by a predator. Surely nothing Shotaro was saying is true, he thinks. Did he really look at all those girls strangely? Did he really look at him differently? Sungchan's throat goes dry as he realizes he knows the answer to those questions.

Shotaro finishes up on the last stall, leading the horse back to its rightful place. He strips off his heavy boots and thick gloves, tilts his head to Sungchan, expression unreadable, "Do you know what you look like when you look at me?"

Sungchan shakes his head furiously even though he very well does. Shotaro closes the distance between them. It's the closest Sungchan thinks he's ever been to someone else physically in years. He holds his breath and Shotaro breathes for him. The hot air of it trickles on his skin as the servant leans forward to press his mouth to his master's waiting ears. He whispers a terrible thing.

"If you'd like to know, I can show you." 

Sungchan is frozen. A perfect statue to be admired by the leering creature in front of him.

Shotaro kneels down, reaches past Sungchan to a little basket on the floor and plucks an apple out of it. He holds it to his mouth, stands, and takes a step back. Shotaro bites into the fruit then tosses it to Sungchan. He catches it, holding the apple gingerly in his hands.

"When the night comes, I'll wait at your door for only a moment. I'll knock once. If you don't answer, I'll leave." And then Shotaro walks off, leaving Sungchan to mull over his words with a racing heart.

Sungchan drops the apple, but it is too late—he has already taken it.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

When the night comes, Sungchan tries to greet him when he opens the door, but without a word, Shotaro pounces first, lunging forward to capture fleeting words between them. Shotaro's kiss is sudden. It's messy and urgent and beseeching for Sungchan to respond. Startled by the action, Sungchan stumbles backwards, tumbling away in mind and body, taking Shotaro with him and slamming the door shut to ensure their privacy.

They stand and kiss. Sloppy and disorganized—and from Sungchan, confused. He wavers for a moment, hesitant as Shotaro continues his attack. Sungchan's inexperience and fear for his own desire speaking clearly, shines through his timid demur. The action, or rather lack of it, almost causes Shotaro to stop. He starts to pull away, makes the barest attempt to extricate himself off of him, but then Sungchan finally responds to his imploring and in an instant all is forgotten and teeth clash. 

Shotaro is far unlike Sungchan. He had long ago given into temptation, holds no fear or hesitance in the whole affair. Shotaro swirls his tongue around the boy's own, tasting his mouth while pressing deeper in. Sungchan can faintly taste the apple from earlier; its sugar a bit too sweet. A hand grabs roughly around his jaw, pulling downwards, demanding further entry while another hooks around his back to bring them closer.

Shotaro's wild feral energy transfers over to Sungchan soon after and he loses himself. His hands find purchase in his hair, around his neck, as Shotaro lords over him, sucking hard on his bottom lip. Sungchan squirms underneath. Pressure leaves his jaw, moves away from his back, and a hard force thumbs under the band of his waist, under the soft fabric of his buttoned shirt.

Sungchan whines a pathetic sound as Shotaro pulls away, spit trailing as he goes. With a smug smile, he takes Sungchan's hands in his own and leads him away towards the bed.

Sungchan moves sluggishly, much too slow for an impatient Shotaro, so the latter leans forward to lift him up and carry him there instead. Out of his mind and in a rush, Shotaro cannot find proper grip around the other's shirt so with an irritated growl he tears it off, golden buttons and white threads scattering to the floor as he discards the garment with a lazy throw. Sungchan grips onto the other's shoulders, head clouding and dizzy with desire, shivering as cool air touches raw skin.

He kisses Shotaro once before he's dropped unceremoniously onto the bed. Sungchan's back hits the soft sheets and he looks up at the figure above him nervously, "Have you ever… with someone, like—like me?" Shotaro cocks an eyebrow and presses a finger to his lips at the final word.

"Obviously."

Sungchan pushes his insecurities back for now. He's not about to ruin the mood when fucking the servant boy has been shoved away into the back of the deepest crevices of his mind for a month now. He follows his instincts, locks eyes with Shotaro, opens up to take the pressing finger into his mouth. He sucks on the digit, enveloping it with spit and tongue and the walls of his mouth, leaning forward to take another in for the hell of it. Their eye contact remains connected the entire time. What Sungchan's eyes communicate is clear—I want you.

Shotaro's gaze hardens and he pushes another two fingers into his mouth, working around vigorously. Aggressively pressing down on his tongue, pushing forward to create an uncomfortable yet pleasurable pressure near his throat, for a moment in control of the both of them before pulling his hand away. For the second time that day, Sungchan whines. Shotaro tells him to hush.

He kisses him as he removes his own clothing, whispering sweet things to keep the other engaged.

"You're so gorgeous—so stunning. I know you haven't been able to keep your eyes off of me. Let me tell you a secret—" Shotaro fumbles with his own shirt, pants already long gone. Sungchan pulls at the short trousers that remain, that cover the growing bulge he unabashedly fixates on.

Shotaro's shirt goes, "I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you either." The trousers follow, "To me—" he lifts Sungchan's long legs easily to yank the garments off them— "You're irresistible."

Their naked bodies lay bare to each other. Sungchan drags his hands down the taut muscles of Shotaro's chest, to his waist, around his thighs. Shotaro isn't nearly as curious nor patient. His hands find immediate purchase around Sungchan's cock, stroking lightly as Sungchan squirms. Shotaro leans forward and returns his voice to a long former whisper.

"Tell me what you want."

Sungchan shuts his eyes tight, shuddering and refusing to reopen them. Shotaro looms over him now—knees bare on the mattress in between his legs. He pulls on Sungchan, sitting him upright to meet him and kisses him softly now. He's lighter, no less passionate but less lustful. Gentle touches pepper the skin on his neck, his shoulders, his clavicle, his cheek. Sungchan eventually reopens his eyes. His heart races out of his chest as he finally gets a good look at Shotaro's eyes. They sparkle with warmth and hot desire and comfort. 

Sungchan stops Shotaro's sweet assault on the skin under his jaw and hugs him close. He leans his head on his shoulder and presses their chests together until they can feel each other's heartbeats. Sungchan's heart moves at breakneck speeds.

"I've kissed girls, women… I've never done that with—with…" He stammers and cuts off the sentence. "And I've never done this with others."

Shotaro is observant. He could already see that quite clearly. That has no need to be said, but this does. This requires Sungchan to tell him what he wants. Shotaro turns to press his lips to the side of Sungchan's head, burying his face into his hair—it prickles him.

"I'll do whatever you want, whatever you're comfortable with. If you want, we can stop." Shotaro finds Sungchan's hands and grips them in his own. "All you need to do is tell me."

Sungchan squeezes, their palms press together. "I don't want you to stop."

Shotaro waits. 

"I want to just—" he pauses and stutters, "j-just nothing too much…" Sungchan pulls away to bury his face in his hands. "Let's just get this over with." Shame fills him as the reality of the situation hits. He takes a deep breath, drops his hands from his face and lets out a puff of air. Shotaro frowns and experimentally puts his hands on him, testing for a reaction on every bit of available skin. Is this okay? is what he says.

Sungchan never protests, only silently approves. It's fine.

Shotaro had given him the option of anything he wanted, and Sungchan had said to just get it over with so… he makes it quick.

Shotaro leans Sungchan back and dives down, taking his cock in his mouth, sucking hard as Sungchan lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a yell. He grabs tightly onto the sheets beneath him as the noise escapes him, but before the sound even ends, Shotaro is off his cock, sucking on the skin around it. His tongue trails Sungchan, wetting each thigh one at a time with warm spit while a hand works at his ass, pinching and grabbing and pressing onto anything around it. One hand remains on his cock, stroking with varying pressure and speed up and down its shaft.

Sungchan trembles, swimming with the new sensation. He bites down on his lips to stifle any embarrassing noises but soon Shotaro's mouth is back on his cock—tongue spreading flat and dragging the same patterns his hand had previously pathed. Sungchan moans as Shotaro pulls the pressure up with his lips, following its trail with his hand's firm grip. His mouth focuses on his head while his hand simultaneously works once again on his shaft.

Sungchan's legs shake as Shotaro's tongue darts between his skin near his frenulum and his slit. The sheets below him are too hot, skin burning as he's worked towards his fever pitch. His arms flail—hands touching down his own body, the contact cooling. 

He gasps as Shotaro sucks—the man's cheeks puffing then concaving to make fuller contact between his cock and the supple inner skin of his mouth. Shotaro eyes Sungchan, fully focused on his face as he bobs up and down his cock. The intimacy of it makes his breath hitch and dick twitch and his hips jerk upwards involuntarily. Shotaro gags and his eyes water, turning his face an even deeper pink than it already is.

