Chapter Text
Beomgyu lies on the bed, the messy covers strewn around him, soft cotton against the pale of his body, his skin sensitive and red. He blinks rapidly, trying not to succumb to his tiredness. Goosebumps rise on his naked skin, as he shivers, all too aware of the icy wind coming through the window. His client groans in delight next to him. Beomgyu doesn’t look at him, lest he compare him mentally to a dirty animal.
Cum cools on the soft skin of his flat tummy and between his thighs, a disturbing feeling he will never get used to. He has to clean himself fast, he thinks distantly, staring at the dry wick of a candle on the small wooden dresser across the bed, before the sticky substance hardens and becomes a pain to remove. If only Mr. Kim wouldn’t take his sweet, sweet time and leave, now that Beomgyu has satiated him.
He stretches languidly, his bones cracking, as the alpha next to him stands up. Beomgyu sighs quietly to himself, ignoring the imploring gaze sent his way. His face twists subtly in a grimace, his nose scrunches; his lower back hurts, and he feels very sore, pain shooting up his spine every time he moves ever so slightly. Mr. Kim chuckles to himself, mistaking his avoidance as shyness. Beomgyu celebrates quietly in his mind when the man starts dressing himself.
“Ah!”
Beomgyu closes his eyes, feeling an upcoming headache. He breathes in deeply, in and out, in and out, as he tries to brace himself for what he thinks will be an incredibly irritating conversation. He tries to focus on the rays of gentle sunlight coming in through the window, the morning chill slowly melting into noon.
“It was so nice! Warm and tight, although a bit dry.” The man snorts, an ugly noise that makes Beomgyu’s shackles rise. “I thought you might be quite loose, but my friend’s tales were right - you are quite nice to fuck, despite your lack of curves and jutting bones.”
Irritation sparks inside of him but he quashes it down with ease. His mind chooses to focus on the lively chatter on the street outside, everyday people going on with their lives, ignoring the infamous brothel he works at. Beomgyu chuckles pleasantly, his courtesan training coming into play. He watches his client struggle to put on his jikryeong, unused to not having maids dress him. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” Mr. Kim raises the heavy jug of water prepared for him to his mouth. Mannerless. Rude. Beomgyu reminds himself to drink the maiden tea on the nightstand, sure to be ice cold by now. As long as no seed of incompetent noble alphas infests his womb like a deadly parasite, he thinks as he stares, disgust on his tongue, he doesn’t mind the awful taste.
“You enjoyed it too, didn’t you? My husband always complains I chase after my pleasure like a starved beast.”
He feels tender, his labia swollen and overused, slick dry on his thighs. Cum is drying painfully slow on his stomach. He certainly did not enjoy himself.
“Of course, my lord. I found your performance most satisfactory.” If lying was a sin, then he shall burn in hell. The things that he has to do in his line of work.
The alpha laughs obnoxiously, his arrogance grating on Beomgyu’s nerves. “I see, I see -”
A sharp knock interrupts them - Madame Han. Beomgyu almost feels thankful for how overbearing she gets, bothering him as often as she can while he works. The door swings open, startling his client. “Is everything alright, my lord? It’s been quite a while.”
Beomgyu doesn’t cover himself; his boss has already seen everything of him there is. He sits up tenderly, sheets pooling around his thighs, his naked torso fully on display, his sore muscles protesting against the strain. He reaches over for the cup of bitter milk on the nightstand, his tender muscles protesting. He chugs down the murky liquid in one gulp, sharp bitterness on his tongue, leaving a bizarre minty aftertaste. He doesn’t gag. It settles weirdly in his empty stomach.
“I hope my Beomgyu was enough for you.” Her heels clink loudly against the floor as she approaches the bed. She smiles cheerfully at Mr. Kim, her wrinkly face pleasant and charming. “Though I have to apologize deeply! He doesn’t have much time until his next client, so we have to hurry up.”
The alpha stutters, bravado from a few moments ago momentarily forgotten. “Already? Have I overstayed my welcome?”
“It’s alright, my lord!” Madame Han ushers him towards the door, pushy and borderline inappropriate, for what is considered an esteemed client. “My Beomgyu is not an average beauty, I understand you for not wanting to leave so easily! Now, as for the payment -”
Beomgyu averts his gaze. He bows his head, her order is clear, she doesn’t need to say it out loud - he has to prepare for the next client now, and fast. He stands up, knees wobbling, and stretches once again. His bones make a loud noise when they crack. His fingers trace over the forming bruises on his tapered waist. He scoffs. Alphas and their need to dominate and brutalize their partners in bed.
He stands in front of his dresser and stares blankly for a moment, trying to stall. He doesn’t have much time, yet he doesn’t hurry. Folded pristinely, there lay his robes. Beomgyu pats the fabric, soft against his fingers, as he searches for his pockets. He zones out, mind heavy with tiredness.
He has to eat something quick after this client, he thinks as his stomach rumbles, then he has to prepare for his performance during the banquet. Beomgyu yawns, fighting sleep. His limbs feel heavy, and his head even more so. Perhaps he can have something light, otherwise his singing will be out of pitch tonight.
He suspects Soobin might visit tonight; it had been exactly two weeks since his last visit after all. He has to mentally prepare for the immense disappointment when the man turns up yet again with empty hands and empty words, a tense curl to his lips, and an apologetic glint in his eyes. Beomgyu doesn’t dwell on that thought for long, choosing peace for now.
Nothing. The pockets of his chima are empty. The inner pockets of his jeogori are empty as well.
He freezes, an icy chill permeating through his hollow bones. Frantic, in barely constrained panic, he dismantles the careful folding of his clothes, searching with urgency. The stool falls to its side on the floor, a loud thump in the room’s quiet.
Something small falls out, and he almost doesn’t see through the tears clouding his vision. Beomgyu dives after it, falling to his knees, uncaring for the searing pain he feels upon coming in contact with the dirty hardwood floor. Trembling, he smooths down the silky red handkerchief, tenderly, lovingly. He burrows his face against the fabric, eyes closed tightly, as he breathes in deeply and wills for his fragile, terrified heart to calm down. He didn’t lose it.
