A Must Read!

a must read!

Loved the author's writing style, how it brings the historical settings to life and immerses the reader to the sights and sounds of Silla. The pacing was well-structured; balancing quieter, reflective moments to intense action. It is the very first chapter but I find myself deeply invested in the story and how it flows around all the characters.

spoilers below

Jisoo, is someone I'm really curious about, where he stands in the power dynamics and what exactly his ideologises are.

Where has father heo been hiding (or is he dead?) and what exactly was his role in the main city?

Does the reader have some special powers? as it was mentioned that she healed faster than most.

Is the heirloom blade of more importance than it seems?

I'm SO excited to get answers to these questions in the next parts!!!!! Keep up the excellent work author, rooting for this series 🤍

𝔥𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤 - 𝔩𝔧𝔥 || 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦

pairing: lee jihoon x female!reader genre: historical au, fluff, angst, smut (later routes), supernatural members: choi seungcheol, wen junhui, kwon soonyoung, jeon wonwoo, lee seokmin, kim mingyu, boo seungkwan, lee chan warnings: crass humor and language, blood, violence, mentions of suicide, alcohol, minor character death, 660's sexism, crossdressing, medical procedures, political upset, historical innacuarcies for the sake of plot progression word count: 33.5k

taglist: @hipsdofangirl

𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢 || 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

𝔍𝔞𝔫𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶 17𝔱𝔥, 661 – 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 The cold, gray sky of winter greets you with its hollow breath as you swing the door to your room open, any heat that has accumulated overnight swiftly dissipating as swaths of blustery air invade the space. From the looks of it, thick, gray clouds had begun to accumulate over the city outside the walls of the Hwarang’s compound, forecasting at least a light blanket of snow in the coming hours. You’d have to make sure that the fires from the kitchen aren’t low so that the ondol keeps warm under the building’s floors. 

Before you move to exit the room, you reach to grab a jacket from your handful of things, sighing as you catch sight of a piece of paper hidden under your coat. It’s the letter that had brought you here in the first place. Nearly two weeks have passed since your arrival at the Hwarang’s headquarters, the same frigidity that had met you on your first meeting was still ingrained into them, the same distrust, no doubt, but it isn’t as if you can leave. 

 A frown as you look down at your clothes after shrugging the jacket onto your shoulders. Instead of your father’s clothes that you’d arrived in, they’d given you robes of their own. Not the blues of their commanders or warriors, but the deep green of their lesser ranks; of the pageboys, cooks, and less desirable positions within their numbers. They were and are foreign to you, you’d much rather wear the clothes that feel more familiar, even if they are men’s. But you aren’t meant to raise suspicion, just keep your head low until they find out more information of your father’s whereabouts. A female hiding out in the Hwarang’s headquarters would raise suspicion, start rumors, and with how much they hold themselves to a gold standard, it would be irreparable to their reputation. 

Jihoon, the Hwarang’s commander, had given you strict instructions to keep up the facade as a male. Saying that, while it would be harmful to their reputation if the word got out, it would also be a beacon for those looking for your father, or perhaps even you. Only those that you’d met on the first day, as well as a handful of others within their leadership, know of your true identity.

As you move your hands away from the hem of your jacket, your fingers brush against the blade that Jihoon had given back to you the day you’d arrived. It’d been somewhat ceremonial in your household, not a thing of use as there was no need for it. Your father had claimed it to be an heirloom kept in the family since the birth of Silla as a kingdom. You aren’t sure of the validity of that statement though, as the metal isn’t tinged with rust, it looks newly forged at times.

Regardless of the validity of the blade, your father made you take several lessons with your town’s local head guard, who’d only taught a girl because her father was a well-known physician. Also, because your father could treat any injury you sustained while practicing, which wasn’t ever needed as any scrapes or scratches you obtained healed fairly quickly. When you were little you didn’t think much of it. Yet as you grew older you realized that you healed faster than most. Your father said it must’ve been a gift from the Heavens but urged you not to tell anyone about it. And you hadn’t, fearing that those around you would treat you like a witch or a monster if they were to find out.

Swordplay was never something you took much interest in, seeing that you’d probably never put the techniques you’d learned to use. Besides, you aren’t a bloodthirsty fiend looking for a chance to use it anyway, you’d rather help people than hurt them. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts for a brief moment as a wang-do, one of the common Hwarang soldiers, passes by your room. They lock eyes with you for a moment, a scowl sneering onto their lips before they break their gaze and continue to stride past. Private rooms were only given to personnel of a higher rank within the Hwarang, and seeing how you are a newcomer, you can somewhat understand the resentment some of them have with your staying not in the typical quarters of those of your rank. 

With more guilt than not as you accept the hospitality of the Hwarang, you try to help out as much as you can, despite the wishes of the commander. To the average wang-do, it probably seems as if you’re receiving special treatment from the captains. Despite the actuality of them keeping watch over you to make sure you wouldn’t spew their secrets; it would be confusing, aggravating even, from an outsider’s perspective. But, even if you were allowed free reign of the headquarters, it’s not as if you could speak to any of them, most were nobles from families of high wealth. And your father isn’t poor by any means, but the wealth disparity between the nobles of the capital and nobles of the countryside is nothing to scoff at. 

So, you remain alone, for the time being, finding that the best way to not draw attention to yourself is to become practically invisible. Maybe if Jihoon allowed you to go out and search for your father you would find yourself more useful, but he’d just left for Hanseong a few days prior. Seeing as the man in charge of your stay here isn’t available, maybe your best bet would be to stay in your room until something of note happened, despite how aggravatingly boring it is. 

The room is practically empty, only a bed, a small chest of drawers and a writing desk to keep you company. It reminds you of when your father would leave for his patient visits, disappearing for days at a time and leaving you alone at home. Although it isn’t the same, those visits had the promise of return. Waiting for someone you knew would come back and waiting for the unknown are vastly different things.

As your reflections manifest into exasperated sighs, you barely notice the sound of approaching footsteps heading towards your room. 

“There you are!” Youngmin, the head of the Hwarang, exclaims once he catches sight of you. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you; I didn’t think you’d be in here!” He beams at you for a moment before stepping into the room with a tray in his hands. 

“Oh, I’m… sorry?” you apologize as he sets down the tray onto the writing desk nestled into the corner of the room. 

“Ah… wait… This is your room?” He questions as he straightens up, looking around at the interior for a moment. 

“It is,” you nod, wondering what he’s thinking about. 

“Then I just barged into a woman’s room without even announcing myself!” He looks flustered, his cheeks turning a tinge pink as he realizes his mistake and takes a few steps out of the room.

“It’s alright,” you try to assure him, “After all, it’s not like there’s anything here that I wouldn’t want you to see.”

“Hmm,” he sighs, trying to compose himself, “I thought since we’d assigned you to be Jihoon’s page your room would be next to his…” It seems as if Jihoon had neglected to inform Youngmin that you hadn’t actually been made a page. That isn’t in the least bit surprising with how coldly the commander had been treating you. 

“I’m not fully equipped to entertain guests, but you’re welcome to come in if you’d like,” you offer, motioning for him to come back inside the room.

“You don’t need to worry,” he waves his hand as if to brush off the thought, “And, if I may, I’ll take you up on your offer.” Youngmin then steps back into the room, and as if he notices your hesitant demeanor, he speaks up once more, “And please don’t feel nervous around me, as long as you’re here you’re a guest of the Hwarang.”

You offer him a small smile before looking down to the tray he’d carried in. A look of shock comes over your face as you realize what he’d brought, “This is—!”

Youngmin chuckles lightly, “I take it you’re a fan of sweets then? Jihoon’s adoptive mother likes to send them to us every once in a while, and hardly anyone touches them.” Several assorted hangwa lay on the dish, their colors vibrant against the gray gloom of the light shining in from outside, next to a steaming cup of tea. “Go ahead and have some, if you’d like.” 

“Thank you very much,” you nod and make your way over to gingerly pick up one of the confections. You look at the pink treat for a moment before taking a bite out of it, savoring the sweetness of it before turning back to Youngmin, “It’s delicious.” Snacks like this were only limited to holidays or festivals back home, it’s shocking to hear that Jihoon’s mother had sent such a thing on a whim. 

“I’m glad you like them,” he smiles. Something about Youngmin’s presence holds an aura of warmth, that makes you feel more relaxed than you had been with any other member of the Hwarang since your arrival. “Ah, I’ve also heard you haven’t been able to go outside?”

A nod, “That’s right. But if that’s what’s needed for me to stay here, I wouldn’t want to cause any unnecessary trouble by going out.”

He looks almost sympathetic as he parts his lips once more, “I see… I’m glad you understand. I know that Jihoon can seem a little intimidating at first but he’s a truly caring man.”

To see the man who’d kept you in relative solitude for a few weeks as a caring person didn’t seem fully right… But Youngmin knows him much better than you do.

“He may be a little strict with you, but only because he’s trying to do what’s in your best interest.” Youngmin sighs, a telling sign that maybe he hadn’t agreed with everything Jihoon had done before. “I’ll speak to him once he gets back, I know this must be hellish for you, but I can only ask you to hang in for a bit longer.”

“Alright,” you nod, “Thank you.” Even if Youngmin’s visit hadn’t done much to change your living arrangement, it had lightened your mood ever so slightly. 

After Youngmin had departed and you’d been left to sulk in your room for a while, you notice that the sun was slowly sinking into the sky. The clouds of earlier in the day had parted to let the golden light shine onto the headquarters as the sun made its descent into the horizon. It feels as if time itself has stopped, the sun hanging in the same place for an unimaginably long time.

All this time in solitude is doing a number on both your mental and emotional state. Any hope of getting out of your isolation seems to slip with each passing moment you spend alone. You had come to the capital to find your father, not get swept up into a world where your life lay on the line should you slip up and say something you shouldn’t.

Even if they were showing you more hospitality than you could’ve asked for, you know that you can’t trust the Hwarang completely. 

“They can’t all be that bad… right?” you mutter to yourself as you sit at the small drawing table, flipping through the letters you’d brought with you.

“Has anyone ever called you ‘gullible’, before?” A voice behind you causing you to jump and turn to see who’d spoken. 

Your gaze hardens as you see Boo Seungkwan standing in your doorway, arms crossed with a small frown painted on his lips. “What are you doing here?” Asking as you push yourself to your feet, brushing off your pant legs before facing him fully. 

“You didn’t notice me? It’s my turn to keep watch over you,” he sighs, “You talk to yourself a lot, don’t you?”

Had you really been thinking aloud earlier? You bite your lip and try to mentally remind yourself to never do that again as you’d never know who could be listening in on you here. Before you can retort, Hansol steps in from the hallway.

“I think that’s enough picking on her, Seungkwan.” He frowns at the other.

“Did you hear me too?” You question, somewhat embarrassed about how this was playing out. 

“I only just arrived,” he shakes his head in the negative. “I came to tell you that dinner is ready but,” Hansol’s eyes narrow ever so slightly at you, noticing how incrementally flustered you’re getting, “have I interrupted something?”

“Nothing at all!” You insist, trying to calm yourself.

“I was going to let the two of you continue to speak, but if I had left you two alone, I knew that he’d probably try and get you out of sorts again,” Hansol notes somewhat stoically, probably thinking to the times where he’d been in the exact same situation. His shoulders shrug before the sound of more approaching footsteps reaches you. 

Soonyoung rushes into the room with loud, heavy stomps. His eyes are somewhat frantic, his voice somewhat annoyed as he speaks, “Hey! It’s dinnertime and I’m absolutely starving.” 

“Sorry about that, I’ll be there soon,” Hansol apologizes to the younger.

Soonyoung then looks to you, “You too, hurry up or Junhui’s gonna eat all of the food again.”

“Sorry Captain Kwon, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You say as he begins to turn on his heels to leave before stopping himself.

His lips purse together before he looks back at you, “Look… can you drop the ‘Captain Kwon’ thing? Just call me Soonyoung, everyone else here does.”

“Are you sure about that?” You question with an inquisitive tilt of your head.

“Why not? We’re practically the same age, aren’t we? And we don’t need honorifics either, I’m not one of those uptight nobles.” He frowns slightly.

“Alright then… Soonyoung.” 

“That’s more like it,” he grins, “Now let’s go.”

The walk to the dining area is more familiar than any other route you’d taken thus far during your stay with the Hwarang. Meals are the only time of day that you really are able to leave your room and have company, even if that company was the other captains of the Hwarang.

“You’re lateee,” a whine from Wen Junhui as he sits in front of his meal, the lids still atop the dishes so as to not let the steam out. “Who’s responsible for this? My stomach’s crying and I think my soup’s already gone cold,” he frowns as everyone finishes filing into the hall. 

“You mean ‘growling’,” Soonyoung snickers as he moves to take his seat next to Junhui, you move to sit on the other side of Junhui, next to Mingyu. “Sometimes it’s really easy to tell that you’re not from here.”

“That doesn’t even matter, you should all apologize to my stomach,” the taller’s hands fly to his abdomen as the remaining captains take their seats, “it’s been desperate for food since this morning’s practice routines.”

A small ‘tch’ from Mingyu as he rolls his eyes at the two, “A commoner correcting a noble, I never thought I’d see the day.” There’s a tinge of sarcasm to his voice as he speaks, the tone disappearing as he pipes up once more, “Alright, now that everyone’s here we can eat.”

There’s general chatter amongst the captains as they start to uncover their dishes and begin to dig into their meals. You sit and eat in relative silence until Junhui’s voice begins to raise on your right.