Sungchan's head fogs as he feels himself approaching the point that only he himself had worked himself towards before in confidence. He writhes, moaning incessantly as Shotaro increases the pace on his cock. His mouth presses in, suckles the spots that Shotaro can see make Sungchan cry the loudest.

Sungchan's breathing cuts as Shotaro sucks particularly hard on his tip, hands pushing and pulling at his inner thigh. It's Sungchan's warning for Shotaro as he gasps and splutters, as he shakes when pleasure takes over. Sungchan tries to speak, tries to send a message, but all that he can manage is a groaning "I—"

Shotaro gets the message; he just doesn't care for its consequences. He takes Sungchan's cock in his mouth fully now, letting the latter's thrashing movements slam his dick into the back of Shotaro's throat. Shotaro's eyes roll backwards as his throat is fucked and Sungchan watches through hooded eyes as Shotaro willingly takes his cock in again and again. Saliva drools down Shotaro's lips and to his jaw as his face loses all composure.

It's that look of Shotaro's unbridled want of him that pushes Sungchan over the edge. Hoarse moans and incomplete gasps escape him as Shotaro takes Sungchan the deepest he's been down his throat. Full body shudders pulsate through the man's body as the heat pooling below his stomach is pulled out of him. Sungchan's back arches as he grips the sheets below him, holding on for dear life as Shotaro continues at a manic pace, wringing out every last drop of his release that he readily laps up. 

Sungchan pants as he comes down from his high. Shotaro slows the pace on his dick, weaning himself off as it becomes uncomfortably sensitive.

Sungchan lays spread eagle, breathing in and out with long draws of air as Shotaro removes himself from his dick. He looks messy and a little ugly, but Sungchan thinks it's maybe the prettiest he's seen him yet. Shotaro tongue drags down and up off his cock one last time before his lips leave his head with a smack and a small pop.

Sungchan woozily stares down at Shotaro. His head spins as his gaze traces from his face and then to his dick. It occurs to Sungchan that throughout this Shotaro had gone almost completely untouched.

"I apologize," he says without thinking. "I didn't... ah—" and then Sungchan gestures awkwardly towards the general direction of Shotaro's crotch.

Shotaro raises an eyebrow curiously at his apology and then stifles a laugh at his explanation. "It's fine," he says, crawling up the bed towards Sungchan's actual head. Shotaro stops when their bodies are perfectly parallel and drops to his side next to him, wrapping his arms snugly around Sungchan's chest. "I live to serve after all," he adds humorlessly.

Sungchan blinks. Their naked bodies flush with each other is shockingly chaste and he floods with sudden affection towards the man.

"You're sure…?"

Shotaro nods and leans his chin gently against Sungchan's shoulder as he lays. "I'm sure."

Sungchan nods, jostling Shotaro's precarious position on his shoulder. He giggles and brings his hands upwards to hold Shotaro's arms around him, making sure they don't leave. He wants to stay like this for a while, no matter how sweaty and wet and sticky he may be. Sungchan feels unsually happy—unnaturally free. His eyes search the room and he grins happily at his precious glass canola flower before redirecting the smile down at Shotaro.

Shotaro yawns. "There's plenty of time later for you to return the favor."

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

There is plenty of time later. Shotaro returns to Sungchan's room the next day, and the day after, and the day after that day. Their nightly escapades continue frequently, occur often. They learn each other's bodies like the back of their hands and Sungchan leaves behind the terrible insecurity that comes with the wanting of someone with a body like his own. Having sex with another man isn't a punishment; it's a pleasure.

It's all they do during their nights. Shotaro knocks once on Sungchan's bedroom door. Sungchan lets him in. They have sex and then Shotaro is gone by morning light. Their secret stays between them and the night. During the day, they don't know each other, staunchly refusing to acknowledge each other's presence.

Their arrangement remains static for another ten or so of Sungchan's other arrangements. The women he talks to always complain about how unbearably disinterested Sungchan is. When his parents ask for an explanation, he always tells them they're unbearably uninteresting. Jungwoo remains disdainful towards Sungchan. He tells his brother to grow up, to stop being such a miserable person towards the women he goes on dates with. Soon Sungchan becomes deaf to his complaints. When some of Jungwoo's jewelry goes missing—stolen presumably by the thief who sent the ominous letter—Sungchan tells him it is deserved. After though, he makes sure to tell Shotaro to double check that he locks the door behind him when he leaves his room during the night.

Two months since the beginning of Sungchan and Shotaro's nights pass—the day had been horribly hot, thus its night wonderfully warm. Shotaro knocks once on Sungchan's door and it opens a moment later. Out of instinct, he reaches forward to grab onto Sungchan's body and close the distance, but instead of a body, Shotaro finds his hands wrapped around a bundle of fresh yellow flowers. He recognizes them as the same type as the decorative glass flower Sungchan keeps at the back of his room.

"Hello," says Sungchan with a shy smile.

Shotaro thrusts the flowers back at Sungchan, hovering the bundle under the other's nose. The bouquet hides Sungchan's upset frown. 

"Flowers make me sick."

Sungchan takes the flowers back and drops them to his side, revealing his very distressed expression. "Oh. I apologize, I didn't mean to…" he trails off, fumbling with the flowers before deciding to just throw them away into a far corner of his room. He claps his hands behind his back and stands straight, feet aligned neatly with each other, eyes pointed to his toes. He coughs.

Shotaro watches the yellow flowers hit the wall and flop to the floor. He fixes his gaze back to Sungchan who's shuffling side to side nervously. "Did you want to do something else tonight?"

Sungchan perks up, nodding eagerly before remembering the image he has to uphold and toning it down to a more serious shake. "I thought for today… we could possibly do something other than what we usually do." He looks at Shotaro with unintentionally big, pleading eyes. "Let's talk instead," he says hurriedly, "Let's learn about each other."

Frankly, Shotaro had not anticipated his response, nor is he interested in humoring it. Even if Sungchan is not terribly difficult, he is still a generally ill-mannered, seemingly vapid Jung. Shotaro had long ago come to the conclusion that Sungchan is very simple, not very deep. Perhaps it makes him a bad person, but to Shotaro, Sungchan is just sex. He feels anyway that it is fair for, after all, Shotaro attends to every and all of the Jung family's orders.

Of course—though Sungchan may have not realized it—he had just given Shotaro an indirect order so Shotaro must comply, "What would you like to know about me?"

Sungchan's eyes crinkle and he covers the growing smile on his face with his hands. It's a shy, innocent action that almost makes Shotaro feel bad about taking advantage of him. 

"Anything," he says and then Sungchan reaches forward to take Shotaro's hands in his own and drags him over to his bed. There's no lust in the motion, just eager excitement. He sits first, still gripping tight onto the other's hands and beams up at the standing Shotaro. Shotaro sits gingerly next to him, leaving a small space between the two. Sungchan doesn't seem to mind. His foot taps incessantly against the hardwood floor.

Sungchan releases one of Shotaro's hands and places it under his chin in a thinking sort of posture, hunching over to complete the look. "You're allergic to flowers?" is what he decides on.

"They make me sneeze." 

"Ah…" Back to the drawing board with the questions— "How was your day?" he tries instead, grimacing even as he says it.

Shotaro speaks plainly without affect, "The assistant cook was out today so I helped attend to your mother's culinary requests. She requested blueberry tarts instead of her usual blackberry. I told her the fruit is out of season. Regardless, I went to town to check the markets—there were none." He rolls one shoulder, exasperated. "After all that, her personal chef and I made the blackberry tarts."

"How frustrating." 

Shotaro nods and then silence falls upon the two. Sungchan tries a couple of more times to spark a conversation, but the flame only flickers in anticipation of its death. Eventually, the light of the lamp that illuminates their space dims and Shotaro finds himself itching to leave.

The lamp dies. The only light in the room that remains is the moon's dim glow that seeps in from the windows of Sungchan's wide windows. Shotaro leans his forehead back, springs forward to his feet, stretching as he stands, heading to the door. "I should go."

Sungchan is feeling awfully pitiful now. "Will you be back tomorrow?" he says miserably. 

Shotaro stops in his tracks, pausing at the only thing that could have made him stop in this moment— sincerity. He turns around to reface the man, sighing as he does so. "I will be back tomorrow," and then he gives Sungchan the comforting smile he knows from observation that he loves so dearly. It's wrong of him, he thinks, wrong of him to play with such a fragile heart.

It works of course. Sungchan is all doe eyes now. "I'll be waiting for you. Knock twice if you must." 

Shotaro surveys the room, looking anywhere but him and makes a small noise of agreement. He turns and walks away with heavy footsteps, knowing very well what's weighing him down—guilt.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

Sungchan insults Jungwoo's significant other the next day. To be fair to him—it was an accident, but regardless, it happened. Jungwoo swears loudly at him, cusses him out for being such a classist snob while Sungchan takes his berating without protest. He's learning now, maybe there is value in those without wealth.