Serenity washes over him slowly. His heart is calm again. He sits naked on the floor, knees aching and red, cum dry on his skin. Minutes pass. The unshed tears in his eyes dry, and the tremble in his hands stops. He rubs his nose against the handkerchief, face hidden. He thinks he’d smell burnt sugar, encased in something tangy and spicy, something so familiar and so far away, if he were to try hard enough.
Beomgyu doesn’t have the energy to suppress the sob coming deep from his chest, throat closing, and heart heavy with grief.
The door flies open again abruptly, slamming against the wall harshly. He looks up in alarm. Madame Han calls out to him, the warmth in her voice just a few moments prior gone. “I’ll brew you bitter milk for the soreness and pain. In the meantime, clean yourself with a wet rag, dress up again, and then redo your hair. Mr. Seo will be coming in in half an hour.”
She slams the door shut. Beomgyu’s lower lip trembles, a defeated weight on his chest. Legs wobbly and unstable, he stands up once again, handkerchief held tightly in his fist, and stalks over to the jug of water on the table, a clean rag prepared next to it. He has to prepare to work.
𓆸
Barely two hours later, he finds himself in a different room, much bigger than his own and much less stifling and dead. His previous client had been quick to satisfy and even quicker to get dressed and leave, citing his waiting bedridden wife and newborn at home needing him. It had been incredibly hard for him to not cry, to not sob and beg the snake god above for forgiveness, feeling raw and used. Beomgyu tries not to let the constant slamming of the door grate at his nerves, as he chows down on cold rice and unseasoned soup, his legs and ass numb from sitting on the hard floor without a pillow. He thinks he deserves it.
“How did it turn out, hyung? I didn’t have much free time to cook something nice with how busy I was this morning.”
Beomgyu smacks his lips, trying not to let his displeasure show. Sunoo had been kind enough to make him food, he doesn’t want to ruin their tentative friendship by criticizing his cooking skills. He shovels pickled vegetables in his mouth, hoping it distracts his taste buds so he can swallow without gagging. Mouth full, he answers, trying to appear cheerful and happy, “It’s very good!”
Sitting to his right, Yunjin stares at him judgmentally. She had stolen a bite just a few minutes ago - a grave mistake, really, and had suffered because of it. Beomgyu had watched her struggle, waiting for Sunoo to be distracted enough so she could spit out the food sneakily in her hand and then throw it out of the open window into the gardens below.
Fertilizer for the whitebells and the mint, Yunjin whispers to him, making him promptly choke on a grain of rice, and he tries not to cackle, belly hurting from the strain. Beomgyu avoids eye contact with Sunoo who looks too much like a confused puppy, forcing a bite of rice down his throat as he avoids eye contact.
He clears his throat, “You guys are also attending the banquet tonight, right?”
Yunjin groans, and slumps over, loudly banging her head onto the table, “I wish I wasn’t. Please don’t ask me about it. Just imagining it makes me nauseous.”
Beomgyu hums in sympathy, and reaches over, softly rubbing her back. “It could be worse, you know.”
Sunoo snorts, and downs the remains of his rice wine, whining, “Hyung, it’s easy for you to say! You are pretty and charming, so they are nicer to you! Not to mention that tall alpha that visits you every once in a while.”
Yunjin doesn’t miss the chance to tease him, face still planted on the table, as she implores, “He doesn’t even fuck you, does he? What do you even do? Just talk for hours?”
Beomgyu splutters, “It’s none of your business what I do with one of my loyal clients!” His voice gets quieter, almost mumbling, ears crimson in embarrassment, “We do talk… A lot.”
“Oh? So what do you talk about then?” Yunjin gets uncomfortably close to his face, making him lean back. When did she stop wallowing in misery on the table?
“Normal stuff?”
Sunoo questions curiously, eager, “Why do you sound questioning?”
It is when Jeonghan settles him down next to Sunoo, sneaking up to them like a ghost, that Beomgyu is saved. He can now breathe in peace again. He reaches over for the pot of chilled bitter milk and fills his empty cup to the brim. He doesn’t think he can do this clear-headed - curiosity and his friends don’t mix well.
Jeonghan snatches away the jug from his hands and steals Sunoo’s cup, ignoring his loud complaints. “Kids, leave him alone. They just spend hours talking about Beomgyu’s dead first love who also happens to be that alpha’s cousin.”
“These two are cousins?!” Yunjin screeches in his ear at what might constitute as too loud and improper for a courtesan of her rank.
“Were!” Jeonghan corrects her brightly.
Beomgyu sips away at his bitter milk, trying to focus on its minty taste and ignore the conversation happening in front of him. Sunoo hits his shoulder weakly, trying to get his attention, “Why does Jeonghan-hyung know and not us?!”
“This bitter milk has been brewed well, it doesn’t taste bitter at all,” Beomgyu says airily. He can feel sweat gather on his palms.
“While on this topic,” Jeonghan claps, giggling in delight, the perfect picture of innocence as he twirls a strand of hair with his fingers, “do you know why he’s so attached to that handkerchief, despite it being permanently soiled with his tears and snot?”
Yunjin attempts to prevent him from speaking, having caught on to Beomgyu’s distress, “I don’t think we need to know -”
“It’s a gift from his first love!” Jeonghan whispers, mocking and conspiratory, cupping his hands around his mouth, “I never got why, you know. It’s finely made and very expensive, but it’s so dirty and disgusting from his obsessive sobbing and snot-rubbing on it.”
Beomgyu closes his eyes, his temples throbbing. He tries to not show his anger, knowing that’s what the other wants. His fingers tighten around the cup in his hands, knuckles going white from the strain. He smiles, lips stretching weirdly from the numbness the bitter milk brought him. He can feel rage, muted and fiery, simmer under his skin. His friends stand there speechless, unable to prevent the brewing storm.
“It really is! Its embroidery and sewing is one of a kind. You have a nice eye for the finer things, hyung.” He takes a sip from Yunjin’s rice way, hoping it gets him drunk quicker. “I’d like to think that it comes with your past experiences with the noble and expensive, or so I have heard.”