“There’s hardly enough here to feed a kid, let alone a guy like me,” you turn your head and watch his gaze trail down to Soonyoung’s tray to his right, “I guess I’ll have to take yours…” His now empty hands make a grab for the bowl of rice situated atop Soonyoung’s tray. “Survival of the—”

“Survival of the fittest my ass, Junhui,” the other retorts, sticking out his elbow and hitting the other square in the chest. There’s a hollow thud reverberating around Wen’s ribcage, it sounds painful, but he doesn’t look phased at all. But it did stop him from trying to snatch Soonyoung’s meal. “Why’re you always stealing my food?”

Junhui laughs, you hear Mingyu also let out a small chuckle to your left. “It’s because of the size difference, Soonyoung. I’ve got the bigger body; therefore I need more food.” 

“No way, I’ve gotta eat too!” Soonyoung protests, his elbow still locked in place trying to hold the other back. 

“You’d think they’d be more civil around a woman,” Mingyu, at the tailend of his laughter, notes about the two, “but they’re always like this.” 

“I think I’ve gotten used to it by now,” you respond, setting down the cup of tea you’d been drinking before looking at Hansol, who’s gaze seems to have drifted across the room to the bickering pair.

“How we’ve managed so long without them killing one another is beyond me,” he says before eating a spoonful of the soup in front of him. “Are you not eating?” Hansol questions Seungkwan, who sits next to him. The latter sits reclined back in his seat, seemingly watching the entertainment in front of him instead of touching his food.

“I’m alright. If I eat too much in one sitting I get slow.” He nods, reaching for his cup.

“What do you mean ‘slow’?” Junhui pokes, gaze shifting from Soonyoung to Seungkwan for a moment and then down to the food on the older’s plates. “But if you’re not going to eat…”

“Go for it,” Seungkwan scoots the tray forward with his elbow, passing it over to Junhui as his hand is still occupied with his cup. “As long as I’ve got makgeolli, I’m alright.” 

“Sounds like I’m going with makgeolli too,” Mingyu sighs and passes a few plates from his tray onto yours after noticing that most of your food was already eaten.  

“You don’t have to—” you begin to protest before Seungkwan speaks up again.  

“Don’t worry about eating too much or being a freeloader,” he says, a weird bubbling of guilt arising in your stomach. 

“I understand but I can’t help but feel a little bad…” You state as you look down to the newly acquired plates in front of you.  

“If you’re going to let that get to you, you’re never going to get anything you want,” Hansol says pointedly, continuing to eat the mix of soup in front of him.  

“A- alright,” you nod, picking up your utensils again and beginning to pick at the newfound food on your tray. Because you never had much contact with others during the daytime, it makes having dinner with the captains something of an entertaining and frightening experience every night. But it’s fun. A small smile curls onto your lips at the thought of some normalcy for a moment when you hear Mingyu speak again.

“You know we’re not going to hurt you, right?” He’d seen your smile, probably seeing it as you begin to relax, and he seeks to soothe your anxieties about them even more so. His own lips have a soft smile of their own, an honesty brimming with it. Maybe they’d all been trying to put you at ease with their antics.  

It was troublesome to navigate, you have conflicted feelings about staying with them and taking up their time and resources, but it isn’t as if you have much of a choice. They seemed to realize that too and instead of scorning you for it, were trying to make the best of it.  

But before you could ponder on the notion for much longer, Song Eunseok enters the room.  

“Captains?” He asks somewhat quietly, but the noise of his arrival had turned all heads towards him. “Do you have a moment?” Voice soft as usual, his eyes teem with a quiet anxiety that you hadn’t ever seen during your brief acquaintance with him. The gaiety that had once erupted in the room comes to a fizz as he begins to speak once more, “I’ve just gotten a letter from Sabi, Seungcheol’s been gravely injured during a skirmish.” 

Your brows raise as Seungkwan shouts out, “What the hell happened?!”  

“A group of Baekje revivalists were laying siege to the chancellor’s home, Seungcheol and Jihoon arrived in time to subdue them, however, Seungcheol was injured at some point during the fight.” 

“Is he going to be alright?” You ask, your hands clenching together, nails digging into the skin.  

“According to Jihoon's letter he is gravely hurt, but the wound is on his left arm.” Eunseok’s teeth gnaw at the insides of his cheek for a moment, “It will be hard for him to draw an arrow or wield a blade but it’s almost certain that he will survive this.”   

“That’s good,” a sigh of relief leaving you, but the air lies tense from the other captains as they await more answers regarding their comrade’s status.  

“Seungcheol should be returning in a few days,” Eunseok nods, a solemn tone to his voice, “I’ll go and talk with Kwak some more regarding the situation, if anything else arises I’ll let you know.” He was already halfway out the door by the time he finished speaking, talking over his shoulder in a bated anxiety to rival that of the rest of the room.  

“An injury so bad he can’t hold a bow or sword?” Hansol almost thinks aloud, “He may have severed an artery. He may never carry a blade again if that’s true…” You now begin to understand the severity of the situation, why the air grew heavy and the voices grew low. “If he were to fight one handed against an opponent of similar skill he would almost certainly lose.”  

“... If push comes to shove he’ll have to take it. Seungcheol’s not just going to give up like that,” Seungkwan frowns, the cup in his hand settling down onto the table in front of him with a small clink before his hands fall into his lap.  

“Don’t say that, Boo,” Junhui’s face mirrors an equal grimace to that of the elder’s. “It’ll look bad if captains start joining the Furies.”  

“... Who?” You question, trying to follow their conversation as best you could but finding yourself lost as they begin to speak of things unknown to you. “The Furies?” 

“Furies,” Soonyoung begins, “They come from something you drink where any injury can be cur—” 

“Soonyoung!” Before you know it, Mingyu is on his feet and striding around you to the young captain. The elder captain’s hand reaches down and pulls up the younger by the front of his robes.  

“Ah—” Soonyoung’s voice catches in his throat, his eyes go wide as if he’s realized he’d said something that he shouldn’t have. 

“You’re overreacting, Kim.” Junhui stands, trying to pry Mingyu’s irontight grasp away from Soonyoung. “It’s my fault anyway, I said something first.” When Mingyu relinquishes Soonyoung’s green robes from his grip, Junhui shoots the younger a sympathetic look, “Sorry.” 

“I should’ve watched myself,” Soonyoung sighs, his hands moving to straighten his now wrinkled garment.  

Junhui’s gaze then turns to you, his tone becoming sterner, “Everything you just heard is something you should never repeat. I know you’re probably curious, but we can’t say anything else about it, so don’t ask.” The cold weight hiding behind his eyes is enough to make you feel uneasy about what you’d just heard. You’re not even sure what they were talking about, but it seems important enough to stay a secret.  

“Those Furies that Soonyoung was talking about are pitiful men,” Seungkwan states as he pushes himself to his feet. His voice held none of the snideness that it normally had, taking on a flatter and emotionless tone. A sate sort of melancholy coming over him, it’s clear he has something on his mind.  

“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” Junhui says to you as he breaks the silence, “So don’t try and get worked up about it.” 

Seeing as you were only a guest of the Hwarang and not an actual member among their ranks, you can understand their secrets. But it doesn’t make you any less curious.  

“Try your best to forget about it,” Hansol warns, not so much to you but to your circumstance, “The more involved you become with our affairs will only put you in more danger.” 

The wall built up between you and the captains was almost tangible at this point, not an easy thing to scale or break through. 

Dinner ended in relative silence, you excused yourself to your room and hurried back to collect your thoughts. You exhale a large sigh as you enter, your mind hopping from the fate of the Hwarang’s colonel to what the Furies were. It reminds you of the rakshasa from the Buddhist texts your father had made you read as a young girl. The phrases ‘something you drink’ and ‘becoming a Fury’ bounce around your skull before you stop yourself. Hansol had asked you to forget, but it feels as if him saying that only makes you want to remember. 

For whatever reason, the Hwarang captains were keeping hush about whatever ordeal was occurring. Was it to protect you? Regardless, sticking your nose into their business would only be detrimental to your stay with them. 

With that in mind you try to clear your head as best you can before slipping into bed and trying to drift off to sleep. 

𝔐𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥 3𝔯𝔡, 661 – 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 It’s been a little over two months since you’d joined the Hwarang at the headquarters in Seorabeol. Jihoon and Seungcheol had returned from their expedition to Sabi, but morale among the men was low. For a while after their return, due to Seungcheol’s injury, a few operations within the organization became hectic due to his absence. The wounds he’d acquired were grim, draining most of the goodness in his nature before your very eyes. He’d spend days locked away in his room, the silence deafening to those who would venture in and try to speak to him.  

On the rare occasion that he did leave his room, his temper lay short before he’d barricade himself away in his abode once more. The Hwarang had offered to let him return to his family for recovery’s sake, but he insisted that his duty remain with his compatriots, despite his abysmal attitude.  

Even though you too were holed up away inside of your room, the ways in which the two of you coped with the ordeal were vastly different. Seungcheol was trapped within himself, fallen from whatever pedestal he thought was his to a mere memory of what once was. You, on the other hand, were merely looking for ways to help your hosts.  

In doing so, you now find yourself wandering the halls of the Hwarang’s main building looking for Lee Jihoon, who hopefully has an assignment for you to complete. Much in fashion for the commander, he was nowhere to be seen. You debate on whether it would be impolite to go to his room directly when an unknown soldier walks up to you. 

Their face is unfamiliar to you and they aren’t wearing the blue robes associated with the Hwarang on patrol. There is a chance you’d never seen them before, but by the way they are looking at you, you can surmise that that isn’t the case.  

“You… wouldn’t have happened to have seen Commander Lee… would you?” You ask as they approach, their gait long and almost prideful.  

“And who are you?” They question, looking you over with scathing eyes as if to detect your character, “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?” 

“Oh well… it’s a long story,” you mumble out, noticing their gaze sharpening on you.  

“Don’t make me repeat myself!” Their voice raises, the sternness only growing, “Answer me!” 

Fumbling out your words, you introduce yourself quickly.  

“Hmm,” he ponders, gaze softening ever so slightly, “I heard that the Commander recently acquired an apprentice warrior as a new page, it must be you.”  

“I am,” you respond with faux cocksureness, not realizing that the men had referred to you as an apprentice warrior under the Hwarang.  

“Why don’t you enlighten me on how you came to know the Chief and Commander?” The man’s scrutinizing gaze continues as you straighten your posture, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “I heard you’re from Toehwa-hyeon, but how were you able to squeeze your way in here?” 

“I didn’t ‘squeeze my way in here’,” you retort, not liking how this man was addressing you.

“Judging by how defensive you’re being, it sounds as if I’ve gotten it right.” He almost scoffs at you in disbelief, “This isn’t some place for a common boy without any worth in his duties or on the battlefield to walk in without earning it. I’ll ask you one last time: how did you come to know the Chief and Commander?”  

You stay silent, unsure of how to address him or what answer would be the right one. Yet, before you can begin to formulate a response, he steps forward and grabs the sleeve of your robes, “I, Suh Kangjoon, am asking you a question.” With the way he states his own name, it’s as if he’s trying to signal himself as someone of importance, but you’d never heard the other captains speak of him before. “What makes you think you can ignore me?” Rather than have a calm air as he asked, his tone had almost shifted to that of a petulant child.  

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A voice barks off to the side, coming from one of the hall’s entranceways. Both Kangjoon and you turn to see Jihoon standing in the doorway, an almost scowl painting his lips as he watches the scene before him. Once Kangjoon had realized it was him, his hand falls away from clutching at your robes and returns to his side.  

“Very well, Commander,” he wets his lips as Jihoon approaches before clearing his throat and speaking once again. “I’m here on business with Gukseon Kwak.” 

“Is that right?” Jihoon’s voice is tipped with a poisonous edge, as if he didn’t fully trust the character in front of you. “He failed to mention that to me.” 

“He wrote to me with special orders to aid him while Colonel Choi is out of commission,” he begins, “I have the letter if you’d like to read it.”

“That’s quite alright,” Jihoon waves him off, “but I think it’d be in your interest to know that Kwak is out on training runs with Kwon’s squadron today.” 

“Then I suppose I’ll have to come back at a later date,” the air of faux civility between the two was nearly palpable, Jihoon doing nothing to hide his distaste whereas Kangjoon only looked at him snidely. The newcomer begins to turn on his heels, heading for the exit before his pace slows and leaves the two of you with a few words, “Is it true that you’ve welcomed him as your page, Commander?” 

“Yes,” Jihoon nods, glancing at you for a moment before returning to look at the other, “but it’s no concern to you.” 

A flash of an uncaring smile, “Forgive me, then. I’ll try not to ask more as it seems to be out of my jurisdiction.” Another step before he stills, “I do, however, question your predisposition toward keeping those from higher ranks close to you,” his eyes widen in faux surprise, “Ah, it seems I’ve forgotten myself, please excuse me.”  

Once the stranger has exited the building, only then do you feel a sigh of relief overcome you. But before you have the chance to dwell on it for too long, Jihoon speaks up. 

“You shouldn’t be walking around the headquarters without my permission, you know.” 

“I understand, Commander, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” you begin to apologize. 

“Your presence here isn’t known by the other factions of the Hwarang, only those staying here at Shoshin,” He explains, “be mindful of anyone that isn’t a Hwarang from this sect, understood?” 

“Understood,” you nod. “But, can I ask who that man was?”