Shotaro comes at night. He doesn't need to knock because Sungchan is waiting right outside his door for him. Around him is fastened a large, warm cloak with the hood pulled up. Draped around his forearm is another large, warm cloak. He throws the garment to Shotaro who puts it on without question. Quiet determination is etched across Sungchan's face. He leans forward to whisper in the other's ear, "I thought we could maybe take a walk… talking didn't work out too well for us."

They sneak out though there's no real need for it. The house is so large that they never would be heard. Sungchan walks aimlessly and Shotaro follows. He finds himself wandering towards the direction of the gardens but remembers swiftly, Shotaro is allergic to flowers.

Shotaro can see the direction he ambles towards and twists away from. He grabs Sungchan's arm, startling him, his small yelp loud in the silent night. Shotaro laughs fully for the first time. It makes Sungchan beam with pride.

"We can go to the gardens. Let's just rush by the area with too many flowers."

And so they do that—they run past the parts of the garden flush with flowers in full bloom. The long cloaks make it difficult to run properly so they lift them up off the ground in their race. It's so much easier for them to enjoy without words. They wind down as they reach a clearing without a flower in sight, only green hedges and green grass that appear near black in the night.

Sungchan flips the hood of his cloak down to better see his surroundings. Shotaro is smiling with his head tilted slightly up, twirling slowly in a small circle so he can take in the entirety of what's around him. His spins make Sungchan spin. It's enrapturing.

"It's easier this way isn't it?" he says. 

Shotaro, still smiling, stops spinning. "A lot easier."

Sungchan nods and plants himself down on the stone path even though its surface is less cushioning than the grass. If he sits on the grass someone will surely have an aneurysm at the ruined patch tomorrow. When Shotaro asks why he sits where he sits, Sungchan tells him the aforementioned and then he sits on the stone path with him.

Sungchan hugs his knees and eyes his polished shoes; Sungchan's not the one who polished them. "What do you think of me?"

There's no answer to the question that could satisfy Sungchan and Shotaro doesn't have an answer anyway. At least, not one suitable for the moment. He thinks hard. He thinks vapid, superficial things. Sungchan is attractive; he's handsome and tall and alluring, and Shotaro likes the way he's so pliant and eager in bed. He thinks he likes the way he can make his toes curl and the way he so readily preens when Shotaro ravishes him. Shotaro shallowly indulges in Sungchan. It hardly occurs to him that there's something deeper below the surface.

Shotaro thinks hard. What did he think of Sungchan? He answers honestly, "I don't think much."

Sungchan plays with a tassel on his cloak. "I didn't think you would. There's not much to think about, is there?"

Shotaro doesn't answer so he continues. "My brother despises me. I don't entirely blame him, I think. The staff here don't think much of me, you've told me before. My parents are constantly disappointed because I constantly disappoint the girls in their arrangements. I'm really not much of a person, am I? I know so little and yet I pretend I know so much." He gazes dreamily at the faint stars above him.

"You aren't all awful," is all Shotaro says.

Sungchan shrugs and they sit in silence for a while. It's comforting in the way it lets them mull over their thoughts. After some time, the two head back to Sungchan's room and depart before the door without a single word of departure. Their nights continue like this for a while. Sungchan waits outside the door and they race to the little clearing in the gardens where they lay silent until they go. Sometimes they skip the gardens and explore the woods behind the estate. One time they go picking the garden's strawberries. In the night's hours the ripe color of red is hard to parse, resulting in their harvest being less than fruitful. When they try them, Shotaro comments that they're definitely not fish. Sungchan doesn't understand the joke.

Occasionally their sessions outside Sungchan's room return to inside and they make love dispassionately, only trying to scratch the itch they'd gotten so used to rubbing away. In the meanwhile, their days remain static. Shotaro works while Sungchan exists pointlessly, going on dates where he spends the whole time daydreaming about a singular servant boy.

A silent night in the gardens is broken by Sungchan's question. "How was your day?"

Shotaro bristles at the question. He answers honestly, "It was terrible," he says and then elaborates fully on the day's predicaments. Sungchan listens attentively, nodding at the proper times and encouraging at the correct moments. Words flow easily out of Shotaro at Sungchan's coaxing and the former of the two finds that they're in a significantly better mood upon the end of the conversation.

Sungchan is the one with the comforting smile now. Shotaro stares confused. Is this what Sungchan felt when he saw his own? Shotaro shifts uncomfortably, concerned with the flurrying feelings inside him now. He can't have these—not towards him.

Shotaro stands, dead set on escaping the situation before him. He moves briskly away, Sungchan follows. "Do you ever need help?"

Shotaro stumbles. "What do you mean?"

"Do you ever need help? You work a lot, you're always overwhelmed. My day's activities are never much… so, do you ever need help?"

Blank, he speaks slowly now, "Yes…"

Sungchan grabs onto Shotaro's hands, pulls them up between them so he can clasp them together. His smile is so sweet, so sincere, and it makes Shotaro pause. "May I help you then?"

His throat is dry as he swallows, "Help…? Work?"

An eager nod in return and Shotaro tells him okay, he can fetch him tomorrow in the morning for work. They walk back to Sungchan's room hand in hand. Shotaro's nerves irritate him like pollen up his nose. When they depart, Sungchan swoops in, bold today for reasons Shotaro will never know, and presses his lips featherlight against his cheek. It shouldn't mean much—they've done that action and so much more plenty—but Shotaro's heart flutters regardless. Sungchan tugs off Shotaro's cloak and then disappears inside his room with one last precious, sparkling eyed look.

Shotaro remains there for a telling moment, shocked dumb by Sungchan's kiss.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning, Shotaro retrieves Sungchan and they work together on menial tasks that quickly escalate in difficulty as the days draw on. Unfortunately for Shotaro, Sungchan proves to be a quick learner and startlingly competent. The competence and the confidence that comes alongside it is stupidly sexy to Shotaro and the fervor of their sessions increase as a result of it. 

Surprisingly, no one catches onto their increasingly obvious relationship. The thought is just too strange—the overlarge Jung boy that has a zinger everyday about inferiority of the poor and the small faced servant that slaves away at whatever task is asked of him on the hour? Surely not. Some of the more perceptive staff have the smallest of suspicions, but they keep it to themselves. They have no interest in getting fired, and besides, they're enjoying the help.

One day Sungchan makes his mother's tarts without the help of her personal chef. This knowledge unbeknownst to her, she says they only taste a little different—perhaps the ingredients at the market were just less fresh. Shotaro finds it annoyingly attractive when he grins smugly at him from across the room and hurries away to do some other chore before Sungchan can follow him. Later that night, they walk through the gardens and confident, bold Sungchan blows him in the clearing despite how exposed the two there are. It's wet and messy and slightly deranged behavior, but it speaks aptly to the mental state of both of them.

Sungchan goes on one of his arrangements the next day with a pretty—yet awfully short—girl named Yeojin. He's more than a full head taller than her and she has to look to the sky when she wants to address him. He tries to be more engaged with her conversation, but his thoughts drift to Shotaro everytime. Luckily, she doesn't seem to mind too much.

For their date today, they're in the town wandering around randomly. Sungchan had almost got stuck at the girl's home for dinner with her parents, but apparently someone had accidentally set half her kitchen on fire. Their estate didn't burn down—it was fine. The kitchen was just temporarily unavailable.

Sungchan searches for something nice for Shotaro, but nothing catches his eye. Something whacks at his shoulders and he turns to see Yeojin smacking him while pointing aggressively at a stall full of small, oddly shaped, colored glass objects. 

"Look at those—aren't they gorgeous?" Sungchan nods and offers an arm to walk her there with. She doesn't take it and stalks off towards the stall alone. It miffs him slightly.

She surveys the beads, touching and holding all of them to her eye to inspect closely. Inside is a decorative array anything and everything one could ever find. The stall owner tells them they're expensive, but Sungchan pays no mind to the warning—he can afford it.

The craftsmanship is excellent and the thought makes Sungchan's heart pang a bit as he thinks of his glass flower. He pushes the thought away and refocuses on the task at hand—finding something for Shotaro. Yeojin takes fancy to a clear orange, bear-shaped, glass object and buys it in an instant, along with eleven other random things that she says are for her friends.

Sungchan is less whimsical with his choice. He carefully looks through each and every one of the objects. He supposes he could just buy out the whole stall, but the choice makes it more special in his opinion. Yeojin points to something in the corner of the stall—it's an ugly green glass frog and Sungchan immediately vetoes it, but besides it something catches his eye.