Silence. Beomgyu smiles wider, knowing he had struck a nerve. Jeonghan violently slams the cup on the table, small droplets of bitter milk flying everywhere. Gritting his teeth, barely restraining himself, the older omega excuses himself, “It seems it’s gotten quite late! I have to start preparing my makeup and hair for the banquet tonight - if you excuse me.”
And he’s gone as fast as he appeared.
Sunoo shakes his head, confused and disgruntled. “What is wrong with him?”
Yunjin laughs, and gets up, taking the empty rice wine jug with her, “He’s still mad at how Beomie almost got married off a few years ago before that bastard died in the war, and his suitor turned out to be a crazy fucker.”
“Just because he got played by some noble alpha doesn’t mean he has to hate hyung for experiencing actual love!”
“Experienced - my Yeonjun has been bones and dust for the past 4 years.” Beomgyu giggles to himself, drunk and high. His tolerance for bitter milk and rice wine has always been bad, especially when stressed. Sunoo gapes at him, and Yunjin almost drops the jug in her shock, spilling rice wine all over herself.
“Okay, we are cutting you off for now, you still have to perform later.”
“No!”
𓆸
He shouldn’t have drunk. He really shouldn’t have gotten drunk at noon. His feet drag as he walks in the dark hallway, the moonlight coming from the windows serving as his only light source. Shadows dance on his sunken face, the pretty rouge on his lips and cheeks barely hide his deep eye bags. Ah, his head throbs, a sharp piercing pain every time he closes his eyes. The night has barely begun and he is already hungover and barely able to walk without stumbling, his knees trembling with every step.
Maids pass him by in a hurry, moving like a flash in his peripheral vision. A fellow courtesan (What was her name again? Jiwoo? Jisoo?) runs past him, crashing onto his shoulder, and Beomgyu can barely answer an affirmative to her distracted apologies before she’s gone with the wind as well. Banquet days are always rough. Everybody has things they need to get done before the slew of nobles and high-ranking military officials arrive. He is grateful to be missing it this time around.
Maybe he should thank Soobin for that. He always visits at unconventional times, dragging him wherever he so wishes as he books the omega for hours on end, and ruins his previous work schedule. He always has a knack for ruining Madame Han’s carefully crafted plans with one of her most sought-after courtesans, Beomgyu chortles quietly to himself as he finally arrives at his room for the night and pushes the door handle down.
“What took you so long? I waited centuries for you to arrive, only for you to come looking like death herself?”
A deep voice cuts his thoughts off, in a lazy drawl that sparkles irritation in Beomgyu easily. The smell of lavender permeates the room, hitting his nose hard. His eye twitches, as his smiles furrow in a scowl. He slams the door behind him, pretenses for propriety forgotten. Soobin beams at him, happy his mocking worked so fast.
Beomgyu grumbles to himself, foregoing formal greetings, and upon nearing the table, full of dishes of steaming food, he sits on a pillow across a sprawled Soobin. His headache has gotten worse, pain pulsing behind his temples. He growls and snatches the almost empty cup from the alpha’s hands, “Are you already drunk, you buffoon?!”
Soobin wails in protest and Beomgyu has little time to stop the jug of soju from falling over and spilling on their food, as the alpha leaps across the table and tries to wrestle his cup from his hands. Beomgyu squeaks in alarm, an undignified sound akin to a goose, surrendering the cup in favor of smacking the other right on his forehead.
“Do you wish to die?!”
Soobin sniffles pathetically, as he pours himself more soju, his ears and cheeks bright red. “Call me hyung, you brat!”
Beomgyu snatches a plate of stir-fried vegetables closer to himself, fully intending on hogging it to himself - he won’t be sharing anything with anybody tonight. He angrily picks up his chopsticks, his hair undone and messy from their tussling, and takes a huge bite, cheeks bulging. He mumbles, having a hard time chewing and talking at the same time, “How come you are drunk already?”
“You took too long getting here, what else was I supposed to do other than drink?”
“It took me barely 10 minutes?”
Soobin shrugs, strangely melancholic, and curls into a fetal position on the cold, dirty floor, no doubt dirtying his expensive jacket. “Felt like centuries to me.”
Beomgyu stops chewing, feeling puzzled - what’s up with him today? He pours himself a cup of tea, already gone cold, refreshingly bitter to his tongue, and peers down carefully at his friend. Something must be up. It’s usually him who gets sad drunk during their meetings, very often ending the night with him sobbing on the floor pathetically as Soobin snores, sprawled on the floor like a starfish, half dead from consuming his weight in alcohol.
“What’s up with you? Did somebody die?”
“Again, you mean?” Soobin sits up with a groan, tiredly rubbing his bloodshot eyes. His eye bags seem to be even worse than Beomgyu’s. “I am just very… busy.” He picks up his own chopsticks and dares to steal a bite from Beomgyu’s plate, prompting angry childish protests. They sword fight with their chopsticks, unable to hold a mature conversation with each other like always.
Soobin concedes when a piece of greasy carrot hits him square in the face, leaving an oily, red spot on his forehead, ruining his handsome face. Beomgyu offers him a handkerchief because he is nice like that. Not the red silky one, he’s too possessive over it; he gives him his white handkerchief - soft cotton, with pretty embroidered gardenias and pink camellias that he had sewn himself years ago during his training as a courtesan, back when he was younger and in love, all too enamored with a certain person, hoping to show his intentions through a gift. A gift he never managed to give to that person.
Ah, he shouldn’t be thinking of that.
“Busy how? You look even more stressed than me.” He tries to mask his concern behind sarcastic insults, never one to freely express his emotions, and he knows he has failed when Soobin snickers at him, clapping and hitting the table because it’s apparently incredibly funny that Beomgyu is concerned about the well-being of a long-time friend.
Beomgyu juts his bottom lip out and flutters his long eyelashes, hoping it annoys the alpha into shutting up. And it works very well - Soobin stops laughing, as if burned, the moment fake tears fill Beomgyu’s eyes, making them look extra shiny and pitiful. He watches gleefully as his friend looks away, tense and awkward and with an emotion on his face he can’t decipher. It always works.