“That man is a captain of the Hanseong Hwarang. His name is Suh Kangjoon.” Jihoon looks as if he’s wracking his brain for an adequate description of the man, “His archery and swordsmanship are decent, but he’s well read and has a knack for military tactics.” His voice lowers a bit for his next statement. “He’s cunning, so be careful.” 

“Okay.”

 “Regardless of that,” his voice back to a decent volume as his gaze hardens at you, “if you’re not attending to someone then I fully expect you to stay put in your room.” With that, you suppose, he meant to dismiss you back to your quarters as any strict commander should and would have done. Yet, you still have something to ask of him. 

“I actually wanted to ask you something, Commander,” you start, trying your best to look him in the eye instead of anywhere else, “Staying in my room alone for so long makes me feel utterly useless. Is there anything I can do around the compound to make me feel less-than-adequate while I stay here?” 

“You truly can’t find something productive to do in your room?” Almost as if the sincerity of your prior statement was beginning to make him think, his harsh gaze softens just a bit.  

“Not at all,” you shake your head. 

A sigh, “Very well, then. I’ll talk with the other captains about it, so, until then just be on standby.” His arms cross, his gaze once again turning stern, “This is under the condition that you are to keep yourself from interacting with anyone that is not a Hwarang of Shoshin Temple, alright?” 

“Of course,” you can’t help a small smile curling onto your lips, “But… thank you.” 

The two of you part not long after that, and you find the next day via Eunseok that you’re allowed to freely roam the compound now. Albeit you have a few tasks to help out with; cleaning, laundry, and cooking. It isn’t a glamorous job but it is something you’re accustomed to. 

𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 15𝔱𝔥, 661 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 The air thick with a humidity sweeping in from the coast, the entirety of the Kingdom of Silla lies in mourning after the death of the posthumously named King Taejong Muyeol. With the lauded last year's effort of him uniting both Silla and Baekje, the former kingdom to the west of Silla, hanging over the heads of every citizen, his death felt like a sharp blow to all. For the first few days of the month, the Hwarang had traveled to Banweolseong, the King’s palace, to pay their respects to the fallen monarch, leaving you alone with only Eunseok as company.  

 Once the Hwarang had steadily returned to the compounds, an air of normalcy once again began to hang over the inhabitants and the buildings themselves. Yet, midway through the month, Emperor Gaozong of the Tang dynasty called in aid from Silla to attack the kingdom of Gogoryeo. The kingdom resides to the north, and the Tang emperor wished to pincer it from both sides so that it would fall under either Tang or Silla rule.

Whereas this may have been the wishes of Taejong Muyeol, the new king, Munmu, found issue in sending out an army so close to the prior monarch’s death. Yet, as an almost tributary state to the Tang, Silla was forced to comply by sending soldiers to the front. No members of the Hwarang were called, as they were to remain in their cities and keep patrol when the officers that normally stood guard could not.  

It’s a cooler day of the beginning of summer, you’d just come back to your room with your laundry when Hansol appears at your door. He stands there for a moment, allowing you to put down the basket of clothes in your hands before speaking, “Commander Lee would like a word with you.” 

A wordless nod and you begin to follow after him. Hansol leads you to the main hall, only stopping at the entranceway and gesturing you inside, you step into the room and hear Hansol go in behind you, closing the door after he enters. Looking around, you spot Jihoon, Seungkwan, Mingyu, Junhui and Soonyoung standing around the hall. It seems as if only the captains and you had been summoned for this meeting.  

“I know you’ve been waiting for this, but the time has come to finally let you out,” Jihoon says once everyone’s settled into a comfortable silence.  

Your lips part and you can barely contain the gasp forming in the back of your throat, “Really?” Unable to contain your excitement, you try to compose yourself before speaking again. “So, there really was someone who saw my father in Hwango-dong?” You question, only hearing rumors of someone who’d seen a man with your father’s profile in one of the city’s districts.  

“We’re not sure if it’s true or not,” Jihoon cedes as he nods his head, “It’s our intention to let you verify for us. Considering that you’d recognize him the best out of everyone here.” 

“So, where is this man who said he saw him?”  

“The initial report outlines Jeolin Inn in Hwango-dong, Hansol’s assigned to do a preliminary check.” Both your and his attention turn to the man Jihoon had named. Did this mean that you were to accompany him to check or were you to wait here until after he’d swept the area? 

“That doesn’t mean that Heo is a guest of the inn though,” Kim chimes in. 

“Yeah,” Junhui agrees, “Being sighted in Hwango-dong could just mean he was walking around Seorabeol.”  

“Exactly,” Jihoon sighs, crossing his arms and looking at Soonyoung, Junhui and Mingyu, “That’s why I’m asking the three of you to take her out on your rounds to assist her in her search.” 

“All of us?” Soonyoung’s head tilts in confusion, “We normally split up and go our separate ways on our rounds.” 

Rather than entertaining Soonyoung with a response, Jihoon looks back to you. It was a quiet way to say that they were still in charge of looking over you, needing to make sure you wouldn’t try and make a break for it should they take you out in search for your father. 

“We get what you’re trying to say, Jihoon,” Seungkwan notes, “but I don’t like that you’re making us do all of the babysitting. I thought you were planning on patrolling as well?” The teasing lilt to his voice returns, “So, for your benefit why don’t you show your adorable page the ropes by taking her out with you?”

 “Aren’t you the one who pushed her onto me?” Jihoon scoffs, “I’m not taking any of your shit today, Boo. She isn’t my page.” 

“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t, but a lot of the wang-do are beginning to believe it.” Seungkwan notes, crossing his own arms. “There’s always a grain of truth in every lie, so why don’t you give her a job already?” 

As the two continue their stalemating conversation, Mingyu moves to your side and whispers something to you, “Seorabeol isn’t the safest place right now, as you know, so you don’t have to force yourself to leave. I mean we all know what your dad looks like, so it’s not just your risk alone to bear.”  

It seems like you could either explore where your father had last been seen, patrol the surrounding area, accompany Jihoon as his page, or stay here, from what Mingyu had suggested.  

“Then let me be your page, Jihoon,” you say as Mingyu backs away from your side.  

The commander looks at you, something of a distressed light in his eyes, “What?” His voice trembles irately as if the thought of you accompanying him troubles him.  

“I mean, walking around town with you may help with getting leads to find my father, right?” You suggest, adding on seconds later, “And if the wang-do are questioning my place, wouldn’t it be in our best interest for me to act like your page? It might convince them.” 

Jihoon’s expression sours at your words, “There’s no need to take Seungkwan’s words at face value you know, he likes to mess around and have fun with his wor—”  

“Now aren’t you happy to have a cute little page?” Seungkwan smirks as Jihoon stares at him bitterly for cutting him off.  

“Very well,” Jihoon frowns and looks back to you, “you better make sure you stay out of my way though.” 

After nearly five months since your arrival at the Hwarang headquarters, you’re finally able to leave it. The world has changed, green leaves and flowering blooms greeting you as you and Jihoon make your way through the streets of the city. It was more alive than you had left it earlier in the year. 

“I don’t know how it ended up this way,” Jihoon grumbles to himself as the two of you walk through the crowds of Seorabeol. “But I can’t not keep my word…” He keeps himself a few paces in front of you, his mood and tone keeping you somewhat on edge. His attitude had the ability to dictate your own inner thoughts, to question if it really was your place to be here with him.  

As the two of you pass by what looks to be a tea shop, you hear a voice call out to Jihoon. 

“Commander!” A man looking similar in age to you shouts and makes his way over. He doesn’t wear the blue robes that Jihoon had donned in order to patrol the streets, but with the way he was received, it seems like he was a friend. “I have a report that needs to be disclosed as soon as possible.” But if he had called Jihoon ‘Commander’, wouldn’t he still have to be a part of the Hwarang? 

The man steps forward and whispers something into Jihoon’s ear. Jihoon’s eyes widen and then his face goes blank before he turns to you, “I have an urgent matter to attend to.” He looks to the shop you’d stopped in front of, “I’m entrusting you to stay here and ask about Heo.”

“You want me to stay here alone…?” You question, glancing at the shop, “Would that be alright with you?” 

Jihoon stares at you for a moment as if he’s trying to decipher any of your hidden thoughts, “Did you plan on accompanying me just so you could run away?” The pit of your stomach drops at his words. 

“Of course not!” You defend yourself. 

“Then don’t bother me with asinine questions,” he sighs, “Do what I told you and wait here for me to come back, okay?”

 “Okay.”  

And just like that, Jihoon and the newcomer race down the street away from you. Your eyes once again travel to the tea shop, a sigh escapes you before you head inside. The heavy smell of tea rises from every corner of the room, several patrons sit at small tables discussing various topics as you enter. But you aren’t there for that. So, you make your way over to the shopkeeper and inquire about your father.  

Asking him had given you no leads, nor had asking any of the customers coming in or leaving the shop over the course of the next hour. It seemed as if no one knew about your father’s whereabouts. You now sit at a table in the shop, the tea in front of you becoming cold as fragments of leaves swirl around the small cup.  

“The Hwarang are here to conduct a search!” A familiar voice booms at the entrance of the shop, “Everyone, remain calm. Who’s the shopkeeper here?” The last you’d seen this man, he hadn’t been wearing the blues of the Hwarang. It is Suh Kangjoon, one of the captains of the Hwarang’s Hanseong unit, what was he doing here? 

“I’m the owner here,” the frail voice of the elderly man who you’d questioned earlier speaks up, “What is the meaning of your visit?” 

A small ‘tch’ before Kangjoon continues, “I shouldn’t even have to explain myself… It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve allowed Baekje revivalists to conduct their business within this shop.” His voice forceful, unabiding, “What exactly are you plotting? If you don’t answer me, I’ll be forced to take you to headquarters where you will be questioned.” 

“That’s absurd!” The shopkeeper exclaims, “I would never allow that here.” 

“Oh? Then are you questioning the credibility of the Hwarang?” Kangjoon frowns, his eyes narrowing at the elderly man. 

 “Of course I’m not,” sweat begins to glisten on the elderly man’s brow, seemingly terrified at the respect that Kangjoon was asking from him. Kangjoon then scans the store, looking at the patrons, you manage to look away before he has the chance to recognize you.   

“It’s in our best interest to let local shops run unimpeded,” Kangjoon says, his attention returning to the shopkeeper. “So, depending on how well you… cooperate with us, perhaps I could make this little disturbance disappear.” 

“Are you implying…” The shopkeeper's voice dies down before he finishes the thought.

“I’m only suggesting that it would be beneficial to you to share some of your… goodwill.” A coy smile etches itself onto Kangjoon’s lips. Although it isn’t explicitly said, it’s clear that he is soliciting a bribe. 

“I— I can’t afford something like that,” the shopkeep cries out, “There isn’t even anything suspicious happening here!”  

“Hmm?” Kangjoon says, “You’re refusing to help the Hwarang? We’re the protectors of Silla, you know.” 

“I would never do such a thing!”  

“If you refuse to cooperate then I’ll have to take you back to headquarters,” Kangjoon’s voice grows even more stern, “You must be a Baekje sympathizer.”  

“N- No, I’m not!” The man protests.  

The whole conversation makes you feel sick to your stomach, you’re about to speak out when someone puts their hand on your shoulder, rendering you unable to move from your seat. 

“Shh,” they say, their voice rather soft and melodic in your ear as they continue, “Someone like you shouldn’t get involved in such a dangerous situation. He won’t hesitate to cut down anyone in his way.” By the way he looks, you could think him to be some sort of stage actor, but with the sword hanging by his side you know he isn’t as such. “Just leave this to me.” The softness of his voice calms you, and you sit back down in your seat before watching him proceed. 

“Can I ask something?” The stranger says as he walks towards Kangjoon and the shopkeeper, his eyes trained on the malefactor. “You’re with the Hwarang, right?” 

Kangjoon turns, obviously surprised that someone would interrupt him in this situation.  

“I am, why does that matter to you?” He questions with a sneer.  

“The owner of this tea shop has clearly stated he isn’t allowing any Baekje revivalists to meet here,” the stranger says calmly. “So, with what charges were you going to place on him to allow you to question him at your headquarters?” 

“How dare you question me like this,” Kangjoon frowns, “You must be one of those revivalists, right? I should’ve known you’d turn up.” 

“Just because I question you, I’m an enemy?” The man sighs out, “I suppose a fair investigation is out of the question.” 

“You are preventing me from delivering the Crown’s justice, which is enough proof for me,” Kangjoon nods. 

“Very well, then,” The man nods, “If things are going to escalate, would you mind heading outside? I wouldn’t want to upset anyone here.” 

“You sound afraid of getting your pretty little face bloodied up,” Kangjoon scoffs, “Not surprising.” 

Kangjoon then puffs up his chest following the other man outside the store to challenge him to a fight. You quickly follow the pair and watch the scene unfold. Kangjoon’s smirk remains on his face as the two meet each other. He begins to reach for his blade to threaten the newcomer, assuming an offensive stance. 

Yet, before he can pull the blade from its sheath, the other man moves to cover the scabbard’s mouth.  

“Let go! Or else—” Kangjoon shouts before the other begins to speak. 

“You weren’t really going to draw your sword, were you?” The man questions with a small smile and tilt of his head. “If you were, then things between us may get serious, and I’m not sure you’re ready for that.” The duality of the man is easy to see: one side a soft spoken and gentle face; the other is clearly a fighter.  

Suh Kangjoon must feel this duality, because after the man says his piece, he makes no move to draw his blade. A crowd had begun to form around the two men, curious as to what the incident was and what would happen.  

“It seems as if we’re drawing in a crowd,” the man notes. “Are you still planning on fighting?” 