He picks up the object and turns the glass over and over in his hand. "He likes fish," he says absentmindedly out loud, remembering one of Shotaro's strange jokes that he had made when they had gone picking the garden's strawberries once. Yeojin gives him a curious look but doesn't question his sudden speech.

The glass object Sungchan holds now is shaped like a fish—long waving fins and a graceful flowing tail. The scales are defined individually and the piece a transparent ombre blue. Inside is some sort of glittering liquid that swishes around when it turns. Sungchan hasn't the faintest clue how something so small yet so intricate was made, but he knows wants it. He drops a fistful of coins onto the stall that he knows is far past overpaying and tells the owner to keep the change. The owner splutters out a thanks and tells him to at least take a chain for the charm if he's going to give him that much.

The stall owner reaches down under into a small box and produces a thin but sturdy silver chain that Sungchan realizes gets threaded through a small hole present at the top of all the glass objects—the charms. He takes it graciously from the owner with a charming smile and then waits patiently for Yeojin to finish shopping. While she ambles, he buys some apples and snacks on them. He offers one to her which she accepts gratefully.

They head back to their carriage. Sungchan departs from Yeojin with a farewell and her a goodbye. He had asked for a full bath to be prepared for when he returns, so he walks off hurriedly to the bathroom hoping the water hasn't lost its warmth by now. He arrives in the room with the basket full of the day's purchases still firmly grasped in his hand, unsure of why he didn't drop them off on a counter on the way there. His eyes scan the room and then he sees him—Shotaro kneels over the tub with his head laid on its side on top of an arm that rests on the rim of the tub. His other hand makes lazy circles in the water. 

Sungchan blubbers, having not expected to see him until later in the day, "Ah, you're not the one who usually draws my baths, unless I'm mistaken?"

Shotaro stirs from his spot on the floor and lifts his head up to look at the interruption. He grins, "I requested the task for today." Sungchan gulps, he had just wanted to relax. Upon seeing his expression, Shotaro laughs, "No need to worry. I'm not here for this—" He stands and walks forward to tap Sungchan's inner thigh— "I want to take care of you." And then Shotaro pries away the basket of his day's purchases and places them gently on the cold floor.

Sungchan is silent and uncomplaining as Shotaro's gentle fingers undress him. There's shockingly nothing sexual about the action, just wholly romantic. Shotaro's smile is tender and playful as he leads Sungchan to the tub. As he steps in, he feels no chill shock, only the water's still warmth. He lowers himself, eyes fixed onto Shotaro the whole time, hands still interlocked. 

Neither of them can quite figure out what's so tantalizing about this particular moment, why they're so enchanted. They stay lost in each other for a long moment until Shotaro speaks, breaking the spell.

"How was your day?" he mumbles, brushing Sungchan's hair away from his face to better look at him.

"It was well-enough… I got a gift for you."

"Did you now?"

Sungchan nods vigorously, "In the basket, go on and get it. It's wrapped in paper—be careful with it!"

Shotaro retrieves the thing and returns to the side of the tub, kneeling down so they can look at it together. He unwraps the tissue hiding the object, unveiling the blue glass fish charm. Sungchan watches his expression carefully, gauging how much he likes the gift. Shotaro laughs heartily, "It's a fish!" He passes the charm back and forth between his hands, eyes sparkling like the glitter inside it, adding, "Did you know my favorite color was blue?"

Sungchan shakes his head, "I didn't… there's a chain there too, you can hook the fish—" Shotaro laughs again at the unintentional joke— "and wear it."

Shotaro fishes out the chain and threads it through. He throws it on and fiddles with the small object around his neck—looking down and making it so his expression is difficult to parse. Sungchan is anxious now, "Do you like it?"

Shotaro looks up—it's that bright, comforting smile again. It reaches his eyes too, Sungchan realizes. He dips his head under the water, cooling and hiding his embarrassingly flushed skin. A hand reaches under and pulls Sungchan out from his attempt at a watery grave. Shotaro cups his cheek, holds him gently like he's a glass object. He leans forward, so close to him now. Their noses touch and Sungchan wants to close his eyes, but he just can't stop looking.

Shotaro's voice is high and light, cutting easily through the ambient noise. "I like it a lot." He moves himself closer, tilting his head sideways—an action Sungchan is so familiar with now. He closes his eyes as Shotaro speaks his next words, a soft whisper now, "I like you more." 

Their lips collide, but it's a slow crash. There's no wreck, no mess, no injuries to be found. They heal each other, fit neatly into each other, build each other up to a grand peak with no fear of falling. It's a delicate moment—fragile glass that could easily shatter—but the pressure is just enough. Shotaro kisses him as if he's the most precious thing he's ever held. Sungchan kisses him because he is the most precious treasure he's ever had.

They break apart only because they're starting to drown. They're delirious and happy and hoping their beautiful moments will never end.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

They fall in love because that's the natural path from where they progress. It's too easy for love to bloom when it's constantly watered, when it can constantly find the sun.

They lay in the garden clearing without the night to cover them. It's dangerous to be out in the open illuminated by daylight so bright, but they're fearless. They cherish the rare sunlit hours that can be spent alone together. The grass is their choice of ground today, not the typical stone path they used to avoid leaving traces of their whirlwind romance on. It doesn't matter to them anymore, their comfort takes priority for now.

Sungchan rolls over to lay himself partially on top of Shotaro. He closes his eyes and naps between twisted limbs, plush fabrics, and gritty grass. Shotaro tells him nonsense stories that have the effect of making him sleep even deeper. Eventually Shotaro knows he has to leave, so he rouses Sungchan from his slumber. The latter simpers in an attempt to get the former to stay, but it looks stupid on a sleepy face. They depart with a kiss and a hug. They'll see each other later anyway.

Sungchan heads inside, removing his coat in a halfhearted attempt to hide the trace amounts of dirt and grass on his clothing. Jungwoo meets him in the foyer, arm in arm with his lady friend. Sungchan studies her for perhaps the first time in his life. She's an average height, has wide eyes and a high nose. Straight, medium-length, black hair—she stands with her head high and back straight. Sungchan thinks he maybe sees what Jungwoo does now. She's pretty—sure—but she's prideful and strong and has so much self-respect that it makes Sungchan envious. It occurs to him that he doesn't even know her name. He asks.

She answers stiffly, "Sakura."

He nods, deep in thought—her name is a flower. This amuses him but he doesn't linger on it, only turns away from the two and walks off. Jungwoo makes an audibly confused noise but is shushed quickly.

Sungchan saunters from room to room looking for anything to do. The staff recognize him now, accept his strange role as the person they serve and occasional assistant. He helps assorted workers shortly with their chores as he wanders. He considers finding Shotaro, but he's somewhere outside lost to him on the estate's vast grounds. And anyways, Shotaro had seemed adamant about Sungchan going off on his own for today. 

This thought sobers Sungchan. It's expected that Shotaro wouldn't want to spend every waking hour with him. Of course he would need time alone, eventually get sick of all their time together—it was normal. This is normal. Regardless, it upsets him so he stops thinking about it, pushes this ugly thought to the side of his mind far, far away.

He heads up to his room and opens the door without a key. For a while now he has completely foregone locking the door to his room, only locking it when Shotaro and him are alone together in it. It's so much easier for Shotaro to enter with it unlocked and Sungchan is starring to think his reasons for his lockings in the first place seem a little paranoid. Maybe Jungwoo was right—he did have no concept of value. He's learning now—learning what's important.

He flops into his bed and stares at his favorite treasure, his most prized possession—the yellow and green glass canola flower. Its grip on him is no longer so tight. Looking at the flower no longer leaves him with a sense of melancholy so mysterious. He can decipher the feeling now. It hurts less, maybe even not at all. It's worth less—maybe not in monetary value, maybe not to the market—but the value is certainly different.

He lays there a while, reminiscing on fond memories until he's roused from his stupor by his parents' loud knocking on his door. Sungchan tells them the door is unlocked and they enter with an opened letter signed with deep red ink and stamped with a fancy seal. Sungchan sits up and eyes the letter suspiciously, "What does it say?"

His mother waves her hand placatingly while his father hands him the letter. Sungchan scans it quickly. It's a letter from the Im family—Yeojin's family—praising his good behavior and fine manners. It says they'd be interested in getting to know him and how he suits their daughter further. Sungchan, puzzled by what he's reading, reads it another two times for good measure. He's fairly certain he was the most middling quality of gentleman during their excursion.

His father speaks now, "We'll be writing back to them an invitation for dinner and day here. It'll be taking place next week." Sungchan begins to protest, but he's hushed quickly. "This is the first woman that's shown a modicum of interest in you. Be grateful."

His mother interjects, "We understand this isn't your ideal sort of day, but it's a day. Push through and try for us, please. You may come to enjoy it."