“Soobin, you are always so easy to manipulate.”
“I told you to call me hyung!”
“Yeah, yeah, Soobin-ahjussi or whatever -”
Beomgyu barely manages to avoid the playful smack aimed at his head, ducking and falling over to his side as he laughs hysterically. “Ah, I’m sorry, I promise I’ll stop.”
“Hm.”
Beomgyu clears his throat, sobering up. His fingers untangle his hair gently, patting it down neatly. He peers at the other through his eyelashes, curious at the way Soobin keeps ignoring his attempts to pick his behavior apart, pointedly staring at the wall behind Beomgyu.
Soobin digs messily into his bowl of rice with his chopsticks, relentless and anxious. He sighs, and Beomgyu just waits, knowing to not be impatient.
“I am getting married.” Soobin takes a sip of tea, pausing as he savors the taste. “That’s why I was so busy these past few months, and couldn’t visit you.”
Beomgyu takes a bite of crunchy kimchi, and stays quiet, not chiming in. He looks at the wide open window, at the deep dark of the night and the night chill that raises goosebumps on his exposed hands. They are right above the garden of the brothel, right where the banquet will be held. He thinks it’s right before any of the festivities and performances begin.
“My…” Soobin hesitates for a moment, “My lord has returned from war, and has deemed it fitting for him to arrange an engagement for me.”
“A political union?”
“Yes.”
“Why…” Beomgyu tries to choose his words carefully. He feels out of his depth. “Why do you sound so sad?”
“Because I won’t be able to be your friend anymore… I won’t be allowed to come here anymore.”
“Oh.” Beomgyu realizes that he has forgotten who Soobin truly is. It feels like he had forgotten that they were never truly meant to be friends, what with their social standing and how unconventionally their friendship had started in the first place. He tries to joke, to liven up the solemn air.
“It’s not like you still have a purpose to visit me and book me for hours, you know… There are no letters for you to deliver to me, with the sender of them no longer being amongst the living.”
“... That’s a way to look at it.”
Beomgyu pours himself more tea. He wishes he could drink now, if to dull the stress of the conversation. However, his head still hurts and his bones feel hollow and fragile, hurting every time he moves. He can feel his heart in his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow.
“I can’t believe it has been four years since the last letter… It doesn’t feel like it has been that long.”
“Five years since your cousin forced you to deliver to me his letters since they never made their way to me through the post.”
Soobin chuckles. He reaches over for the soju again and ignores Beomgyu’s glare. “Five years of unconventional friendship and four years since that bastard played both you and me.”
“He must be having a splendid time, having turned to dust lands away from here, with no responsibilities.”
Soobin snorts. “If only you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Nothing.”
Screaming and laughter. They look at the window in surprise. The banquet must have started.
“Aren’t you glad I took you away from that? Where’s my gratitude?”
More screaming. Music starts playing, and somebody starts singing. He thinks if he focuses enough, he can discern both Yunjin and Sunoo’s voices amongst the cacophony of overly excited middle-aged alpha nobles, loud and happy at the night of drinking, flirting, and sex that awaits them, at the expense of their waiting families at home.
Dry, Beomgyu deadpans, “Thanks.”
They listen to the lively atmosphere outside. Squeaky laughter, very similar to his own, its timber a tad deeper than his, louder than everybody else, cuts in, distinct. Beomgyu closes his eyes in exasperation, feeling humiliated.
“Isn’t that your brother?”
“Don’t ask me, please.”
“Wasn’t your youngest nephew born just around the last time I visited? What is this bastard doing here when he has a newborn at home?”
“My brother’s reasoning escapes me, that fucker. Probably trying to get his knot wet.” Beomgyu munches angrily on his food, hot rage brewing on his stomach. It had been just last week when his sister-in-law had secretly written him a letter, detailing the birth of the Choi clan’s newest addition. It had been difficult and dangerous, and sweet Youngji had been bedridden for the past two months, making it difficult to care for the estate, her older children, or her husband, Dongjun.
Her husband who is trying to urge one of the courtesans at the banquet to book a room with him and let him fuck her. Beomgyu wishes he could smack some sense into his older brother.
“Had you not been disowned, you would have been able to talk him out of such behavior.”
“Ah, I’ll have to correct you here, hyung - had I, the bastard omega child, not run away, I still wouldn't have been able to talk to him.”
“Ah, sorry, I forgot.”
“Hyung,” Beomgyu smiles, turning his charms up, and pours the alpha soju, as etiquette dictates. “What is your betrothed like?”
“Ah, he is…” Soobin looks at him, judging, and stalls his answer, as he takes a sip. “He’s very pretty and quiet… And rigid.”
“So it’s a he?” Beomgyu inquires excitedly. “Do you like him?”
“He’s, uh, alright?”
“You aren’t sure?”
Soobin leans back on his hands, trying to avoid Beomgyu’s interrogation. “Look - it’s too early to tell, and things are somewhat tense because it’s not out of our own volition. We are just following our lord’s orders.”
Beomgyu takes his chance. “And who is your lord exactly? You never told me which clan you and Yeonjun are from.”
“You don’t need to know that. Oh, the beef stew is very good, try it!”
“Stop deflecting! You said your lord returned from the war - did he come back together with the emperor?” He gasps, a sudden thought coming to him. “Do you guys work closely with the emperor?”
Soobin stays silent, and Beomgyu’s mind races. They have been friends for so long, and the alpha always refused to answer his questions regarding his family or standing. Even when Yeonjun was alive, he had also evaded every question of Beomgyu’s, only his expensive clothes and the fact that he had been able to book Beomgyu - an omega courtesan (even though he had still been in training at the time) that only serviced high-standing nobles and military officials - had been an indicator of his prestige.
“You…. can say that. I’m sorry, Beomgyu, I am not allowed to speak on this matter.”
“Ah, I give up!” The omega throws his hands in the air, a defeated slump on his slim form. He pouts, obviously rattled.
“Beomgyu.”
“What?”
“I want to say sorry in advance.”