“I never forget a face,” Kangjoon huffs and angrily shakes off the man’s hand. “I will make you live to regret this day.” His face flush with an unholy fury, he spins on his heels and disappears into the crowds of the street.  

The tension from the moments prior dissipates, the crowd surrounding the pair is beginning to dissolve as well. You breathe a sigh of relief as things haven't come to a bloodied fight.  

“That could’ve been ugly,” the man notes, turning his head from watching his opponent saunter off towards you, “Let’s go inside and check on the shopkeeper.”  

“Are you okay?” You ask, there hadn’t been a fight but you’re not sure you could’ve stood up to Kangjoon in that way. 

“Yes,” he nods, “that was nothing.” 

“Why were you willing to risk your life like that against him? You didn’t have to stop me.”  

A slight pink tinges his cheeks as he answers timidly, “To be honest, you reminded me of someone from a long time ago.” 

“Me?” Perplexion in your voice as the comment settles strangely inside you. 

“Yes,” he nods, a small smile on his lips, “you even get flustered like them.” He studies your face for a moment, noting a few things that must be similar to the person he knew. Even if that is somewhat flattering, you still have no idea who this man is. 

“You must’ve mistaken me for someone else,” You bow slightly, and he looks a little taken aback.  

“My apologies, then,” he chuckles, “It seems as if I’m simply mistaken.” He glances towards the shop entrance, “Let’s go back inside, I’m sure your tea and snacks are ruined by now.” His demeanor is overtly gentle, nearly impossible to resist as he draws you back into the shop. 

Upon entering the store, the owner smiles and brings the two of you freshly brewed tea. And once seated back down at your table, you realize there are an assortment of treats waiting for you that hadn’t been there prior. 

“You didn’t have to do this—” the man says to the shopkeeper. 

“Please don’t worry about it,” the elderly man smiles, setting the pot down atop your table as the younger man takes a seat across from you. “You saved me and my shop today, it’s the least I can do.” 

“It was nothing,” the man says shyly, “I didn’t do anything to deserve such kindness. But thank you, I love sweets.” 

“Don’t be shy and have as much as you want,” the owner seems to bow after every sentence, returning to the counter after he’d finished to attend to his other customers.  

“Would you like some?” The man asks and offers out the plate of snacks to you. 

“I think the owner means for you to eat all of this,” you note, you’d feel guilty if you’d indulged in the treats.  

“If you say so,” the man says, setting down the plate and picking up one of the tteok. A smile overcomes him as he enjoys the treat, you’re not sure if you’d ever seen a warrior smile this much. Yet, with every bite he grins like a small child, almost as if he were the happiest man alive. By now you assume it’s safe to surmise that you were close in age with the way he is conducting himself. 

“I suppose it’s time for me to pay my tab,” the man says once he’s finished his tea and a few of the snacks from the plate. He moves to stand, saying something to you as he does, “I’ll be leaving now. Please be careful and try your best to avoid trouble, okay?” 

He leaves before you have the chance to respond, drifting from the store like a ghost after he’d finished paying his bill. The man had given you little to no time to thank him for his actions earlier, so you stand from your table and rush outside to try and find him.

 “Wait!” You call out to him as you race through the exit.  

He’d stopped in his tracks when he’d heard you shout after him, turning on his heels to face you, “Is something wrong?” 

“Thank you for earlier,” you bow down, “You probably saved my life.” 

He chuckles almost humbly as you stand back up, “I really didn’t do anything to warrant this much of a thanks.” His gaze wanders from you to look down the street, “Although it does seem like the Hwarang are losing their grip on some of their members… If today’s incident was any indication of that, I can’t blame people for losing trust in them.”  

“Ah,” you frown, wondering how much people like Kangjoon were responsible for that distrust. “Kangjoon is a cruel man, I don’t think most of the Hwarang would ever treat someone like that. Even if someone’s born a noble, or even joins the Hwarang, it doesn’t automatically make them a good person.” 

“I know,” he looks back at you and nods solemnly, “I don’t think that he represents what the Hwarang stands for at all.” The man continues to look at you for a moment, searching your eyes as if they held a key to something. It looks as if he has something to say, but before he lets it slip past his lips he turns back to the street, he calls out your name before speaking once again, “I guess I’ll be on my way.” 

Your eyes widen as he begins to walk. How did he know your name? The man turns his back fully to you and begins to walk away, disappearing in the thicket of people on the street. You don’t have much time to question who that man was and why he seems to know you before you see Jihoon in the distance, stalking towards the tea shop.  

“Sorry for making you wait so long,” the commander frowns, looking towards the shop as he stops in front of you, “Did you find out any information about your father?” 

You shake your head at him, a small frown coating your lips, “Nothing.”

 “I see,” he sighs, “It’s not like people around here are very prone to talking, either. Don’t let that get you down.”

As the sun begins to make its descent into the sky, the two of you begin to walk back to the Hwarang’s headquarters. You begin to fill him in on what had happened at the tea shop, a scowl forming as he mulls over what you say.

“Kangjoon did what?” It was a palpable rage exuding from him, but not to the extent he needed to lash out at someone. “Don’t tell anyone about what happened today, not even the captains. Alright?” You nod as he continues, “It’s nothing you haven’t heard before but never let your guard down, especially around people you don’t know. The Hwarang has to protect its secrets, sometimes even from its own members. Especially from that idiot.” Sensing that he was talking about Kangjoon, you nod once again.

After that he continues to prod more questions from you about the events earlier in the day. “You mentioned that a soldier, or someone like that, came to your aid in the tea shop. Do you know anything about him?”

Eyes widening as you realize, “I didn’t even ask him his name…”  

“How the hell am I supposed to thank him now?” Jihoon sighs out frustratedly.

 “It all happened so fast I barely had time to catch my own breath,” you try to explain, mentally scolding yourself for your carelessness.  

“I… that’s understandable. If you happen to cross paths again, ask for his name.” He mutters something out under his breath, “Despite that, I’m sorry we didn’t get any relevant information about your father today. Hopefully either Captain Choi or Wen found something of note.” 

 Upon returning to the compound, it was relayed to you that the sighting of your father at the Inn had been false. It pierced you as the sliver of hope you had of finding your father soon slipped quickly and quietly from your grasp. 

𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔶 7𝔱𝔥, 661 – 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 Kwon Soonyoung and Boo Seungkwan stand in the great hall as you enter. The past few weeks had given you no information on the whereabouts of your father, despite you going on patrol rounds with the different Hwarang captains. You assume the information, or lack of, was the reason for your summoning today by Lee Jihoon. Although the presence of the other two Hwarang captains makes you feel somewhat more relieved that you wouldn’t have to face the demon commander alone.  

“You asked to see me?” There’s a sour look on Jihoon’s face as you ask, something clearly eating away at him.  

“It’s about your father,” he begins, and you perk up for a moment. Jihoon’s frown stays on his face as he looks at you, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you can already tell you won’t like what he says. “I think it’s best we stop searching for him for the time being.” 

“Why?” You can hardly stop yourself from blurting out the question. You’d only been able to search for him for what felt like a handful of weeks, if you were to stop now there was a major possibility you could lose any leads you have.  

Jihoon remains collected, his arms crossing as he speaks again, “We have reports of activity from Baekje loyalists. It would be more than foolish to let you wander the streets in search of your father at a time like this.” 

 You recall your encounter a month ago with Kangjoon at the tea shop. He’d been in search of Baekje spies… was the issue really becoming that bad? It was surely one thing to lose one’s homeland, but Silla had been nothing but civil to the former kingdom’s people, or so you’d heard.  

“Then, are you asking me to stay here until things are resolved with the loyalists?” You question with a tilt of your head, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice.  

The commander nods before turning to Soonyoung and Seungkwan, “That being said, as for now she isn’t to accompany any captain on their rounds.” 

“So that’s why you pulled us in here?” The question is more like a musing as it falls from Soonyoung. It seems like he too hadn’t known why he was called here, and it was now beginning to click. “You know, she’s never caused any issues when we took her on our rounds… It feels kind of bad now that she can’t tag along.” 

“Mhm,” Seungkwan nods, “even if something were to happen, as long as she’s not hopping into the fray it should be alright. Besides,” he smirks at you, “it’s not like she could outrun us if she tries to escape.”

 “I won’t run,” you protest firmly, knowing that he was fully joking. Eyes lingering on Seungkwan for a moment before you look back to Jihoon, “I made a promise when I agreed to stay here. I promised I’d look for my father, I can’t hold myself to that if you won’t let me.” 

“Staying with us is putting yourself at risk,” Seungkwan shrugs in your periphery, “if you don’t mind that, I don’t mind you joining us.” His gaze travels to Jihoon, his lips parting, “We’ve had witness reports, I don’t see why we should stop looking when we still have information coming in.” 

“You might have a point, Boo. But are witness reports a justifiable reason to put her in harm’s way?” The commander rebukes, his hands falling to his sides. “By taking her out with us, we’re placing an unnecessary burden on our shoulders.” 

“If I lose the opportunity to search for my father,” fists clenching at your sides, your nails digging into the skin of your palms, “then any future chances of finding him will be nearly impossible.” 

Jihoon looks at you, eyes searching yours, his gaze hardening. You think he’s about to refute you before he starts speaking again. “You need to follow the orders of every captain you’re on patrol with. No sidetracking them. Am I clear?”

 “Yes,” you nod, “of course.” Unsure of how to show your gratitude, you bow towards him. 

“I’m not going to be the one ordering you to join them,” the commander huffs as you rise, “that’s up to your discretion.” 

By the way that the commander spoke, it seems as if he doesn’t want you to leave the compound for whatever reason. You’re unsure what’s caused the full shift in his attitude towards you accompanying the men out on patrol, but for now it’s probably your best bet to stay within the compound for the time being. 

After a few quiet goodbyes, you return to your room. Jihoon’s words of caution reside in your eardrums, you know they’d plague you should you have chosen to go out with either Soonyoung or Seungkwan. So, until that beast of guilt renders itself immobile, you’ll hole yourself up in the headquarters. Staying inside doesn’t make you happy, it reminds you of the first few weeks you’d spent here. Alone and outcast in a world of unfamiliar faces.  

Yet, unlike a few months ago, you now had free roam of the buildings and grounds. Now you find yourself exiting your room, heading towards one of the courtyards littered around the headquarters’ interior.  A soft, summer breeze drifts through the almost-gardens as you enter. The sickly-sweet smell of the decaying flowers from the spring hitting your nose.  

You sit in the courtyard for a while, the soft gusts of wind eventually dying down and forcing you to take the heat of the sun in all its glory. A sheen of sweat coats your brow as you look towards the white clouds in the sky that refuse to block out the sun.  

With little to think about in your ponderance, your thoughts shift from the now blistering heat to your father. You hadn’t thought about it much since your arrival, but the Hwarang had heard of him. Had they been patients of his? Or perhaps he was talking of diseases and how to prevent them the best they could… 

The more you think on the subject, the more a pinpoint of a headache begins to grow. You know that the Hwarang have enough secrets without the aid of your father, but you’re not doubtful that your father may be the cause of some of them. 

“Did they really leave you alone out here?” You jump at the voice behind you, too lost in thought to hear light footsteps approach.  

“Ah,” spinning on your heels, you're met face-to-face with the Hwarang’s colonel. “Seungcheol… is it okay for you to be out here?” Your gaze drops to his bandaged arm, still not yet healed from his wound earlier in the year. 

“It’s not like I need to be bedridden,” he chuckles, gently raising his arm as if to show you it had some movement left within it. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” There was a slight bitterness to his words, almost as if he’d taken a bit of an unripe pear and the taste still lingered on his tongue. “Although I suppose my right hand is…”  

A sad and twisted smile curls onto his lips as he looks down to his still injured hand. It hadn’t healed, and by now he was probably realizing that it probably never would. You recall the other captain’s concern when the news had arrived of Seungcheol’s injury, noting that he’d probably never be able to wield a weapon again.  

“And what are you doing out here?” He questions, the bitterness from his voice gone, “I hadn’t realized you were allowed out of your room.” 

Typically, no one batted an eye nowadays if you were walking around the compound. Yet with the heightened tensions in Seorabeol, you suppose being in your room would put more of the Hwarang at ease. The freedom they’d given you was just as easily revoked. 

“I just wanted some space to think, that's all.” You explain, your hand playing with the fabric of your robes, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s just that when you sneak around with none of us knowing, it makes it seem like you have something to hide,” Seungcheol’s lips curve downwards as he listens to your explanation. 

 “Then I’ll go back to my room,” you sigh and begin to walk past him.  

Seungcheol’s coldness had begun ever since he’d come back injured. Albeit, you hadn’t known him long enough to gauge his character before that, but there had been a lightness to it that certainly isn’t here now. The loss of mobility in his arm pained him in more ways than physical, more ways than you could possibly begin to comprehend. 

“It’s—” You stop and look back at him, “hot outside today. You shouldn’t stay in the sun too long. Please take care of yourself.” A nervous laugh as you finish, finding him returning something of a lighthearted chuckle. For the first time in weeks, his smile didn’t look forced. “ 

“Thank you,” he nods, the smile still lingering in his voice, “take care of yourself too.” 

You don’t find yourself coming across any of the other captains until later that evening, when the sun’s already sunk halfway down the horizon and a golden glow begins to encapsulate the headquarters. As you’re heading towards the main hall you hear a smattering of footsteps behind you, you turn and see Junhui heading towards you.  

“What… what’s that for?” You question, looking down at his hands where he’s holding what looks to be an embroidery needed and a thin candle.  