Sungchan knows perfectly well what 'it' actually is. 'Come to enjoy her' is what they mean to say. Sungchan will never have any interest in her, but he has no plans to ever expose why so he shuts up, nods, and his parents leave smiling satisfied. They leave after patting his cheek and ruffling his hair, so pleased with how smoothly the conversation had gone.

He throws his head back on his pillow and contemplates what this means for him. More forced days out with Yeojin? Well—she is not the worst person he'd been forced out with, but he doesn't want her to have any incorrect ideas about what they are. He sniffs and sighs, turning on his side to tuck his hands under his head. Sungchan decides to wait for Shotaro to come. It won't be long, the sun is already setting.

He waits and Shotaro never comes that night. The nap from earlier only serves to make Sungchan stay awake longer, wait longer.

The next day Sungchan looks for Shotaro but is unable to find him. Panic and misery swell in him, but he remains calm. He resigns himself to waiting longer but Shotaro doesn't come the next night either.

On the third night, Shotaro finally comes. He really hasn't been gone long, but Sungchan is codependent and too used to the routine they had carved for themselves. He takes long strides over to Shotaro and envelopes him in the tightest hug he's ever given to anyone in his life, holding him like he wants them physically bound together. Shotaro reciprocates equally. It's that that stops Sungchan from tearing verbally into him.

Sungchan presses an innocent kiss to his lips, then drags him downwards. They lay in a crumpled heap on the cold floor because he can't bring himself to make the movements towards his bed. It's cozy as long as he has Shotaro anyways. "I missed you," is what he says. Where were you? is what he doesn't need to say.

Shotaro is stiff, "I was busy."

Sungchan doesn't press further. He's just glad he's here with him.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

They return to form quickly—more than return, really. Shotaro is aggressive with his affection and Sungchan is easy to love. It's easy for Shotaro to do anything for Sungchan because he'd been doing that for years. It's easy for Shotaro to give Sungchan everything he wants because all he wants is him. They're silly and senseless because their brains have been mashed into a paste by their sheer adoration for each other.

"What do you think of me?" asks Sungchan one night. They're mucking out the horses' stalls together. It's not a hard task. Truly it doesn't need the both of them, but it's more efficient and it gives Sungchan an excuse to be with Shotaro.

Shotaro has a flashback to the answer he told Sungchan long ago, to the day in these same stables that they first properly talked. His good mood dissipates and he laughs bitterly, "You're as nice as you look." Sungchan miffs at the response—it's not what he wanted or expected to hear. And Shotaro doesn't bother to elaborate, only continues to bash his rake against straw. Sungchan sighs, throws extra straw into the stall he works on. He'll try to get a proper answer out of him later.

During the night, Shotaro asks him if he can stay the night. When Sungchan looks at him confused, he clarifies, "I'd like to stay the whole night."

"You're always welcome to stay." Sungchan pulls him closer in the bed they share and makes a measly attempt to fluff the pillows beneath their heads. Shotaro has never stayed the entire night before, both usually too paranoid about getting caught. Silence fills the small space between them and Sungchan feels the prickling need for it to disappear.

"Did I tell you about dinner with the Im family today? Or were you there?" Shotaro shakes his head to both. "It was strange. I don't think about it much now that I have you—" They snuggle closer to each other and Shotaro buries his head in Sungchan's chest— "But it's truly odd seeing all these people imagine me with a woman… imagining myself with one. I don't know what I'll do in the future but it certainly won't be spent with someone I have no love for."

Shotaro removes his head from Sungchan's chest and looks up to examine the other's expression—concern etched across his very own. He blinks rapidly, "You have no love for them…"

Sungchan nods.

"Are you implying that you have love for me?"

Sungchan hesitates and doesn't answer. He asks a question instead. "Can I tell you a story?"

Shotaro makes no attempt to acknowledge his response, just puts his head back down on Sungchan's chest and closes his eyes. He takes that as an invitation to continue. 

"Do you see this glass flower—the canola flower over here?" He points to the back of the room where the object is kept on display. Shotaro opens his eyes to look and nods when he spots it. "I commissioned for it to be crafted around three years ago. The maker was around your age now… I admired his work for years. As you can see—" he gestures at the flower, "he was very skilled."

"He was young, he was a prodigy, and he was sure to make it big. His pieces are renowned now, incredibly valuable. It's my most prized possession… I poured an obscene amount of money to have it made and I always told myself it's because of that money that it was worth so much to me. But now I know that's not the truth."

"It's my favorite flower… made with such wondrous craftsmanship—it's a beautiful thing. After the piece was finished, the maker I so admired died. This was the last thing he created before he passed."

Shotaro's voice is small, guilty, "I'm sorry."

Sungchan sniffles, rubs his eyes. "Don't be sorry. It's not like there's anything to be sorry about… Anyways, I've told myself for years that it was so valuable because of the money, that I only ever cared because of money and wealth and the status it represented. It was easy to lie to myself since it was worth so much, yet also worth so much to me. But with you, I've accepted a different part of myself… one that's capable of…"

He trails off, eyes going awry to the sky for a moment before refocusing back the man below him laid on his chest. Sungchan threads fingers through Shotaro's hair, rubs soft circles into his scalp with an unavoidable tenderness. His chest bursts with fondness, affection, and a feeling even stronger than the two.

"...one that's capable of love." Shotaro startles at the honesty of the confession, stops at its sincerity. Sungchan isn't lying, he's telling the truth. He's confessing a secret so sinful yet so sweet.

Shotaro is still, heart beating fast. "So you do have love for me…?"

Sungchan trails soft touches down his skin, avoids the question once more, "I know now that I liked the artisan who crafted this flower, liked him in a way that implies more than just casual acquaintance. I wanted him and he represented every part of my repressed self that was so important to me, but so hidden. I still want him in a sense, but it's a sort of longing for a past that wasn't so frightening. It scares me being honest, confronting the unforgivable and shameful bits of myself I've tried to distance myself from, grow from."

He plays with Shotaro's hands, his fingers, his ears, anything grabbable and small and tangible. "I know I could love you, I know I can love you. I want to love you, but I'm always afraid I'm not doing it right."

He continues, unsteady and fluttering, "I'm afraid that I have quite a lot of love for you, but I've been so selfish and greedy that I have no clue how to give it away."

They're quiet for a long while, holding each other steady in the torrent of emotions that overwhelm them now. They are each other's anchors, steadfast rocks in the violent seas. The dam is broken, has been broken, but its waters have only just begun to flood. The waters wash Sungchan of his wrongs, and from there he plans to make his life anew.

Shotaro holds Sungchan tight, unspoken words refusing to spill out. Sungchan doesn't know what they are, he just hopes he doesn't drown.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

There's tension between them after. They're tense, Sungchan can tell. It's not a pleasant feeling—confessing your love for someone and then getting half a cold shoulder back—but there's nothing he can do to change it. The thing is, it's only half a cold shoulder. The other side is very warm. Shotaro has two distinct sides to him now. One is frigid and apathetic while the other is manic and overeager, almost aggressive in the affection it demands.

Sungchan doesn't like either side much, nor can he figure what's truly causing it. He figures it must be something deeper than his confession because sometimes he will catch Shotaro looking a little too fond—but then if Sungchan is caught staring, Shotaro will turn from a little too fond to much too guilty.

He disappears a lot now. Their nights together are no longer more often than not. They lack the structure and schedule of previous days. When Sungchan is lucky enough to have Shotaro for the night, the latter will usually barge in, demand his attention in a voice that's too needy to be normal, and they'll spend it with their focuses only for each other. One day Sungchan manages to gather the courage to ask why he's like this now. Shotaro tells him he's making up for lost time—it's the wrong answer to the wrong question.

Currently, it's a bright sunny day and Sungchan prattles around his room looking for one of his nice brooches. He can't find it, so he goes around to ask the maids. They have no answers for him. Perhaps he misplaced them.

"Or perhaps they were stolen."

Sungchan turns towards the voice. It's Jungwoo who leans against the entryway to the dining room in which Sungchan currently searches. His brother has his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. There's no need to ask what the look of disapproval is for. Sungchan knows the disapproval is for himself.

A sigh, "If they were stolen, that's a shame. I suppose it wasn't a big loss though."

Jungwoo raises an eyebrow, "Always looking at things in terms of their value, aren't you?"

Sungchan frowns. That's not what he meant. "I didn't—"

"Sungchan!" He knows that voice, will always know that voice. Shotaro rushes over and grabs Sungchan by the arm, making to steer him away from Jungwoo. The servant and the brother both sneak a glance at each other. The latter looks almost amused, attentive interest on his face, fascinated seemingly by the mere existence of the interaction. The former on the other hand is skittish, anxious with an energy that reveals a secret—guilt. Shotaro looks guilty. Sungchan can see this. He ignores it.