“...For what? For not being able to visit me in the future?”
“No. Well, for that too, but -” Soobin takes a deep sigh, trying to ground himself. Beomgyu feels confused. “In a few weeks, some things are going to change. I’m sorry for that.”
“What? Hyung, can you elaborate?”
“No, I can’t.”
Soobin leaves quickly after their conversation ends, despite having Beomgyu booked for the next few hours. Beomgyu sits there for the remainder of those hours, alone in that dark room, listening to the banquet outside, as he picks at his food crestfallen, resolving himself not to consume any more alcohol or bitter milk for the day. His mind is still stuck on the way Soobin had been so withdrawn, unwilling to talk, but also seemingly heartbroken over something he refused to share with Beomgyu.
Beomgyu tries not to dwell on the fact that he has lost yet another friend, yet another person he loves. He thinks it’s fitting that the anniversary of Yeonjun’s death is soon.
𓆸
The anniversary of Yeonjun’s death falls on a mundane Tuesday. The world doesn’t stop spinning, the birds outside continue to chirp and jump happily, and nobody pauses their daily life to mourn. It is only Beomgyu, buried in work and outfit fittings and clients, that is feeling like he can’t breathe, or sleep, or eat. It is only he who struggles to survive through this sunny Tuesday.
This year he couldn’t take the day off, no matter how much he had begged and begged Madame Han to let him at least take the afternoon off so he could cry and wallow in his suffering in peace. He has very important, high-ranking clients that day, he can’t afford to offend them or turn them away, Madame Han had said. He could only bow his head, defeated, and obey. Like he always does.
The other courtesans avoid him that day, knowing that he’s not much of a nice company, with his listless fragile form, sickly pale sunken face, and tired eyes. His closest friends keep their distance, worrying from afar, as they walk on eggshells around him, fearing he might crumble and cry at the smallest of words. Nobody offers him words of comfort that day, and he doesn’t think he wants them anyway.
And then, he somehow survives that day, moving like a puppet without a will, amidst pushy clients who only see him as a warm hole to fuck. With a jug of bitter milk in his hands at all times, nonetheless, but he still survived it.
He ends that day feeling hollow, and yet with a small victory. Madame Han - the monster who had tricked him into life in the red district, the woman who sneakily increases his debt to her whenever she deems fit, to keep him as her forever prisoner - takes a single look, her calculating gaze mildly uncomfortable, making it feel like she is seeing all of the failures and all of the bad that taint his soul, and decides to take pity on him.
“Beomgyu.” She calls out to him, startling him from whatever stupor he had found himself in, tracing the sewing on his red handkerchief in a trance-like state. “In two weeks is the Gyeong Rite. You don’t need to come to work that day.”
He didn’t know she could feel empathy for him. Still, he doesn’t dare to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he merely bows his head in respect, mumbling through a mere ‘thank you, ma’am.
It is only the prospect of finally getting to participate in the Gyeong Rite that helps him sleep during the next two agonizing weeks, his heart singing in happiness loud enough to deafen the obsessive thoughts that plague his mind.
𓆸
The day of the Gyeong Rite he wakes up with the sunrise, with a spring in his step and a sparkle in his dark eyes. In all of the years since the ritual had become a yearly tradition to honor the many lost to the war, Beomgyu had never had the chance to participate himself, having to make do with sneaking out late in the night after finishing with his last client of the day and performing the ritual by himself, stifling his sobs into the sleeves of his jeogori in the deep dark of the night, mud staining his skirt.
He is not very proud of these moments of his, admittedly.
Beomgyu goes through his routine seamlessly, taking great care to make sure he looks as presentable and easy on the eyes as possible. Some rough on his cheeks, lips, and under his eyes to hide his deep eyebags, his dark hair flowing over his shoulders, silky and luscious, and with his prettiest, most expensive robes, he knows he looks like a vision to be savored.
He forgoes eating in his excitement, knowing he will be forced to spend money on food later, and rushedly kisses Yunjin and Sunoo on the cheeks, too sluggish and sleepy at this time to send him off with encouraging words.
The brothel is quite far away from where the ritual will be held, the red light district as far away from the center of Yeonghwan as possible, where the normal citizens live, so they won’t be sullied by the unholy promiscuity of prostitutes or courtesans like him. The day is too nice for him to feel anger or shame for his way of living, Beomgyu tells himself resolutely.
Despite the early hour, the streets are bustling with life, and Beomgyu finds himself smiling, as he strolls and looks around with curiosity, almost childlike in a way, marveling silently at the way normal people lead their lives. He never has the opportunity to go out like this, to fully enjoy his day, especially as of late - Madame Han has started to push him and urge him to take more clients because she fears that as he grows older, he may lose his popularity. Load of bullshit but he doesn’t say it outwardly to her. Not yet anyway.
He arrives all too soon, his head being so high in the clouds making the trek feel shorter to him. He had hoped to come before the fanfare and the excitement, and yet there stands a bustling crowd in front of him, men and women of varying ages gathering together. The river stands great to the very side, its clear waters reflecting the gentle rays of the warm sun.
Beomgyu looks around and suddenly he feels so overwhelmed. So many vendors, so many people, so many kids running and playing, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He takes a deep breath, a trembling hand over his heart. His blood rushes, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He steels himself; it’s no use getting nervous when he is already here!
He meets eyes with one of the flower vendors, a playful smile on her joyful, wrinkly phase. He smiles back, albeit quite awkwardly, and he strides towards her, her stall nestled under the shadow of a weeping willow, at the edge of the excitement and noise, away from the others.
“Hello, young man!” Her voice rings cheerfully, as she grins at him. Beomgyu peers at her almost bashfully; she and Madame Han must be around the same age, but he doesn’t think they share many similarities beyond that. “What can I do for you? Would you like a ceremonial bouquet?”
Beomgyu takes a look. Assortments of various flowers, all freshly picked and colorful in their beauty. He doesn’t know what to choose, despite knowing the ins and outs of the tradition.
“What would you recommend, ahjumma?”
“Every bouquet uses the white chrysanthemum as a base, and then you can add on it, based on your intentions and your relationship with the person for whom this bouquet is!”