“One of those Baekje guys we picked up isn’t really a talker,” Junhui explains, gesticulating wildly with his hands as he speaks. “Jihoon’s with him but doesn’t have the… uh, means to speak with him.” As he sees your eyes widening in realization, he drops his hands behind his back, shielding the objects from vision. “I’ll stop talking and spare you from thinking any more about it.” He lets out a laugh before skirting around you and heading off towards another hallway. 

There was even more commotion by the time dinner rolled around. The halls now darkened save for the braziers and candles that lit the entrances and walls. You’re sitting in your room when stomping once again disrupts your thoughts. 

“Soonyoung!” You call out, having seen his green robes race by your doorway. Almost as quickly as he had shot past, he returns. “Why’s everyone running around tonight?” You ask as he stands in your doorway, trying to hold himself together with deep breaths. “Did that prisoner say something?”

His eyes light up, his chest puffing out almost proudly, “Yeah, Jihoon finally got the guy to break! It looks like they’re having a meeting right now, we’re actually getting ready for a raid.”

“Wouldn’t that be something the army typically does?”

 “It really depends on the severity…” Soonyoung notes, “But since most of the troops are still up in Hanseong, the Crown let us do this.” He goes on to explain that the Hwarang would be dividing themselves into two groups. Youngmin would lead a group of a dozen men to Wonweol Inn and Jihoon would lead twenty-three to Jeolin Inn on opposite ends of the city. “Rumor has it that they’ll be at Jeolin, I’m kind of upset they’re sending me to Wonweol.” 

It seems as if Jihoon’s forces were rearing to see action, Youngmin’s more so just to make sure all their leads were covered.  

“There aren’t enough men to spread out equally?” You ask, wondering why there was such disparity between the numbers. 

Soonyoung nods, “A lot of men get sick right when we need them the most.” The closeness of bunks typically made for unsanitary conditions, making the spread of disease easy. “We sent out word to the Guard but it doesn’t seem like they care all too much,” he sighs, leaning back on his heels.

 Someone shouts out to him before you’re able to wish him luck, he gives you a curt wave before racing back down the hallway. Sometime after the able-bodied men had left, Seungcheol calls for you to meet him in the main hall. 

“As a courtesy, I assume, Jihoon has asked me to protect the headquarters in his absence,” he relays to you once you’ve settled yourself into the hall. “It’s empty for the most part but that’s a reason they may attack us.” 

“Does that mean you’ll protect me?” You question and he laughs almost immediately, his gold-plated earrings clatter together as his head shakes slightly.  

“I’m sure I can be of more use than the men who’ve been confined to their beds.” It isn’t as reassuring as you thought it’d be, but it was at least something. His smile was sad at his words, probably feeling more and more unhelpful as the days progressed. 

The silence between the two of you stays stagnant until a door to one of the halls opens quietly.  

“Colonel Choi,” a man says as he enters, you recognize him as the face who’d pulled Jihoon away from you when you were out on patrol several weeks ago, “We’ve confirmed that the loyalists are meeting at Wonweol.” 

Seungcheol sighs, his voice light but his face holding a certain sternness, “I suppose we’ve bet wrong again.” The Hwarang had been certain that Jeolin would be the place of the meeting and finding out that Wonweol was actually the location was certainly a blow to their plans. 

“Chan,” Seungcheol looks at the newcomer, “can you do me a favor?” 

Chan nods curtly, awaiting his instruction. You’d come to learn of him through the others, while not a resident of Shoshin Temple, he is both a member of the city Watch and an officer of the Hwarang. He’d been made aware of your situation at some point, so you didn’t need to feel as guarded around him as other members of the Hwarang.  

“First, tell Jihoon that the meeting is at Wonweol, he should still be on his way to Jeolin.” Seungcheol begins and then looks to you, “And I’m sorry to put this on you, but I need you to take her with you.” 

Chan’s eyes widen almost as big as yours as you ask, “Why me? Wouldn’t I only slow him down?” 

“Save for Chan here, you’re the most able-bodied person residing in the headquarters,” Seungcheol says, grimacing at his words as the fingers on his right hand twitch, “even if you’re a burden you may just as well save someone’s life.” 

You bite your lip, seeing that Chan was probably thinking the same thoughts that you were. Yet neither of you were able to oppose the colonel.  

“There’s a chance that the loyalists have called for backup,” Seungcheol looks to Chan, “If your message were to be intercepted then you’d never reach Jihoon in time. Do you see what I’m trying to say?” 

Chan nods slowly, piecing together the elder’s thoughts, “If we run into enemy forces, I could hold them off while she delivers the message…”   

“You want me to do what?!” You can’t help but exclaim. It sounded as if the two of you were caught out, Chan would sacrifice himself so that you could escape.  

“Don’t worry too much,” Seungcheol tries to reassure you, “I doubt it will come to that. We’re short of men right now which means I have to ask you to step in. You’ll need to notify the Guard and the Watch as well.” 

“There’s really no one else who can do this?” You ask hesitantly, daunted by what Seungcheol was asking you to do. “What about Jeon?” 

Jeon Wonwoo is another spy in allegiance with the Hwarang, yet he mostly dealt with Yamato forces.

 Seungcheol shakes his head, revealing that Jeon was already with Jihoon’s team heading towards Jeolin. 

As if seeing the nervousness on your face, Chan steps forward and offers you something of a nervous, sheepish smile. “I heard you know a little bit about protecting yourself,” his eyes glance towards the blade tucked away at your waist, “I unfortunately can’t guarantee your safety, but, if you can manage, you’re welcome to join me.” 

Despite the gentle tone he was using, you know he’d kill you the instant you tried to run. This mission took priority over anything and anyone else in his way. 

“I’ll go,” you nod, taking in a deep breath. “I can take care of myself, there’s no need to worry about me.” 

You can see Seungcheol giving you a small smile as Chan steps back. More than anything, you know that Seungcheol wants to join and fight alongside his men, but it is impossible. The least you can do is carry out the mission in his stead.  

“Then we accept your request, Colonel.” Chan nods and begins to head towards the exit with you following closely behind him. He turns to you as you close the door, “Run with all you can.” 

You take off after him, the slow and itching burn rising from your legs the longer you pursue him. It’s as if the streets were plunged into darkness with how little you could see as you raced by, the sound of dirt under foot sliding with every footfall. You’re beginning to see that half a year indoors with little to no vigorous exercise has done something of a toll to your physique, you aren’t as in shape as you’d once been. 

Had you not been paying attention, you may have slammed into Chan, who stopped abruptly after reaching the edge of the street. 

“No matter what you see or hear, follow this street and don’t look back,” he whispers and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

 “Has someone been following us?” 

His head shakes, “You don’t need to know that.” 

Your breaths heavy, knowing full well that he’d make it faster to Jihoon than you, “Chan you should go, I’ll stay behind.” 

He frowns at you, “What could you do by staying behind?” 

“If I distract them then you could slip away,” you push, resisting the urge to take a peek at whatever was coming after the two of you. 

“If we need bait, then it’s going to be me,” his hand reaches for his sword as he looks past you, “Now, run!” 

It takes no time for him to rush behind you and for your legs to kick off from the ground and begin to barrel down the street in front of you. You hear a clatter of blades behind you, thinking that Chan’s already locked in combat before he calls out, “Keep running until you see white!”

 Knees weakened with the adrenaline of it all, you run down the street. You’re sure that the only way you’d be able to stop preemptively was to tear tendon from bone. Even in your haste you felt sluggish, as if everything around you were frozen in time. You run for another two minutes before spotting two silhouettes wearing white robes in the distance, as you near you can see the Commander with Kim Mingyu. 

“What are you doing here?!” Jihoon says angrily, a tinge of surprise coating his words. You could almost cry in relief at seeing the two of them. 

It’s then you notice that they’re not wearing the typical blue robes of the Hwarang, they’ve instead traded the vibrant hue for a pale white. Maybe it’s for better visibility, but you’re not too certain.  

With shaking limbs, you try to step forward, your knees giving way and you begin to fall towards the ground. Mingyu reaches out to hold you up before you collapse entirely.   

“Are you alright?” He asks as he helps you back to your feet. “You know if Jihoon finds out you left the compound without permission he’ll kill you, right?” 

Rather than explain yourself, you focus on regulating your breath. At this moment you were far too winded to express why you’d left. After one, two breaths you take a third long inhale and turn to the commander.  

“They’re meeting at Wonweol,” huffing out in short puffs of air, you try to straighten yourself to the best of your ability. Jihoon’s eyes widen at your words and he turns to Mingyu. 

“I knew they’d be there!” An almost hiss escapes through his clenched teeth as Mingyu stares back at him. 

Hansol, who you hadn’t seen standing off to the side with another group of men, steps forward. “Are you sure?” He questions you, a grave seriousness intertwined with his words.  

“Seungcheol lost his arm, not his brain,” Jihoon says, looking over to Hansol, “if she’s out here looking for us and not hightailing it back to her hometown, then it’s safe to surmise he sent her.” 

“It’s impressive that you found us,” Mingyu mutters, “Seorabeol is a big city, after all.” 

“It was Chan,” you answer, the burning in your lungs slowly residing. “He told me to find you so he could fight against some of the loyalists.” 

“What about the Guard or the Watch, are they on their way?” Jihoon asks, his hand resting atop the hilt of his sword. When you shake your head, you can almost see him trying to piece together their next move.  

“Choi, Kim, take the men to Wonweol,” He instructs, a commandeering veneer to his words. “There’s something I need to do.” 

The two captains nod and turn back to their men to relay the news and inform them of what their new plans were. Before they begin to move, Hansol looks back to you, “The city’s more dangerous tonight than it’s been on any of our rounds. Either stick with Kim and I or go with Lee.” 

It was a relatively easy choice to make, right? You’d stick with Jihoon as the other two seemed to be off to battle. The prospect of being alone with the stoic commander was somewhat intimidating, but it would put you away from the bloodshed. 

The two of you watch the rest of the group form together and head off into the dimly lit streets towards Wonweol Inn. Jihoon doesn’t say anything until the ringing out of the warrior’s footsteps dissipates into the humid nighttime.  

“Good work in delivering that message,” there’s appreciation in his voice as he looks to you, something resembling a small smile pulling at his lips, “That information may have just given us the advantage we need.” An approving comment from the Hwarang’s demon commander was something that you’d never thought you’d hear; it makes your heart pound gleefully for a moment out of sheer shock of the scenario.  

Jihoon and you step from the narrow street and move to one of Seorabeol’s main roads, a deserted place at this time of night. 

“Jihoon?” You ask, feet treading on the grit of the dirt walkways, “Why are we out here?” 

“The Hwarang don’t hide in the shadows like these Baekje loyalists,” He says matter-of-factly and looks down the street as if he’s searching for something, or someone. 

 It doesn’t take long for a figure to appear running towards the two of you. For a moment you think it’s an enemy and begin to reach for the blade at your hip before recognizing a familiar silhouette.  

“You’re alive!” You gasp out, dropping your hand away from your side as the other approaches.  

Chan doesn’t respond to you verbally, only nods his head with a small smile before straightening up and looking at Jihoon. “I assume you’ve been told what's happening at Wonweol? The colonel told me to notify the Guard and the Watch but...” 

“I’ll have more orders for you in a bit,” Jihoon nods in understanding, “Just stay nearby for now.” He then turns to you as Chan slips wordlessly into a nearby alley. “I’ve got to have a word with a few useless assholes.” There was a spark of anger in his voice, a fire dimly beginning to glow brighter in his eyes. The commander then looks past you; you turn and see an oncoming group of Silla soldiers making their way down the street. Jihoon mutters something you can’t make out under his breath as they near. 

You now realize why he’d brought you out into the main road, neither of you would have seen the oncoming troops had you been tucked away in a side street.  

The pace of the oncoming soldiers was lazy, almost unconcerned in a way that miffed you. Shouldn’t they be worried about stopping a near rebellion from a fallen kingdom?  

“The Hwarang are still fighting at Wonweol… aren’t they?” You ask into the nighttime, a strange fear gripping you as the dwindled numbers of the Hwarang were putting their lives at stake to quell this disturbance. Didn’t these men before you have some, if not more, responsibility to quash it?   

Perhaps the anger and disbelief in your voice was more present than you thought, as Jihoon lets out a small chortle of laughter, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure they stay in line.” He steps out further into the street, directly in front of the group that was now only several meters in front of him. 

All he did was move away from you and face them, but he now holds an aura of authority that hadn’t been there moments prior.  

“The Hwarang are currently conducting an official investigation of Wonweol Inn,” he calls out as they stop before him, his voice echoing around the surrounding buildings. “You will not interfere or enter the Inn.”  

Even you could see the grumblings of protest beginning to stir in the movements of the soldiers when Chan appears from the shadows once more and begins to speak quietly to you, “If Jihoon lets those men walk into Wonweol, they’ll get the credit for subduing the revivalists.”  

“How could they…?” You ask, looking towards Chan. “It’s the Hwarang who are risking their lives for this mess.” 

“It’s more political than just the Hwarang or the soldier taking credit,” Chan sighs as Jihoon continues to shout orders to the soldiers. “Jihoon’s adoptive father’s high ranking in the court’s aristocracy, so are a few of the other captain’s fathers. The Hwarang, in a way, represent them and the soldiers here represent the more military-inclined families. In the end it’s not the question of whether it was the Hwarang or the guard who subdued the loyalists, but which families were behind the winning team, in the Crown’s eyes.” 