"Shotaro, I haven't seen you in…" he trails off. Sungchan hasn't seen him in almost a week. The other's guilty expression flashes in his mind… no—enough of that.

"I know. Let's leave," and then Shotaro leads the two of them away from Jungwoo. His movements are brisk, swift. They reveal another secret—how badly Shotaro wants Sungchan to get away from his brother.

Sungchan's mind whirls a little too fast for him to even comprehend his thoughts. Long buried memories resurface as suspicion tumbles in and pushes them out—I've worked here a little while… I usually was called to assist your brother… when Sungchan had asked if Shotaro had ever been with another man. He'd pressed a finger to his lips—Obviously… and then every single moment of plain guilt Sungchan had ever caught on Shotaro's face…

He doesn't think this can be right. It feels wrong to think, to even consider. Shotaro would never do that to him, would he? Their time together was special. Those smiles and eye crinkles and rarely seen dimples were for him, no? …right? Sungchan was maybe not the best at giving Shotaro his love, but surely Shotaro would not have taken it so callously.

Unease fills him. The tension of their coexistence grows. Sungchan opens his mouth to speak, to ask a question and get an answer, but Shotaro stops him. A finger to his mouth, a hand on his back rubbing up and down, massaging knots and taut stress away. Sungchan is easy. He melts at the touch, at the pretty comforting eyes that look his way, that look only at him…

It's easy to ignore the itch once it's scratched.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

It's late, it's night, it's later. Sungchan isn't expecting Shotaro tonight. When he had seen him earlier he seemed frazzled and unfocused—mind occupied with something he had no intention of revealing to Sungchan. He had asked anyway, but all Shotaro had given him was a guilty look. Guilt was becoming too common in their lives. What is guilt even? Sungchan thinks. Well, guilt is many things. It is wrongs and faults and sins and crimes. Guilt is the regret and remorse and the repentance that follows. Guilt is the self inflicted punishment for your shameful crimes. Sungchan wonders why Shotaro has so much guilt inside of him.

As he leans out the window of his lavish room, he ponders the question. It's one he hasn't many theories for, or at least, many theories he'd like to focus on. So instead he concentrates on the mundane. Outside and below is the ugly large shrub that he'd forgotten to ask for the gardeners to get rid of. The greenery has hardly discernible hues in the night. He picks apart their subtle shades until he's bored and then categories their shapes. It's a droning action, but Sungchan needs the monotony that it brings. The banal repetition that has his rapt attention is the only thing that's keeping him from falling out the window.

He's so distracted that he doesn't notice the man entering the room. A sneaking thief slowly approaches, creeping forward with tipped toes. He reaches an arm out, the hand outstretched, the fingers elongated to breach the distance. The thief taps on Sungchan's shoulders and he whirls to face him... It's Shotaro—the man who stole Sungchan's heart. 

Sungchan's heart pounds in his chest with sudden fear or terrible passion—he's not sure which. Contrary to him is Shotaro. He's terribly calm, unnervingly so—docile in sense, but there are no signs of subdue.

"I didn't expect you today."

Shotaro closes the gap between them with an unsettling hug. Sungchan can physically feel the resignation, an acceptance that feels like the final stage of grief. He tries to ask, but he's hushed quickly.

"I don't want to answer questions tonight," says Shotaro. He pulls apart from Sungchan now, cradles his face in his hands as he gazes upwards towards the heart he stole—the heart he owns.

Sungchan nods—it's the only response he feels is acceptable.

Shotaro is glad for his answer, so he kisses him as a token of his gratitude—a sweet gift for his secret sin. It's wrong of him really to kiss so soft and tender, but he's already lost all virtue, so it's no more than another transgression in his long list of crimes.

It's languid but purposeful and soon they're both lost in the motions. They're too familiar with this beaten path that's led them astray. The cracks and nooks and crannies in the road are committed to memory. They know best where to step, when to walk, where to run, so they may find their way out or deeper in. 

It's a while before they stray from the path. They separate but they're still so hopelessly lost. Shotaro takes Sungchan's hand. He will lead him away, not necessarily out.

He tugs on Sungchan, acting coy even though the one he lures knows he's anything but. Sungchan takes the bait—besides, it's really only Shotaro that's afraid of getting caught.

Shotaro kisses him again, but this time his sweetness is sticky with a honeyed richness. It's easy for Sungchan to get attached to this sort of thing, so he gets stuck. Shotaro tastes too good for Sungchan to not crave for more when he can no longer feast.

They break apart only because it's a necessity for more. Shotaro is slow—he wants to drag the moment on, let it be a long memory so there's more to reminisce on later. Sungchan is quick—he just wants Shotaro. Their clashing momentums betray no motives because the overarching intention is the same—to love each other with a sincerity their opposite cannot doubt.

Sungchan is swift to remove Shotaro's clothes. There's none of hesitance, none of the fear, and none of the shame from their first time. They're far too familiar with each other's bodies and far too in love for any of the guilt to matter in their moment.

Bare before him, Sungchan appreciates the sight. Shotaro is lean and strong from all the manual work he's done for years, physique neither unalike or like his rugged character. Shotaro is softer at a glance, but he's toned and defined and shapely in ways that make Sungchan burn with desire. An alluring aesthetic of ready confidence that captives him in a passion beyond words.

Sungchan hardly notices his own state of complete dress, too distracted to pay attention to those irrelevant details. Shotaro kisses him, slowly still, and gently peels Sungchan's clothing away. It all goes with ease, experience with the process evidently apparent.

Naked intimacy beguiles ardent fervency. Shotaro sits on the bed and Sungchan leans over to meet him. He opens his mouth wider, an invitation for Sungchan to go further in. He accepts and it all becomes spit and sound—wet kisses that can hardly even be considered that anymore. 

Sungchan examines Shotaro's body by touch. It's a non-judgemental appraisal—a study not to critique nor assess, only to admire. The pressing feeling, the long caresses on Shotaro are thanks. A thank you for being a precious treasure—Sungchan knows very well how to appreciate those.

He's the slow one now and Shotaro the quick desperation. It's all irrational thought—all he wants is Sungchan. He needs Sungchan to take him, break him maybe too. Shotaro has enough guilt, enough self inflicted punishment. What he needs is for someone else to damn him, for Sungchan to carry out the condemning blows.

Shotaro doesn't pull on Sungchan, that would imply a possibility for other option. No—he forces Sungchan to grip him tight, tighter. Take control, is all his hands ask. Sungchan is unfortunately too kind to exert his authority like that anymore.

It's frustrating so Shotaro wrenches himself from their slow suffering, wet kiss. He takes Sungchan's dick and jerks it, he stumbles. This is not for any pleasure, it's for attention.

"Listen to me—" he says, an issued command antithetical to the position he requires— "I want you to use me. I need you to ruin me." There's hellfire in Shotaro's eyes, everlasting torment really isn't far.

Sungchan is hesitant for the first time that day. He hesitates as he looks Shotaro over, concerned at his erratic statements.  

"What do you mean?"

Shotaro is annoyed now. This is annoying. He jerks him furiously and Sungchan almost falls to his knees, supported only by Shotaro's strong arms, not his own wobbling frame. 

Shotaro could get him off like this, but neither of them want that, so he ceases his assault. They both breathe hot air for different reasons. Shotaro finally gives a warm answer to Sungchan's taut neck. He massages the muscle, he massages his dick.

"I meant what I said. Use me. Own me." Shotaro lets go, falls back onto the bed, lets his back hit the mattress and lays his body bare—another invitation. His eyes are hard, heavy focus. From his mouth, words drip with honey.

"Make me serve you."

Sungchan honestly isn't used to giving orders, but it's alright, Shotaro is used to taking them. He ignores Sungchan's confused spluttering—isn't he supposed to be doing that?—and makes his way over to the bedside dresser where the little container of slick wet substance lays. He throws it on to the bed for later, for now. He stands in front of Sungchan, absentmindedly caressing his lover's cock.

"Make me take it." Sungchan's eyes widen at the demand. Shotaro is always the giver, never the receiver, and now he's asking to take. It's a new opportunity, a new experience, a flavor he's never got to taste, and now he's hungry for it. 

Hesitance melts away. Shotaro had asked to be used, so Sungchan obliges.

It's easy to fall into another state of mind when someone's luring you to the other side. Sungchan takes Shotaro in his arms, but there's nothing nice about it. He crushes their bodies together, chest to chest, and kisses him again, but it's hard and biting and he sucks until Shotaro's lips are red and raw. 