Beomgyu nods, he knew that already. The Gyeong Rite was a tradition meant to honor those who tragically lost their lives to the war, amongst the bloodshed, and white chrysanthemums - a symbol for the celebration of life, as well as farewell - had naturally become an integral part of each bouquet, despite it not being present in the mythical legend the tradition was inspired from.
“What other flowers would you like?”
Beomgyu knows what he wants, he has made his own bouquets these past several years by himself, after all. He points at his choice, keeping his voice steady and calm. “I’d like white and red roses, and also a heliotrope and white lilies, please.”
He looks away, he doesn’t need to see her give him a knowing smile, the corners of her beady eyes squinting in pity. White roses for youth, for Yeonjun had been young when had passed - barely 19 years old, alone and in pain, with an arrow to his chest in a desolate land far away from here. Red roses, for the way their love had burned bright, passionate. A heliotrope, because Beomgyu’s love would remain eternal, his heart forever beating for him, and white lilies, the symbol of rebirth, because Beomgyu hopes that Yeonjun’s soul would get one more chance at a life without bloodshed.
Beomgyu watches her prepare the bouquet, her deft hands carefully tying a knot around the flowers with a string. He hands a gold coin, and then an extra one for the kind service, and leaves with a smile and a bow, tightly holding the bouquet in his hands.
The flowers are so pretty, he thinks, and leans down, pressing his nose against the soft petals. He smiles to himself, peaceful, they smell so good, their sweet smell tickling his senses just so. He shivers as the spring breeze blows, ruffling his hair. He tucks his bangs in his ears and looks up. He squints. The sun is high up in the sky, warm on his skin. It must be time for the ritual by now.
A hand taps him softly on the shoulder. He jumps and looks back in alarm, he hadn’t seen anybody sneak up to him.
“Hello.”
A melodic voice greets him, quiet and shy. Pretty, so pretty. Soft dark hair frames the other person’s face, crimson paints plump lips, and big, big eyes sparkle, as deep as the universe. A fellow omega, with beauty out of this world. Beomgyu utters hesitantly, “Hello?”
“I am sorry to bother you, it’s just that…”, the omega speaks with conviction, an unfamiliar drawl to his words. A foreigner? “I just saw you buy a bouquet, and I got curious -”
Beomgyu asses him silently, urging him to continue. He must be almost the same age as Beomgyu, and a noble judging by his cadence and expensive clothes. The hand on his shoulder tightens and Beomgyu glances at it. The omega flinches, seemingly not having realized he hadn’t taken his hand away, and takes a step back, establishing distances as if burned. Beomgyu stifles a giggle. He is cute.
“Curious? About the flowers?”
“Yeah, I, uh…. Why these flowers exactly? Everybody seems to have their variation of it…” Beomgyu watches him flush, words fumbling around the syllables. “I am sorry, I am a foreigner and I don’t really understand this whole…” He waves his hands, trying to illustrate his point.
“Ah, I think I understand you, don’t worry!” Beomgyu tries to reassure him. He feels almost endeared in a way. “The whole purpose of the ritual, you mean?”
The other nods, a bit like a curious duckling. The crowd around them starts to disperse. It must be time, seeing as everybody has started to move towards the river. Beomgyu looks around, and then beams brightly, “It’s going to start soon! Want to accompany me? I can explain everything to you there.”
“O-of course!”
They walk slowly, in matching strides. Beomgyu doesn’t worry about finding a place for himself since the river is so big and there is a lot of space, so he doesn’t try to make them hurry. He looks at the omega next to him curiously. His scent is ever so slightly saccharine, sweet, juicy cherries on a warm spring day. He thinks he can smell notes of gentle lavender, cloying and hiding, smelling the strongest on the omega’s neck. Ah, he now knows what’s going on.
“What’s your name? You didn’t mention it. I’m Beomgyu!”
The other hesitates, stalling his answer. “I am… Taehyun.”
“This is called the Gyeon Rite. It’s a yearly tradition that became popular recently.”
Taehyun nods, eyes bright in his curiosity and eagerness to learn. Beomgyu continues, “It’s meant to honor those who passed in the war, either in battle or as an innocent civilian.” He gestures towards the bouquet in his hands. “It’s fairly simple - one chooses an assortment of flowers that represent one’s relationship with the one whose death they wish to honor, tear off the petals, and then throw them in the holy river.”
“How did the rite come about?”
“It comes from a classic mythical legend. My mother used to tell me about it as a child before bed.” Beomgyu sidesteps a small child, too engrossed in playing to see it’s going. “A woman drowned herself and her kids after her mate died in war, so the Snake God struck the king at the time, deeming him responsible for that and unfit as a ruler.”
“That’s…”
“Pretty grim, right? Then, to mourn the lost family, the people threw flowers in the river, to aid their way on the river during their journey to the afterlife.”
They arrive at the river’s edge, right next to the other participants. Beomgyu kneels down and gets to work, seeing as the others have already started. Taehyun kneels down timidly as well, and watches on.
Beomgyu takes a silk cloth out of the pocket of his jeogori, and lays down the bouquet gently. He starts to tear off the flower petals meticulously, and speaks, “These are my flowers of choice. Pretty, aren’t they?”
“What are their meanings?”
“It means that I wish…”, Beomgyu pauses and gulps. “That my person died young, and I wish to honor their life and our love… And that I hope for their rebirth.”
Taehyun keeps his silence, speechless. Beomgyu laughs, knowing he has questions he can’t bring himself to voice out. “My person died in war as a soldier four years ago, if this is what you want to ask.”
“I -”
“It’s alright, I don’t mind.”
Beomgyu works in silence, his hands gentle and diligent, as Taehyun looks on carefully. It feels almost sacred in a way.
“Hyung…”, Taehyun calls out to him. Beomgyu’s head shoots up. “Are you not my hyung? I’m sorry, I…”
“No, no, I definitely am your hyung. How old are you? I am 21 years old.”
“Oh, I am 20! Thank God.”
“What did you wish to ask me?”
“Does it ever get better?”