“That’s…” Convoluted. Confusing. Complex. Insane. Elaborate. “A lot.” 

Chan must’ve been able to see the confusion in your gaze as he laughs to himself, “That’s only scratching the surface. But it shows the utter disrespect each side has from one another and I expect it won’t be resolved any time soon.” Both of your gazes travel back to the commander at the front of the guard, “Jihoon’s single handedly protecting the Hwarang right now. If we allow them to get to the Inn, they’ll lionize themselves.” 

You can see that Chan thinks highly of Commander Lee in the way he admirably talks of his staunch resolution in doing what’s best for the Hwarang.   

It seems as if Jihoon’s startling tactic was beginning to wane as a few soldiers began to protest his declaration. 

“If you really think you can fit nearly, what, one hundred men?” Jihoon’s eyes scan the lines of soldiers for a moment, “If you think you can fit all of them into Wonweol, you’re insane. The best you can do with these numbers is surround it and make sure no one escapes.” He’s trying to dissuade them; you wonder if they can see it as clearly as you. “Unless you really want to lead your men to the slaughterhouse. There’s already a fight happening, and if you value your lives, I’d suggest you stay put.”

The head official leading the troops relents, stepping away from Jihoon as he finds no room for argument against the commander of the Hwarang. Jihoon stays in front of the troops until a member of the Hwarang finds you all standing there, claiming that the battle has ended. 

Jihoon, Chan and you had returned to the compound as the first wave of Hwarang were returning from the skirmish. The fight had only lasted a matter of two hours, but to you it had felt like much longer. There had been nearly two dozen revivalists congregating at the inn, the Hwarang had ended up killing seven of their members and injuring four more of them.

Chan tells you later in the night that, with the aid of the Guard and Watch, sixteen more people in the city were arrested in relation to the Wonweol incident. The owner of the inn had also been arrested as he was aiding in the escape of several of the loyalists.  

The Hwarang had prevailed, despite having the weaker numbers, in an incredible victory. Yet, with that victory also came some losses. Seungkwan had taken a blow to the chest and fell unconscious shortly after, Soonyoung had been cut across his forehead and the bleeding hadn’t relented, Junhui had injured his hand in a brawl, one Hwarang had lost his life and two others were severely injured. It didn’t seem as if the last two would make it the week due to the severity of their injuries. 

With the quelling of the revivalist by Hwarang hands, it seems as if the group were now in a more favorable light with the Crown. As well as with the court members who vied for the organization’s success. 

𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔶 8𝔱𝔥, 661 – 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 “Thanks for patching me up,” Junhui smiles at you as you finish tying together the bandage wrapped around his hand. “You’re pretty skilled at this.”

“It’s no problem,” you smile at him, rolling the remaining gauze together. “You should really take it easy, though– So your wound doesn’t reopen.”

“Ah,” Junhui frowns, “As soon as you’re done here, I’m supposed to go looking for the revivalists that escaped.”

“I see…” You understand that it was of the utmost importance that the Hwarang find them, but as the daughter of a physician you can’t help but worry about your patients. 

“Have you heard anything about Soonyoung and Seungkwan? Have they woken up yet?” He asks as he rises to his feet.

“They’re awake,” you nod, packing away the gauze into a bag used for medical supplies. “Their wounds aren’t that bad, but being kicked in the stomach and slashed on the forehead are still pretty serious. There may be repercussions that we can’t see, like internal bleeding.”

“To think it was enough to make Seungkwan cough blood,” he sighs as you stand, a stern expression hardening his features. 

Suddenly, the door to the room slides open and Mingyu bursts in, his eyes looking frantically around at the other aides before settling on you, “Are you free? There’s a warrior who’s in pretty bad shape.”

“Of course!” You nod and quickly follow after him. Many Hwarang were injured after the incident at Wonweol and you made a promise to treat and nurse them the best you can. 

Before you realize it, dusk sweeps over the compound. Your eyes are heavy with the sleep you forwent the night prior. For the first time in hours, there was no one for you to treat, but that still doesn’t mean there isn’t work to do. Once you leave one of the injured Hwarang’s rooms, you go to find the others and get direction about what or who to focus on next. Yet, as you close the door behind you, you hear footsteps approaching. 

“There you are!” Jihoon says, “There’s a captain’s meeting in the main hall in a few minutes. I’m sorry to bother you when you’ve just cleaned up, but can you make tea for us all?”

“Of course,” you say quickly, stifling a yawn. “I’ll bring some right away.”

A handful of minutes later you find yourself with a tray in hand, a steaming pot of tea and several cups adorning the surface as you make your way into the main hall. Upon entering, you see the captains reunited. 

“Here you all go,” you say quietly so as to not disturb them and set about handing everyone a cup and pouring them a serving. 

“Thank you,” Youngmin smiles gratefully as he picks up his cup. 

Apparently, you’ve come in just as the captains are about to give their reports of their rounds earlier today. 

“There was no sign of revivalist activity during my rounds with my division earlier,” Hansol reports. 

“I’m sure word has already spread about the incident last night,” Jihoon muses, “I thought they’d be out for blood but I guess I’m wrong.”

“We can’t let our guard down,” Seungcheol reminds him, “They may be waiting until it’s dark again to make a move.”

“A valid point,” Youngmin agrees.

“You just got back from a meeting with the Guard, right?” Mingyu asks him, “What’d they say?”

“Ah…” Youngmin sighs, “They want their own warriors to accompany us on our rounds to catch the remnants of the loyalists.”

“No way,” Junhui nearly spits in anger, “They just want the fame for when we catch them!”

“Precisely.” Seungcheol nods, “If Commander Lee hadn’t stopped them from entering the Inn last night, the Crown would be praising them.”

“Whatever the reason, I cannot refuse an order coming from the Guard with the Crown backing them.” Youngmin looks to Jihoon, “So, I’d like to charge one of you with the rounds in cooperation with their warriors.”

“Not me,” Junhui says almost immediately, “I don’t know them, nor do I want to be responsible for their lives if things do come to a head.”

“Me either,” Mingyu adds, “My tongue may slip and I might say something unsavory to those opportunistic bastards.”

“That’s not… very helpful…” Youngmin sighs, “Hansol…?”

Suh Kangjoon interrupts before Hansol can even open his mouth, “Wait, Chief. Please entrust the Guard warriors to my division. I fully understand how important this mission is to undertake.” He snidely glares at Mingyu and Junhui before continuing, “The other captains don’t seem to have a grasp on the situation, probably because they lack the education and politicking.”

“I dare you to repeat that–!” Mingyu says angrily, nearly rising to his feet.

“If you’re looking for a fight, come with us and get your ass kicked,” Junhui frowns. 

“Calm down,” Kangjoon says almost in a way to belittle them. “I’ll give you a simple rundown. Of course the Guard wants to make sure we don’t get full credit. But they also want to make sure we’re not trying to take their place. So it is vital to us that what they see and hear about the Hwarng presents us in a good light.”

Slowly nodding in agreement, Youngmin looks to the Commander and Colonel, “Jihoon, Seungcheol, you’re on board?”

“Suh is so admirably dedicated to the Hwarang,” Seungcheol says.

“Fine.” Jihoon waves, “Suh, you’re in charge of the Guard. But I don’t want any fuss.”

“I won’t cause any,” Kangjoon says with a sly smile. 

“If you encounter any loyalists, make sure not to let them slip through your fingers.” Seungcheol warns, “If a mistake is made in front of the Guard, all the work we put into the success of Wonweol will be for nothing.”

“I give my word as a Suh,” Kangjoon says, although he seems already eager to leave. “The interests of the Hwarang always come first.

July 12th - Shoshin Temple, Kingdom of Silla

A few more days passed without any incident, but a rumor has begun to spread that the Guard are going to do something to retaliate for the praise they could have gotten from Wonweol. Everyone at the compound is walking on eggshells. 

Even with everyone on edge, there are still things for you to be doing. So, you find yourself sweeping off the entranceway of the temple as the sun just begins to sink into the sky. Most of the warriors that pass nervously glance left and right every time they move. There haven’t been any incidents or injuries on the rounds, and yet the question remains in the air every time someone heads out: Will they come back safely?

“What are you doing outside?!” Mingyu’s voice makes you nearly jump out of your skin. 

“Captain Kim–!” You breathe deeply to calm yourself, “Did something happen? You look on edge.”

“Of course I am when I see you like that. It’s dangerous!” He motions you to return inside, “Cleaning can wait.”

“Then something happened?” You take a step forward, you knuckles tightening around the grip of the broom. 

“Ah,” he shakes his head, “I’m actually not sure myself, but the Watch might retaliate.”

“The Watch?” Your eyebrows raise as you follow him inside.

“I’ll explain but let’s get moving first.”

You follow him to the main room where Jihoon, Youngmin, and Seungcheol sit with sour faces. Kangjoon stands before them, pale as a ghost. Has something happened on the rounds?

“Dammit, Suh!” Jihoon shouts angrily enough that it looks as if the earring on his right ear may come flying off. “Fuck! I warned you, I insisted like a hammer to a nail but congratulations! You did a hell of a job.” Furious sarcasm drips from his words as Seungcheol disrupts his tirade with a cough to change the tone.

“Explain yourself, Captain Suh.” Seungcheol says with calm fury. “What are your thoughts on this situation?”

“It’s a huge misunderstanding! Please, let me explain myself.” Kangjoon then begins to list a reason of explanations. He and his division had met a suspicious swordsman on their rounds, in an attempt to stop him, Kangjoon had used his swords and injured him, but in the end they discovered that the swordsman was a man of the Watch. “To be fair, if the man had been honest from the start and revealed himself, none of this would have happened.”

“It’s true that trying to stop a swordsman from fleeing can’t be considered a fault…” Seungcheol sighs, “But resorting to using your sword… And all that in front of the Guard representative, who you’ve been entrusted with.” 

“What a mess,” Jihoon frowns, “And the Guard can’t go and pretend they didn’t see anything. And of course, the Watch is going to ask for reparation since it’s their guy who got injured… Damn it. Why is this shit always happening to us?”

“May I have a word?” Lee Chan steps forward and whispers something into Jihoon’s ear.

“He what?!” Jihoon’s eyes go wide.

“I got the information from a source within the Watch. He died earlier today.” Chan says and steps back a few feet.

“That’s awful,” Jihoon says with a ‘tch’, “We’d better keep our heads low for a while and see if we’ve got the situation under control.” He rises from sitting with a sigh, “Gukseon Kwak and I will head to both the Guard and the Watch to apologize.”

“It would be wise for us to go to them rather than wait for their direction,” Seungcheol nods in agreement. 

“Suh, you’re coming too.” Jihoon glances at the captain, “We’ll leave as soon as we’re ready.”

“Ah… You… You want me to come…?” Kangjoon looks stunned. “But what if they consider me guilty as well…? Being ordered to–”

Jihoon lets out a bark of a laugh before turning fully to Kangjoon, shouting at him, “You’re taking responsibility for your actions! Now get the fuck out and get ready!”

Even though you’re only listening to what’s happening and have no part in it, you can see and feel how stressful and hectic the situation is. Why had the Watch soldier killed himself? Perhaps they had their own code of laws like the Hwarang did the O Gye. But it seems a bit exaggerated to have done that over something like this.

You follow the men out to the front of the compounds with the other captains to see them off.

“Well then, let’s get going.” Youngmin says and looks to Seungcheol, “Colonel Choi, the headquarters are now in your hands.”

“...Chief, Colonel, Commander!” Kangjoon says as he stands before them once more, “I never meant to cause trouble for the Hwarang. Please believe me!”

“It’s not us who are going to judge you,” Jihoon says shortly, “Let’s go.” He immediately starts walking, not wanting to hear any more protests from Kangjoon. But before he gets very far, a figure runs out from the shadows.

“You’re still here? Thank goodness I found you in time.” They say, racing over to Jihoon.

“What’s happening, Jeon?” Jihoon questions as Wonwoo comes into view. 

“You see… the Guard who accompanied Suh on his rounds has also committed honorable suicide.”

“Another one?!” Jihoon staggers.

“The Guard want our commanders to join them as soon as possible.”

“I guess that’ll calm down the Watch,” Jihoon sighs, “Now I hope this is going to be the end of it.”

“So I– We don’t need to go to the Watch anymore?” Kangjoon asks.

“You idiot,” Jihoon growls at him, “You’re the cause of this mess! Of course you’re coming. And you’re going to apologize to the Guard and the Watch! Now!”

“I… Of course…”

“I guess this is good to know before we go,” Youngmin smiles weakly, “I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, but… No choice, we have to go.”

With that, Youngmin and Jihoon leave for the Guard, Kangjoon following them reluctantly.

By the time you settle in your rooms, readying yourself for bed, the men haven’t returned from their meetings. Being too worried to find sleep before they arrive back, you impatient wait for them before you resign yourself to sleep.

Had their negotiations gone well? If they hadn’t, then all of the work the Hwarang poured into the Wonweol incident would vanish in an instant.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear footsteps in the corridor outside of your room. Quickly standing, you make your way to your door and slide it open.

“Huh?” You hear Jihoon sound out and turn towards the sound of your door opening, “Why are you still awake? You could have gone to sleep. You haven’t slept much the last few days.”

“Have you eaten yet?” You question as you step out into the corridor, “Do you want me to prepare something real quick?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you.”

“You look… Drained.” You say softly, noting his pallid looking complexion, “Are you really okay?”