He wants to make the rest of his body color red, flush pink, maybe bruise blue if he's lucky. Shotaro whimpers under his touch as Sungchan leaves mottled marks down his neck. He's at his chest now—will soon make his messy way further down—but Sungchan is too tall and if he were to keep Shotaro standing, he would have to kneel below him. 

He won't be doing that. Sungchan will not be the one showing submission. He pushes Shotaro roughly onto the bed and climbs on top of him, lording high above to continue his attack. His fingers dig into Shotaro's stomach, the tips bruise points into his thighs, find unyielding purchase on his ass.

His lips are no gentler, rougher even. He sucks hard on a nipple until it swells, refusing to quell the heavy pressure. Every suction on Shotaro's skin leaves a mark, a little memento to remind him that he's Sungchan's. He tells him so— "I own you." Shotaro had asked to be made his and these are his branded marks.

"You are mine."

Sungchan's right hand blindly searches the bed as his tongue traces circles around Shotaro's other nipple. The left hand lazily lashes in and out of Shotaro's mouth, pulling at his tongue, reaching down his throat and then stopping once he gags. Sungchan could offer him the luxury of his cock, but he's not sure he deserves it.

Shotaro gasps for air, body trembling with anticipation, twitching when a tactile sensation is too severe. He attempts to speak words, but the hand in his mouth holds them inside him. He squeaks out something incomprehensible instead.

Sungchan removes his spit soaked hand, a moment of reprieve for someone he loves so dearly.

"What did you say?" he asks. He'll allow him one attempt at an answer. 

Starfished against the bed, Shotaro is disheveled, but he's not the panting mess Sungchan wants. His arousal is clear on his erect cock, untouched and leaking precum. Sungchan's own is the same. He finds the little container Shotaro had thrown to bed as he waits for the answer.

"I said—" Shotaro taunts—"I didn't realize you had it in you." He continues, plump lips forming unflattering words that call back to time before, but only remind Sungchan of a current affair, "I should have known. You've always been the easiest Jung."

Sungchan raises an eyebrow, irritation shooting throughout him. Easy? Easy what? The easiest Jung to fool he supposes, to trick into doing Shotaro's bidding. Sungchan is annoyed, almost furious. The taunt sticks in his ear, jeering at him, robbing him of any noteworthy title.

Fine—if Sungchan's of no significance, then he'll just have to make the moment memorable.

Shotaro opens his mouth again, surely another frustrating comment to follow, but Sungchan doesn't let him. He puts a dry finger to the other's mouth, uttering a rough "Shh" as he does, and with the hand soaked in Shotaro's spit, shoves two long fingers into his ass.

The effect is instantaneous. No longer does Sungchan need to put a finger to his mouth to get him to shut up. Shotaro's ass is tense and the sudden force makes him tremble. His breathing is heavy as Sungchan curls his fingers inwards, rolls them around inside of him. Shotaro writhes as Sungchan's fingers glean over his prostate. He works at it, hard pressure rubbing the area, pushing his fingers on and off repeatedly into the surrounding muscle. Shotaro lets out a sharp moan and relaxes into his touch. He gasps for air, wriggling beneath Sungchan's looming figure, arms reaching out to grip at Sungchan so as to hold on and thrust his fingers stronger into him.

Sungchan doesn't want him to relax. He deserves to be on edge. He takes the hand that once shushed Shotaro's mouth and grips his dick with it. Firm strokes up and down have Shotaro quickly whimpering. Sungchan thinks Shotaro is enjoying the tandemed motions too much so he removes the fingers from his ass.

Shotaro's face morphs into one of distress. He whines, desperate and needy, "Why stop?" Sungchan ignores him, continues to stroke his cock for a moment longer, then stops that too.

"I don't think you deserve any of this," he says scathingly.

Shotaro doesn't understand the situation fully, but he supposes this is part of the damnation he'd been waiting for. His body burns with the ache for more, the flickering flames of hell preparing him for his final punishment. He pulls himself up into Sungchan's space, arms around his shoulders, face to face, legs wrapping themselves around the back of his thighs.

"What do I need to do to deserve this? Tell me what to do and I will do it." Shotaro closes his eyes, whispers in his ear, "Anything for my master."

Sungchan balks for a half-moment, head swimming with the implications of the sudden words. He recomposes himself quickly and looks down at the man presenting himself to him. Anything, anything, anything.

Anything for him.

Anything for his master.

Even when facing betrayal, lust is too hard to not bow to. Sungchan gives in. Shotaro may serve him, may have already given him Judas's kiss, but he was a thief and he stole Sungchan's heart. Shotaro may serve his master, but Sungchan was a slave to his sin.

"Anything for me?" he says gruffly. Shotaro nods, eager to please. Sungchan removes himself from him. Like their first time, he leans back—a false image of unconcerned indifference—but this time Sungchan is the one with control, with all the power. He grabs Shotaro's hair, pulls his head down to level with his cock. "Figure it out for yourself. Show me you deserve it."

Shotaro gives his fully erect cock a brief look—the length of it having long lost its daunting quality—and chokes. It's different from the other times he's blown him. There's none of the careful restraint, the line that marks Shotaro's limit is undrawn. There's only earnest committal, an action performed with unwavering devotion.

He refuses to use his hands to aid in his worship. This is his test of faith and he will resist the urges that show him as anything but worthy.

Sungchan appreciates the steady eye contact, the way he treats him like a being divine, and the way he fucks his throat until his eyes tear. The only way to describe the way his head rhythmically bobs up and down, the way he inhales him like he's the air he breathes, and the way his low rumble of his moans feel against his cock is heaven. Shotaro will take him to the sky and leave him up on cloud nine if given the option.

Sungchan takes away the option. "Enough," he says, voice wavering as he fights off the moans that would reveal his weakness. "Enough," he repeats, pushing a slobbering Shotaro off his cock.

Shotaro waits, eyes fixed on Sungchan, entirely devout—a picture perfect image of complete faith. He's patient because he wants to please. Shotaro is hardly anything now but an order on standby.

He doesn't have to wait long. They're both sick of waiting, sick of anticipation and suspense and all the ilk. Sungchan fumbles momentarily with the container of slick, letting it slip that he's just as impatient on the inside as Shotaro is. He smiles at the sight—his prayers were heard.

Sungchan coats his fingers with the slick substance inside. Shotaro fixates on the promise of a wet slide that drips from Sungchan's fingers to his palm. 

"Turn for me." It's an order that Shotaro grumpily complies. He turns away from Sungchan, in front of him now are only white pillows and white wallpaper. Sungchan shoots him a questioning look, "What?"

Shotaro sighs. More waiting, more wasted time. He should have just shut his mouth. "I wanted to see you."

Sungchan raises an eyebrow, "Why?" Shotaro hesitates; Sungchan prompts, "Tell me."

"Because I love you—" Sungchan stills— "and I want to see you." Shotaro is quiet now, adds almost inaudibly, "I want to remember this."

Sungchan only blinks, and then with a dry hand, he easily flips Shotaro to face him. He falls on his back. "Okay," Sungchan says, leaning forward for a quick kiss; "Okay," he repeats breathlessly as the swift suction leaves Shotaro's lips sore once more. Wet feeling enters him as Sungchan kisses him again—a loving peck, a sweet strike. Sungchan lathers Shotaro's ass with the lubrication. It's cold and he's warm.

Sungchan plays with him a little longer, stretching and scissoring his ass with his fingers just so he can watch the desperation grow on Shotaro's face. Sungchan can barely stand it himself. His own cock is still slathered with Shotaro's spit, still red and hard and leaking precum. He adds the lubrication for good measure, strokes it once as Shotaro watches wide eyed.

He begins to beg. "Please. Let me feel you. I want you inside of me. Please, please." His whining is practically a wail, his want is white hot.

"Master, please."

The want is too much to handle now, he can't prolong the wait any longer than he already has. Sungchan mumbles softly, "For you, anything," then pulls the other man's legs up and out. He brings himself in between Shotaro's legs, on his knees in front of the laying figure so he can angle his dick down and fuck into him properly. 

He enters slowly at first, but Shotaro is losing his mind. He babbles incoherently. "I want to feel you all inside of me. I want all of you. I want you. Let me have you. Please. Sungchan." He gives into his pleas, holds Shotaro's tensing legs in place as he fully enters him, the latter's breath hitching as Sungchan's cock brushes by his prostate. 

Sungchan sits still fully inside him now, and Shotaro's hips thrust to try and create the fiction he so desires. Sungchan holds him down, forcing him to remain motionless. Right now, he's not the one in control—Sungchan is. 

He sets the pace—it's a slow tantalizing drag. Sungchan thrusts into him in and out unhurriedly, making sure that every in is a purposeful slam into his ass. As his cock rubs back and forth against Shotaro's prostate, his arousal grows. He whimpers pathetically, a high pitched plea for more because the current pace is too teasing.