Beomgyu bites his lower lip in contemplation. He sifts his hands through the flower petals - he is finally done. He sets the flower stalks to the side in the grass. “The grief and heartbreak, you mean?”
“..Yes.”
He tries to choose his words carefully. “I just learned to live with it.”
“Oh.”
“That’s not to say it won’t get better! Do not take my words as law, you know?” Bells ring and the people around them scream, getting ready. “Ah, it’s starting.”
He takes off his shoes, and bunches his chimu to his knees with one hand; he had forgotten a change of clothes, and he doesn’t think the trek back home would be pleasant all wet. He gathers the petals in his free hand tenderly, and steps into the warm waters of the river, slow and careful. He looks back briefly at Taehyun and chuckles - his new friend looks so fascinated.
“The ritual is pretty simple!” He calls out without looking back, stepping deeper in the river. Ah, fuck, his chimu is still getting wet. He shrugs. “One just scatters the petals -”
He turns around in a circle and spreads the flower petals around him. “Like this! And then one just has to think of the person they are honoring.”
He steps out, almost tripping on his way, and looms over Taehyun, bright and happy. He flicks water at the younger. “Simple and cute, isn’t it?”
Taehyun laughs openly, seemingly no longer shy.
𓆸
Beomgyu takes a bite of his jinppang happily, and hums at the taste of the red bean paste filling. It’s peaceful, sitting in the shade of one of the centuries-old trees near the river. He had chosen a quiet place, away from the kids playing in the water and the busy streets, and yet close enough for him to marvel at the clear blue water of the holy river.
The weather is so nice, the winter chill has almost mellowed out by now, allowing for the refreshing spring breeze and warm sun to bring nature back to life. He closed his eyes, the tree bark rough against his back, even through his clothes. Beomgyu certainly did feel invigorated.
He hums an old melody absentmindedly, his deep voice tilting. Taehyun had been long gone by now. A man, certain Taehyun’s guard, although it remained unsaid, had come to pick him up, interrupting whatever conversation they were engrossed in, saying that his alpha had been worrying for him and then swept him away, not allowing Taehyun to tell him goodbye.
The guard had a family crest on his chest, identical to the one Soobin (and Yeonjun) always wore. At that exact moment, Beomgyu’s suspicions were confirmed, if the scent of lavender clinging to Taehyun wasn’t enough of an indicator already. Beomgyu had always been sharp after all.
He hoped his friend treats Taehyun right.
The wind suddenly stops kissing his skin, as if it was blocked by a giant wall. He opens his eyes, already annoyed, and looks up, ready to argue. “Can I help you?”
A man stands before him - an alpha, judging by his sharp, rich scent - with his hands politely behind his back. The man startles and stammers, his ears turning a deep red. “I just saw you from afar and -”
“And what?” Beomgyu can’t help but snark back, his hackles raising in alarm despite the alpha looking strangely harmless.
“I thought I saw you drop this earlier?” The man holds a hairpin in his hands, its gems glinting in the sunlight.
Hints of burnt sugar and jasmine linger at the man’s wrists, strong enough for Beomgyu to smell despite their distance from each other. He freezes. His heart beats wildly in his chest, on the verge of breaking through his chest cavity to escape, to search for that scent.
“Is this not yours -” The man pauses when he notices Beomgyu’s expression and panics, “Are you alright?! You look so pale!”
Beomgyu holds his head, breathing deeply as his temples throb in sharp pain. His lips tremble, and nausea bubbles in his stomach, his heart lodged in his throat. He searches for his gourd of water in a hurry, and gulps it down all at once, desperate. He coughs, and waves his free hand, “I am alright, just a bit sick…”
“Oh, uh…” The man looks around helplessly. “Can I help you somehow?”
“No, no… I am now alright.” Beomgyu sags against the tree, exhaustion hitting him. Fuck, he dropped his unfinished jinppang on the grass. “This is not mine.”
“What?”
“The hairpin is not mine, you must have the wrong person.”
“Oh… Was it your friend’s?”
Beomgyu narrows his eyes in suspicion. Was that man watching them earlier? “No, he wasn’t wearing one earlier.”
“Uh, then… I’m sorry for disturbing you.” The man continues to stand there listlessly, unsure of how to proceed and unwilling to meet Beomgyu’s sharp inquisitive gaze, his long fingers mindlessly playing with the hairpin. “I am Kai.”
“Okay.”
“Wh-what is your name?”
Somehow he doesn’t see harm in telling him. Despite his tall, strong stature, he has a feeling he could take down the alpha and outsmart him, if it came to that. “Beomgyu.”
Kai beams at him, puppy-like, “Would you mind if I sat next to you?”
The bush a few feet away from them rustles loudly, catching their attention. Beomgyu thinks he heard somebody clear their throat. Kai stops in his tracks and looks nervous, as he slowly starts backing away, walking backwards.
“I, uh, have to go? See you around, hyung?”
“Hyung? Hey -”
And then he’s gone just like that, disappearing into the deep cluster of trees and bushes. Beomgyu scoffs, almost angry at the casual way he had just been addressed. What is up with people approaching him today and referring to him however they want?
He gathers his things in a hurry, no longer wishing to remain outside.
As he walks on the river bank again towards the main road, he thinks of the way he thought he had smelled burnt sugar and jasmine. Has he finally gone mad from grief and started hallucinating things? Maybe he should drown himself in the river, just like in the legend, and take himself out of his misery.
𓆸
Two weeks pass and Beomgyu thinks that he is starting to get used to the haunting quiet that came after he last saw Soobin. He didn’t know he could feel heartbroken over a friend lost to circumstances. His days blend, buried in clients, banquets, and alcohol. He spends more time with Yunjin and Sunoo, and upon much nagging, he has started a journal of his own (a childish diary, whisper the voices in his head, unfitting for a dirty skank like him), pouring out every little single thought he had always been too afraid to voice.
The pages of his journal fill up quickly, as he writes and writes, and then draws every sight, every person he comes across, in fear of forgetting what they look like. His fingers draw Yeonjun’s youthful face with much difficulty, alas, ink staining his trembling bony fingers, he succeeds in capturing the sharp edges of his lover’s deep eyes, and the pretty curl of his lips whenever he would look at Beomgyu.