“Yeah, well I’m facing so many problems I’m beginning to think attracting them is a special talent of mine.” With the way he says that, you wonder what happened during the discussion with the Guard. Judging by his face, the worst case scenario must have been avoided, but something is still lingering with him,

“... If you can’t sleep, join me for a bit.”

“Huh?” You feel your cheeks begin to warm, “Our relationship isn’t that kind of… I mean…”

“I’m feeling overwhelmed, too. I can’t go back to my room because I’m sure I’ll be too frustrated to sleep.” He begins to walk, “Come with me, it’s fine. If we talk here, we’re going to wake everyone up.”

In the tranquility of the night, you can only hear crickets as he leads you to one of the empty courtyards. In your sleep-deprived mind, this feels as if time has suspended itself. 

“... We’re here then, let’s talk.” Jihoon stops abruptly and you need to stop yourself before you run into him as he turns around to face you. “What do you want to know?”

“You’re sure it’s okay for me to ask?” You pose, “And for you to tell me about it?”

“The more you know, the better you’ll sleep,” Jihoon says simply. “In short, everything that Wonwoo said before we left was true.”

“So the warrior going on rounds with Captain Suh did kill himself…?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “that.”

“I have to admit that I don’t get the big picture of today’s events…” You admit, breaking away from his gaze momentarily, “I don’t understand it well.” As far as you’d heard, none of the men had been guilty of anything. 

“In situations like these, we don’t always choose to do the right thing,” he sighs, crossing his arms as you look at him. “The honor of a warrior is more important than his life. The Watch guy chose it to save face. For the Guard one, it’s different. He was ordered to do so by his commander to stop any escalation with the Watch.”

Even as he explains it calmly, a chill still runs down your spine. Regardless of you own turmoil, he continues to speak with the same coldness. “With the Wonweol incident, I managed for the Hwarang to make a name for itself… If we want to have the Crown’s support, their entire support, having good relationships with the Guard is first above all.”

You stand there at a loss for words. This time, the Hwarang were not ordered to fall upon their swords but there is no guarantee that something similar won’t happen in the future. The next victim in this endless power struggle could very well be a member of the Hwarang.

“Our job is to keep order and kill those who stand in the way of it. Do the dirty work if needs be.” Jihoon locks eyes with you, “...That said, do you want to leave?” He sighs, “Well, it’s not like we can let you go, anyway.”

“You know, I… I really want to be useful to you all.” With his shocked expression you wonder if your answer was that unexpected. 

“Are you serious?” His brow furrows, “At this point we’re just murderers, it seems.”

“There may be some truth to that…” You murmur, “But without you Seorabeol could have been reduced to ashes by now. I’m from a small village and I don’t fully grasp what it means to be a noble or to embrace a warrior’s code… Still, I hope I can help you, even if only with my limited medical knowledge.”

Jihoon watches your face, not interrupting you. It’s almost as if he’s looking into your heart, seeking the depth of your resolution. 

“You look weak but your heart is strong, isn’t it?” He gives you a small smile. “I thought we scared you and made you want to run with what happened at Wonweol.” You find that he looks gentle when he smiles. The longer you look at him, you feel the stiffness that has been there since the night at Wonweol slowly lift away. 

“By the way, I forgot to thank you. You really proved to be an asset at Wonweol. You haven’t complained once since then and have been actively working for everyone’s sake behind the scenes…” He pauses for a moment, “I’m in your debt for everything you do for us. If you stay here, we’ll protect you. You’ve got my word.” 

You can’t help but return a smile of your own, “...Thank you very much.”

To follow their warrior’s path– you can’t really help with that or like what vicious means they have to expend to dispense the king’s justice. But you don’t feel wrong in wanting to support Jihoon and the rest of the warriors. This thought is as strong as ever as you look at the commander’s face, illuminated in the moonlight. 

𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔶 20𝔱𝔥, 661 – 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 As you walk down the corridors of the Hwarang’s compound, you carefully hold a book that Jeon Wonwoo had given you several minutes earlier. Coming to work with him, you find that he is more versed in Silla medicine than the Tang that your father had slightly taught you as you grew older. In a small promise, you tell him things you can remember from the trade and he has lent you the very book you hold of his own notes. And seeing that he is far superbly more versed in actually treating people, you find yourself in charge of bandage changing and wound cleaning. You’re happy to be in service to the soldiers, but they don’t make it any easier. 

“Are you sure you want to go?” You hear a voice chime out from a room just ahead of you, “She’ll be here any minute.”

“It’s fine! My forehead is as good as new by now!” With almost certainty, you can tell that it’s Kwon Soonyoung speaking. 

“Well said, Soonyoungie! The reward for Wonweol should come pretty soon!” You hear Junhui laugh, “Let’s spend a little too much of that money, shall we?”

With widened eyes as you’ve become privy to their plans, you race into the main room where you heard them speak.

“Captain Kwon! Where do you think you’re going?” You call out and Soonyoung turns quickly on his heels to face you.

“Ah–! I thought I told you to call me–” He notices the angered expression on your face, “Oh man– It’s not me! I swear! It’s Jun who wants to go out!”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Junhui raises his hands in defense, “Are you trying to let me carry this alone?!”

“That’s enough!” You say sternly, “I’ve told you many times that alcohol isn’t good for fresh wounds and that you shouldn’t drink until the wound heals!”

“Harp on him some more,” Mingyu nods towards Soonyoung, “Even though he’s not allowed to practice with his sword he sneaks out everyday to show off the scar on his forehead.” 

“Argh, Gyu! Stop talking!”

“I’ve repeated on and on how you shouldn’t remove the bandage!” You vent, you could almost feel the steam leaving your ears.

“Don’t bother,” Mingyu sighs and nods towards Junhui, “He’s not much better than a child when it comes to listening.”

“But you’re the ones who are tempting him with alcohol even though you know he shouldn’t drink any, right?” You frown. 

“Huh? No way… We wouldn’t do that, right, Mingyu?” Junhui hums.

“S– Sure! Going out for a drink doesn’t necessarily mean alcohol… It can be water.” Mingyu says, trying to cover his ass. 

“Gyu!” Junhui whispers loudly, “What do you have to say it like that?! It sounds suspicious as hell!” 

“What can I say?” Mingyu shrugs, “I hate lying.”

“Enough!” You interrupt them, “If you don’t respect the rules then Soonyoung’s wound isn’t going to heal!”

“Hey!” Soonyoung says quickly, “I’m not the one fooling around with my injury!”

“True! Seungkwan participates in sword fighting lessons every day!” Junhui nods in agreement.

“Captain Boo does…?!” You take a moment to calm your breathing, “OK… So as soon as I’m done cleaning Soonyoung’s wound, I’ll pay a visit to him.”

“That paste medicine?” Soonyoung winces, “I hate that stuff.”

“Maybe,” you begin to reach for the medicine bag on your back. “But it works wonders so come here.”

After you’re done treating his wound, you go to look for Seungkwan loitering around the compound, but for some reason you can’t seem to find him. It’s not like he’s on patrol– the commander had deemed him too injured for that right now. As you round one of the compound’s hallways you do find yourself almost smacking into him.

“Oh, hey,” Seungkwan greets you as you reel backwards in surprise. “What are you up to, cleaning?”

“That’s the least of my concerns!” You say, noticing that he wasn’t wearing his normal lounging clothes, “You know I was supposed to come and check on your injury, where were you?”

“Ah,” he sighs sheepishly, “The kids from the merchant district wanted to play so I went out with them.”

“You went out–? I told you to rest and not move until your injury was healed.”

“You’re exaggerating,” he waves his hand to dismiss your statement, “It’s not like my wound is going to get worse just because I played jegichagi.”

“You don’t know that! You could be bleeding from inside your stomach, or your organs might be damaged!” You don’t relent, pressing him further. “I also heard you’ve been going to sword practice every day.”

“Right,” he nods simply, “If I don’t practice, then I’m going to get weak.”

“But if you don’t recover, you may never be able to practice again,” You counter.

“Okay, okay,” Seungkwan sighs, “Then hurry up and take care of me.”

𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔶 23𝔯𝔡, 661 - 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 You find yourself in a similar predicament a few days later when you fail to find either Soonyoung or Seungkwan roaming about the compounds. Yet, you’re a bit thankful as you’re running low on medical supplies and you need permission from Jihoon to go and purchase more. 

“Medicine shopping?” The commander questions you once you’d found him in his quarters.

A nod, “For Captain Boo and Soonyoung. I was going to ask another captain but it seems as if they’re all on patrol…”

“Then do you want me to tag along?” He asks and you look at him, a bit surprised.

“You, Commander…?”

“Normally I’d ask Chan to do this, but he’s currently investigating something for me,” Jihoon explains, “We’ve got a lot of injured men, no one’s really free to go.”

“But surely you must be very busy too…” You murmur, feeling bad if you have to pull him away from work. There are piles of papers on his desk, which you suppose have been sent from the Crown, the Guard, and the Watch. “I was writing a report about the incident at Wonweol, but it’s fine. I should take a break anyway.”

You give him a small smile, “Well, thank you for coming with me.”

The two of you traverse the streets of Seorabeol together. While you hop from merchant to merchant, you try to keep an eye out for anyone that looks like your father but come up empty-handed.

Jihoon sighs as you pay a merchant for some powdered poria, “We still can’t find him…” Even after asking a few of the merchants, they hadn’t come across anyone like your father. Seeing your glum expression he notes, “We will find him eventually. Don’t give up hope.”

“Alright,” you nod as the two of you walk away from the storefront. 

Jihoon always appears very strict but when he speaks like this you see a glimpse of his gentler self.

“After the Wonweol incident, it seems like the loyalists have toned it down a bit,” he nods, “The rounds are going to be less dangerous for a while. So you can join the captains again and search for Heo, if you’d like.”

The grip you have on the parcel of medicine tightens, until now you’d stayed behind on the patrols in fear of something happening. With Jihoon’s words, you grow a bit more at ease with the thought of leaving. 

“I think we’ve known you for long enough now to trust that you wont run,” he nods with a smile after noting your reaction, “I don’t want to brag but I’m fairly good at reading people… Anyway, where should we go next? Did you get all of the medicine you needed?”

“Oh, right!” You bring out the list of herbs from your robes, “I actually need some ginseng root…”

After you have finished purchasing everything you require, the two of you head back to the headquarters.

“Bandages here… And this one is for wounds…” You mutter to yourself as you rummage through the medicine supply room, storing everything purchased today. 

“What’s that?” Jihoon asks as he peers over your shoulder.

“A decoction for curing summer sickness, I think it has gokaju in it…” You note, popping the lid from the pitcher and wincing at the alcoholic scent.

“Don’t keep it in plain sight, the warriors will smell it and take it,” Jihoon sighs, knowing how the rowdier men are. “Hide it somewhere.”

“Ah, right.” You nod, beginning to look for an ideal hiding spot. Looking around the space, you see shattered remnants of storage containers littered in the corners of the closet, “Maybe I should clean up first. If it’s dirty I don’t know how well things will keep in here.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Jihoon notes, “And it’s a lot of furniture to move in here…”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be–”

“Ask the free warriors to help you, you shouldn’t overdo it.” He interrupts. 

As nice of a thought as it is, you know everyone is probably very busy at the moment. “No,” shake your head, “I’ll be alright on my own. Everyone else has more important things to do.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” He asks with a raised brow.

“Yes,” you nod enthusiastically, “I’ll be done in no time!”

“Fine,” he says a bit reluctantly, “I’ll be in my room. Let me know if you need anything.” After you assure him you’ll be alright he spins on his heels, returning to his quarters.

It takes you what feels like years, but you eventually get the closet into a somewhat presentable condition. Things had been missorted into the yakjang and it had taken you nearly an hour to sort through the drawers. 

The door behind you swings open and you hear Jihoon ask, “How’s it going?”

“I’m finished with the chest here and the corners… but there’s something strange…” As soon as the words leave you, you hear the pittering sound of an animal’s footsteps in the ceiling.

“Are you kidding me– Mice?” Jihoon’s eyes widen as he looks upwards.

“Probably,” you sigh, “I’ll take a look.” 

“Be careful–” he says as you reach for the ladder that accompanies the shelf, it should get you high enough where you can look at the beams that support the roof. You climb up it, raising one of the boards of the ceiling once you reach the top.

As soon as you open it, you’re startled by a mouse darting out and you begin to fall off of the ladder, “Ah–!”

“Watch out!” Jihoon shouts as you begin to fall towards the floor. Surprisingly, though, you don’t hit the ground. There’s a jerk and you open your eyes to see that Jihoon had caught you mid fall, his hands holding your hips as he steadies you on the ladder.

As soon as the fear subsides, your blood rushes and your heart begins to pound hard against your chest. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. 

You find yourself still dazed, never have had a man touch you like this even if it was for your safety. “I’m so sorry!” You say quickly as your face warms. 

“Are you able to grab back onto the ladder? Or should I guide you to the floor?” 

“Ah,” you say, trying to move but realize the hem of your sleeve caught between two of the rough wooden boards  of the ceiling, “My sleeve…” You try several times without success to free yourself.

“Hey, stop wiggling so much!” Jihoon says and his grip tightens to hold you in place.

“R–Right…” You meekly say and try once more to free your sleeve. Eventually, it pulls out and you manage to get yourself back onto the floor. “I– I’m really sorry about that.” 

“There’s nothing you have to apologize for,” Jihoon says quickly, “It wasn’t on purpose.”

“I know,” you murmur, “But it’s because I was careless.”

His arms cross, “Just be careful next time and you’ll be fine. It’s a good thing I just happened to walk by. You could’ve injured yourself if you were alone.”