"Sungchan, please. Faster—" he begs.

Sungchan tsks in spiteless disapproval. "Ah, call me something else."

Shotaro squirms. "Master, please." 

He nods approvingly, holds the tip of his dick at Shotaro's entrance. Shotaro watches entranced, squirming in anticipation. Sungchan takes one breath, half another, then slams back into Shotaro hard. 

He cries out—a pitchy yell halfway to a scream—but before the sound has even finished, Sungchan has thrust into him once more. Shotaro cries out again, gasping between short bated breaths. Sungchan is fairing no better than him, low groans fall from his mouth every time Shotaro's ass tightens around his cock. An audible reaction eliciting from Shotaro's mouth whenever Sungchan's sounds are a tone too high.

Trembling legs loosely cage themselves around the high of Sungchan's back. Sungchan holds them in place with one hand, supporting his shaking love as he rubs his thighs with soft circles, pulling gently at the skin. Shotaro's hands fly across his own body, dragging fingers across the bottom of his stomach where heat pools, squeezing and fondling the buds of his nipples to build the mounting sensation before climax, sucking on his own fingers because he misses the way Sungchan fit inside his mouth so nicely.

Sungchan studies Shotaro now. His untouched cock curled against his stomach leaking precum. His subtlety of the curves of his body are a contrast to his face flushed bright pink, back arching sharply into his pounding as his mouth stays stuck open slightly ajar. Shotaro's face is under no control of his own as he pants and whines and whimpers. Dark hair, subtly dewy with sweat frames him like a halo. He looks like bliss. He's stunningly gorgeous.

And he's Sungchan's.

He talks in a low tone, telling his beautiful, writhing mess below him soft compliments, "You're the loveliest flower I've ever laid my eyes on, the most amazing one I've ever known. You're perfect."

It's an easy slide now as Shotaro lays untensed, chest heaving and limbs quaking. Both their breathing becomes labored as Sungchan continues to fuck into him. He grunts and groans, one hand holding tightly onto Shotaro's for no other reason than they like the tactile touch. Shotaro's moans grow louder, the frequency increasing. A string of words, interrupted every other second by his erratic breathing, begin to fall from his mouth. I love you, I love you, I love you, you feel so fucking good. Like that. Please, Master, please, please.

Sungchan pounds in and out of him at the pace he likes, resolutely keeping the rhythm as its repetition drives Shotaro mad. Loud and indecent noises fill the room, pure filth spewing out of his mouth. Sungchan is approaching insanity as well, tumbling towards the edge, about to fall off the cliff towards his climax. He never relents at Shotaro's sensitive spots and soon the latter is hoarse, barely able to speak. Neither of them can anymore. Shotaro's muscles tense and his whole body twists and turns, thrashes and jerks. He moans out unsteadily, "I—ah-ah, I wuh-want… 'nta come."

He gasps, the sound heavy, and Sungchan watches as Shotaro's eyes roll back and he bites hard on lip, closing his eyes to prevent himself from getting lost to the throbbing feeling.

Sungchan is lightheaded, mind a muddled mess. He sorts his priorities, arranging them neatly in importance, then grabs onto Shotaro's cock and mirrors the steady rhythm of his thrusts. It's hard, intensive work, but Shotaro had just confessed his love, and at this point Sungchan would do anything for him.

He manages to string together a half-baked sentence, "For me… let me see you. You can…"

Shotaro's head is lolling. The hard thrusts and the heavy rhythm are too much, and with one last shuddering moan, he spasms uncontrollably under Sungchan, coming all over himself, the white substance spilling onto his stomach. Sungchan thinks he may be seeing stars from how dizzy the sight makes him. He continues to pound in and out of Shotaro, hand firm on his cock, helping him ride out his orgasm while chasing his own.

Shotaro comes down from his high still fucked out of his mind. He continues to ride out Sungchan's quick, impatient thrusts, waiting for him to hit his fever pitch. Shotaro's eyes are closed and his hands are squeezed tight around his love's. It doesn't take much more for Sungchan to reach his climax. With one final thrust, he gasps and pulls out as his comes. Shotaro is quick to help, grabbing his cock and gliding up and down fervently, hands being painted as Sungchan finishes. 

Sungchan groans and slumps forwards, enveloping Shotaro in a hug despite how disgusting the sticky sensation of sweat and come is on them. The lantern that once illuminated their space burns out now, perfectly timed to cap off their consummation. Sungchan laughs, happy, and Shotaro laughs with him.

They settle for a long moment, the nasty sensations held at bay by the influx of chemicals circulating through their brains that fuel their ecstacy. Sungchan kisses Shotaro—chaste and romantic—then leans his head against his chest, taking in the sight of mottled bruises stamped across his skin. He mumbles, "Sorry," but he doesn't really mean it.

Shotaro doesn't care. He plays with Sungchan's hair. It's sweaty and gross, but again, he likes him too much to care.

Sungchan preens under his touch, his loving affection making his heart beat faster than even any of the previous sequence of events did. Too tired to lift his head now—he presses a kiss to his own fingers, then those fingers to Shotaro's lips. He closes his eyes. "I love you."

In his ear, Shotaro's heartbeat is irregular. He removes a hand from Sungchan's hair, holds it to his lips as if to press the kiss there forever, seal it away so it's never stolen. Sungchan can't see any of this. He can't see that the way that he moves is heavy, can't see that his eyes are lidded with a deep sadness. Sungchan cannot see it because his eyes are closed.

"I love you too," Shotaro says. Sungchan doesn't need sight for this at least. He can hear the certainty of the words, comfort laden in his speech like how it's usually present in his eyes. He's tired, and Shotaro has drugged him with his love. Shotaro's arms are tight around him, a squeezing safety that will surely never let go.

Sungchan nods off, sleep beckoning him to its domain as a feeling fills his heart—love.

-ˋˏ ༻❃༺ ˎˊ-

When Sungchan wakes, it's still night and his bed is empty aside from himself. This isn't usual for him, but there's a creeping disturbance he can feel in the room. His skin feels gross—the consequences of not washing after sex finally getting to him—and no longer is he pumped with the burgeoning ease of earlier. He's still tired, he yawns, contemplates going back to sleep, but the feeling is too rank to ignore. 

He stands, gathers his disgusting sheets together that he'll wash on his own later, and picks a particularly less nasty one to wrap and cover himself with. He goes to make his way out of the room—the lack of light obscuring the majority of its contents, his unobservant state aided by his recent rousing—but then there's a soft sound. A squeak too suspicious to not turn to. Like a footstep on a floorboard, like rubber on wood.

Sungchan turns towards the noise, wondering as he does if it's perhaps a mistake. Maybe he should bolt towards the door and outside the room instead; maybe he should just ignore it and act calm, quietly walk out; maybe he should just scream. 

Facing the sound, he blinks rapidly. The room is still a little too dark, his eyes are still adjusting to the no light. Slowly everything comes into focus and he registers the thing in front of him. In front of Sungchan is the space in his bed, the irregular heart, the thief of his own.

Fully clothed with a heavy cloak thrown over his shoulders, leather gloves and leather boots with rubber soles affixed firmly to his feet, Shotaro stands before him holding his most precious treasure, his most valuable possession—the glass blown canola flower colored yellow and green, now gray in the dead light.

Sungchan is at a loss for words. Shotaro is cautious like a wounded animal, but Sungchan can't imagine what he could possibly be hurting for. Guilt is soaked throughout Shotaro. His whole body is laden with it.

Sungchan's eyes are wide as he recalls the long forgotten letter— 'I will be stealing your most valuable possessions. Go ahead—try and protect them well.' He's frozen in time now, watching the events before him through someone's eyes that are surely not his own. Shotaro walks towards the window, one step at a time. He's slow and steady, so secure. The delicate glass in his hands is held so gently. Sungchan wonders if that's what it looked like when Shotaro held him.

Sungchan has lost his eyes, but he finds his voice.

"Wait—"

That's all he manages. He doesn't know what else to say. Shotaro is silent still. He peers out the open window where Sungchan knows the shrub he forgot to tell the gardeners to clip still stands below. Shotaro sits on the ledge now. He leans backwards. He's close to falling. Sungchan is falling.

A thief—the one who stole Sungchan's heart—speaks now. His tone is somber. It's grieving. It's guilty.

"I won't break it," the thief says.

And then he jumps out the window.

Sungchan watches, still stuck in place. He's certain that the glass flower has not been broken. He's certain that his most valuable possession has been stolen. And he knows that his most valuable possession is broken.

He had tried to protect it well, but it was taken from him long ago. 

The thief had stole his heart, and he had broke it too.