Somehow, the hollow feeling in his chest dissipates, bit by bit, letting him breathe with a clear head once again. He has yet to tell anybody about it but he secretly thinks that Gyeong Rite had been exactly what he needed.
Closure and comfort. Things he would never be able to receive from Yeonjun.
He thinks it’s time for him to move on, and let the dead pass to the afterlife, to not cruelly hold his soul forcibly to the realm of the living. He thinks he is sick of the way sadness weighs on his shoulders, crushing him.
Late at night, foregoing sleep in favor of looking at the starry night sky through his open window, the moonlight illuminating his pretty face, Beomgyu comes to a decision. He will live, and he will do it away from here.
𓆸
It’s in the middle of the night, the moon high up in the sky amidst the dark of the night, and despite his busy day and tired body, Beomgyu can’t bring himself to sleep, unable to shut his mind off. Seeing how lively his friends are, eating and drinking their weight as they giggle and joke away on his bed. He smiles into his cup of rice wine and watches on, affection brimming in his eyes.
Yunjin cackles hysterically, hands holding her stomach as she sways and almost falls over in her drunkenness. Sunoo slurs through his story, face bright red and eyes muddy, “And then the bastard asked me if it hurt, and I was like what?”
Beomgyu takes a bite of a meat-filled dumpling, trying not to choke as he also starts giggling. “Does that mean that…”
“He asked me if his big size hurt, and I asked him if he had already penetrated me because I didn’t feel anything.”
Beomgyu gasps in scandalized astonishment, while Yunjin laughs harder, finally falling off his bed and landing on the floor with a loud thud. Beomgyu questions eagerly, “What did he say then? Did you not get in trouble?”
“He did get furious, but!” Sunoo stands up, engrossed, “I fluttered my eyelashes at him a bit, and turned the situation around!”
Yunjin crawls up on his bed pitifully, almost falling over again, her messy hair covering her vision, “Have you guys heard the latest gossip?”
“Gossip?” Beomgyu blinks in confusion.
Sunoo puffs, and then claps, his eyes widening as he remembers, “You mean the newest squabble in the courts?”
“Yeah, that!”
“I haven’t heard anything about it, not really.” Beomgyu shakes his head. Yunjin leans in, her breath hitting his face despite him trying to move away, “Okay, so, you haven’t heard it from me but… You know our new emperor? That recently returned from war and all?”
“...Yeah?”
“Rumors say that he is trying to change the constitution for his own agenda.”
Beomgyu lifts his eyebrows in surprise, and he scrunches his face, flinching away, “Agenda? Also please move away, your breath smells like meat and garlic.”
Yunjin continues on, undeterred, moving away swiftly, “Apparently he’s trying to change the laws that dictate who he can marry or take as a concubine.”
“That… doesn’t sound that scandalous?” Sunoo giggles next to him, attempting to refill his cup without spilling.
“The rumors also say that the emperor is into alphas and is trying to marry his long-time lover who stayed by his side during the war.”
“Oh… That’s still not scandalous to me -”
Sharp, aggressive knocks on the door interrupt them. They grow silent and look at each other nervously. Beomgyu whispers, “Were we too loud?”
Seemingly having quickly sobered up, Sunoo whispers conspiratory, “Maybe it’s one of the other courtesans? Hyung, go open the door.”
Beomgyu stands up hesitantly, looking at his friends for support as he nears the door. He opens it slightly and looks out timidly, wrapping his arms around him. Madame Han, a stony, haggard expression on her face, her normally perfect hair and clothes mussed.
“Were we too loud? I apologize -”
“I don’t care. Follow me to my office.”
“What?”
“You have a visitor. Come with me.”
“A visitor at this hour?” He glances back briefly when his friends stand up in worry and opens the door fully. “I am in my nightgown right now…”
“Yes.” He has never seen Madame Han so shaken up before, an uncharacteristic air of stress and anxiety around her. Something is very wrong. He tries to quell down his panic. “Look, Beomgyu, just come to my office. You will see what it is about.”
Yunjin calls on behind him, rubbing a comforting hand on his back, “Can we accompany him?”
Madame Han shakes her head. “I doubt our visitor would like that.”
“Oh…” Beomgyu’s mind races as he tries to make sense of it. “It’s alright, I can go alone.”
“Let’s go then.”
Beomgyu nods goodbye to his friends, leaving them in his room, before the door closes after him. He doesn’t think he will be sleeping much tonight.
𓆸
Madame Han’s office has felt so far away before, he thinks to himself as he struggles to keep up with the frantic pace of his boss in the dark hallways of the brothel he has grown to call home. Breathing deeply, he asks her, “Is this a very important visitor?”
His boss stays quiet for a second. “We have never had anyone of his caliber visit us before.” She mutters quietly, and Beomgyu knows he wasn’t supposed to hear it. “And to think, he used to come here so often without us knowing his identity…”
He almost crashes into Madame Han when they arrive, too distracted by the way his clammy palms, having started to sweat in anxiety, his nape burning. He has a bad feeling about this.
“You are going in alone.”
“What -” She drags him roughly by the shoulders and then shoves him inside, slamming the door shut as she remains outside.
Beomgyu turns around, feeling more confused than ever, blearily rubbing at his sleep-crusted eyes, and then stops dead in his tracks. A ghost, a hallucination, his greatest nightmare coming to life. The scent hits him first, rich and saccharine sweet, jasmine enshrouded in spices.
“Hello, my love.” A fond voice calls out to him, deeper than what Beomgyu remembers it as, having lost its youthful tilt.
Beomgyu doesn’t feel tired anymore, he feels more wide awake than he has ever been.
Yeonjun sits there, on Madame Han's precious chair, with a bright smile on his face and an air of confident authority. He looks almost nothing like the boy Beomgyu had known, in his regal robes, royal red, color deep as blood, with his broad shoulders and handsome face. Is Beomgyu hallucinating?
“It’s been a while.”