“I’ll be careful,” the heat in your face isn’t residing, moreso out of embarrassment now. 

The air hangs awkwardly between the two of you now. It takes a moment for him to speak again, “So… Are you done cleaning?”

“I am,” you say far too quickly. “I just need to put away the ladder and I’ll be done.” 

“I’ve got it,” he says, reaching out for the ladder and moving it back to its corner. You note that Jihoon’s behavior is a bit off, not like his controlled, usual self. Perhaps he’s concerned about what happened earlier. “All done,” he says.

“Thank you for your help.”

“I should be thanking you,” he smiles, “You cleaned up this hellhole of a closet… Thanks. Now take the rest of the day off.”

“I will,” you return the smile gratefully, “Don’t worry about me.”

“Hm,” his expression drops and you furrow your brow. “I wish the injured warriors could take after you and rest when asked to.”

“It would make things much easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “But most of them aren’t the obedient type anyway… Well, if everything’s fine here, I’m heading back to my room.”

“Please do,” you say, noting how tired he looks. It must be taxing to keep a hold on the men who can be so carefree and hot headed at times. Perhaps you’ll stop by his room later with some tea.

𝔄𝔲𝔤𝔲𝔰𝔱 2𝔫𝔡, 661 - 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 Ever since the raids on both Wonweol and Jeolin Inn, the Hwarang had become stricter on their rounds around Seorabeol, looking for and capturing any of the Baekje revivalists that had escaped that night. Rumors had begun to plague the streets that the loyalists were looking for revenge on those who tried to stop their rebellion. On top of that, the Hwarang were under harsh scrutiny of their opposers in the Crown’s court. Despite them having stopped a meeting that was calling for the kidnapping of Silla’s monarch, a fact you had come to learn of after the raids. 

Yet as the days creeped more lethargically into the summer, it seems as if the tensions that had arisen earlier in the season were dying down. Life was somewhat steady again. And due to your efforts during the battle, the Hwarang were growing more receptive and encouraging of your involvement with them. A small victory, for sure, but you were now allowed to complete chores in solitude now rather than being watched over by one of the captains. That’s where you find yourself now, sweeping away the dust that had accumulated in the overnight winds in front of the complex.  

You’re humming to yourself, brushing the boom atop the agate stone of the entrance when you hear gentle footsteps walking up the stairs to the main gate.  

“Excuse me,” a soft voice calls out to you, “Is this the Hwarang headquarters?”  

You look up from your work, your lips parting in mild surprise at seeing a familiar face, “It is.” After staring at him for a second longer than what was probably considered adequate, you pose your own question, “Haven’t we met before?” 

“Ah, yes- hello,” the man smiles at you, the sunlight glimmering off of the purple silk of his robes, “It’s been a while since the tea shop, hasn’t it?” 

This was the unknown man that had stepped in to confront Kangjoon for you earlier this year. It didn’t look as if he’d changed much, that happy-go-lucky aura still exuding from him as he stands in front of you. 

“It has,” you return the smile, “Thank you again for helping out that day.” 

“It’s no problem,” he says quietly, “Like I said that day, it was my pleasure. In any case, I’m glad to see that you’re doing well.”

 It’s not until this moment that you realize that he’d called you by name the last you’d met. You can’t recall giving him it, but your memory was still a little frazzled from that day.

“I’m sorry for not asking you your name despite all you did for me and those people,” you say quickly, remembering how Jihoon had been agitated that you’d forgotten to ask the man his name.  

His eyes shine for a moment, a faint melancholy in his voice as he responds, “My name is Lee Seokmin.”  

It strikes you as a rather pretty name, or maybe it was because he’d said it so lightly. Regardless, you nod your head in understanding, “How can I help you?” 

“Ah, well,” his eyes keep shifting from you to the Hwarang’s main building. You conclude he was here on some sort of business to discuss with the Hwarang. Seeing as the last you’d met, Seokmin had defended the tea shop against a rambunctious member of the group, you wonder if he’s here to report Kangjoon to the higher-ups.  

As if he had telepathic means to tell if you’d strayed away from your task, the front entrance of the hall swings open, Jihoon standing in the doorway. He looks from you to Seokmin and then back to you, pausing as if to let you speak. 

“Commander,” eyebrows raising in surprise, “This is-” 

Before you could finish speaking, Seokmin almost gleefully runs to the commander. 

“I knew it!” Seokmin says, an unhidden delight in his words as he smiles at Jihoon, “It’s me, Seokmin, long time no see!” 

“Y- Wait, Seokmin?” Jihoon looks surprised as the other announces himself, “What are you doing here?!” 

A laugh from Seokmin, “Are you surprised? I’m visiting Seorabeol with the Crown’s orders.” He waves his hand, “But forget about that. I can’t believe it was you connected to the Hwarang! I couldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. Congratulations, you really followed your and Hoseok’s dream.” 

The name lingers in the air heavily for a moment between the two, you’ve never heard of a Hoseok before. Looking at the two of them, it must’ve been at least an acquaintance of theirs.  

Jihoon doesn’t let the weight last, breaking it with a small smile. “Come on, if I were to fully do that, I’d be a general by now. The Hwarang aren’t treated much better than the city guard at this point.” 

“Still,” a somewhat nostalgic look in Seokmin’s eye, “I’m sure he’d be happy either way. The Hwarang are famous in Seorabeol and gaining even more notoriety in other cities. With the raids last month, you’ve gained even more popular support.”  

Jihoon looks humble for a second, breaking his gaze with Seokmin to look at the ground. “We’re still working on that,” he mumbles out as the other laughs at him. 

It was an odd thing to see Jihoon flustered, you’d only seen a mild variant of his embarrassment when Seungkwan would really get under his skin. But you’ve never seen his cheeks go flush before. With Seokmin’s teasing and knowledge of something that seemed to have happened years ago, it would suggest that they’ve known each other for a while. Are they good friends?  

Once you sense their conversation coming to a lull, you speak up, “Commander, this was the warrior that helped me with Kangjoon at the tea shop a while ago.” 

“I see,” Jihoon muses and turns to look at Seokmin, “Sorry for her causing trouble, well, I suppose you saw something you shouldn’t have.” 

“It’s alright,” Seokmin nods, “I was just passing by for personal reasons. I didn’t report it.” 

“Thanks for that,” the commander offers a smile of appreciation. His gaze looks to the cloudless, sunny sky for a moment, “We don’t need to talk outside like this, why don’t you come in?” 

As the two make their way inside, you set the broom that was still in your hands next to the doorway and scurry off to the kitchen. You return to them some while later holding a tray of tea and assorted goods for them. After you’d set down the tray, Jihoon told you to stay, so you take a seat a little way away from where the two are conversing.  

“You said you’re here on Crown orders? What are you here for?” Jihoon asks, his hand hovering over his steaming cup of tea. 

“I’m currently working in one of the Sodang units.” Seokmin explains. He goes on to say a few more things about his duties, but you are unfamiliar with a majority of the lingo they use, so you try to follow along to the best of your ability.  

Jihoon, glancing at you and seeing your viable confusion, says, “He’s in the Naegeumwi, entrusted with protecting King Munmu and his family.” 

“Oh wow,” you look at Seokmin, “I’m honored to meet someone with such a high ranking.” 

“Please,” it’s the same humbled tone he’d used at the tea shop, “I only acquired this position because of the connections my father has.” 

“Why would someone with his rank need to visit the Hwarang?” You question Jihoon. While the Hwarang worked under the Crown, there was no direct connection, whereas it seems as if Seokmin works quite literally with the king.  

“Are you asking why he’d know a bunch of washed-up nobles and commoners like us?” Jihoon asks, almost teasingly. You nod gently, so as to not offend him. “You see, not only is Seokmin in the Naegeumwi, but his father’s father was Lee Alcheon.” Once again noting your confusion he clarifies, “A Sangdaedeung under Queen Jindeok some years ago. He opened a prestigious school after his time in office, and now Seokmin here is the heir to it. The school I attended socialized often with the Lee school and that’s how I came to meet him.” 

“That’s right,” Seokmin nods, “When I heard that I was heading to Seorabeol I knew that I had to find Jihoon.” His eyes shine with admiration towards the aforementioned, but the commander just scoffs and rolls his eyes at him. 

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Lee,” Jihoon sighs, “And remember: Seorabeol isn’t exactly a relaxing getaway.”  

“I’ll keep that in mind… However, even if it is dangerous, it seems even a woman can join the Hwarang?” Seokmin looks at you coyly before returning his gaze to the commander. He judges both the surprised look and glare from Jihoon for a moment before raising his hand to his mouth in surprise, “Was that supposed to be a secret?” He waits a moment, seeing as there’s no answer, he continues, “It’s not difficult to tell. I mean it’s not her fault.” 

“I know,” Jihoon’s probably recalling the first he’d met you; he’d been one of the first to figure it out, “Only a fool couldn’t see.” He resigns himself into a sigh, “Her reasons for being here are somewhat complicated, so we’re having her dress as a man for now. Only a handful of men in the Hwarang know of her circumstance, so I’d prefer if you didn’t speak about it in front of anyone.”

“I understand,” the guard agrees, “would it be too much to ask the reasons for her staying here?” 

“Her father is missing, so we’re allowing her to cooperate with our investigation,” Jihoon sets his hand around the now cooled teacup, bringing it to his lips and drinking the contents slowly.  

“Her father-” Seokmin’s brow furrows, “You’re talking about Heo Jinsang?” The second the name leaves his lips, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. How was it that he knew everything? 

“How do you know his name?!” You can’t help but blurt out.  

“Wait a minute,” It seems like the commander was also shocked by the revelation that Seokmin knew who Heo Jinsang was. He sets his teacup down onto the tray with a small clatter before looking bewildered at the guard. “How do you know her father is Heo?” 

“I visited the Heo Clinic a long time ago,” Seokmin explains and then looks towards you and asks in a timid voice, “Do you not remember me?” 

It clicks for you, so that’s how he knew your name and father. You search his eyes for a moment, nothing sparking a memory of him from your childhood. “Were you a patient of my father’s?” 

“No,” Seokmin offers you somewhat of a forlorn smile at your response, “I was interested in Tang medicine when I was younger, so I went to your father’s clinic to study.”

“I see…” still trying to recall his face, you nod your head. 

“Don’t worry though, I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of me.”  

“What?” Jihoon interrupts, “What are you talking about? You don’t have to keep coming back here.”

“Don’t be like that, Jihoon,” He laughs at the commander and glances back at you, “We’re both from Gochang, we're buddies.” Seokmin then moves to get a little closer to the commander, clearly trying to fluster the elder. Normally Jihoon was composed and tried to keep himself together, seeing him easily behave like this was somewhat amusing. It’s almost as if he was enjoying himself. 

The three of you talking must’ve drawn the attention of the captains, because as Seokmin was teasing the commander some more, they slowly began to filter in. 

“Seokmin!” Junhui says as he sees the guard, running over to him and throwing an arm around his shoulder, “I thought you’d said you’d visit sooner!”

“We thought we heard your voice somewhere, Wen thought he was hallucinating,” Mingyu notes as he greets Seokmin. 

“Junhui, Mingyu,” a smile curling onto Seokmin’s lips at Junhui relinquishes him from his grasp, “And everyone else! Long time no see.”

“Can’t believe you’re in Seorabeol too now, are you here to train?” Junhui asks.

“Don’t be stupid, Wen. I bet he’s here to protect something or someone important, right?” Soonyoung questions as he looks to the guard.

A breathy chuckle from Seokmin, “It’s… something like that.”

“If you’re in Seorabeol, then it must’ve been a good job offer.” Hansol notes, as he looks at Seokmin.

 Seokmin nods silently to affirm him while Seungkwan speaks up, “If that’s the case: be careful. Don’t be stupid and go off dying on us.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Seokmin looks to the elder, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We should go drinking to celebrate someday, hell, we could go now if you want!” Junhui shouts out, eager to get out of the headquarters for a bit. 

The rest of the captains surround Seokmin for a while, immersing themselves in conversation and banter with the guard as he, too, seems to get lost in it all. So, he really did know all of them.

“Despite him being in the Naegeumwi, and heir of his grandfather’s school…” Jihoon’s eyes hold a fond warmth as he looks onto the commotion happening in the room. “He doesn’t hold that over the heads of the ranks lower than him. No one can escape his amiable nature.” The commander then turns to you, “Whenever he visits, be sure to let him in.”

“Alright,” you nod, not bothered by that order at all. Seokmin seemed to bring a warmth to the Hwarang men that you hadn’t seen too often, it was probably good for them.  

The men spent an exorbitant amount of time regaling about memories and incidents that had happened with their friend, and before they or you knew it, evening descended upon the compound with the orange glow of the setting sun. Seokmin notes this at one point and says he has to depart back to his duties. 

“When I return to Gochang I’ll ask about Heo,” The guard notes as he steps out of the front entranceway with Jihoon. You stand a few feet away from them and listen quietly to their conversation. 

“If you want to,” Jihoon nods in agreement, “Be sure to not tell anyone about our investigation.” 

“Of course,” Seokmin nods and glances over to you as if to affirm himself, “My lips are sealed.”  

As the three of you begin to make your farewells, from around the thicket of trees and down the walkway that leads to the entrance of the headquarters, you can hear the approaching steps of a returning group of Hwarang. They’re probably returning from their evening rounds, but you’re not sure who was on patrol today.  

“You’re- You’re that bastard from the tea shop, aren’t you?!” One of them freezes in their tracks before angrily storming over to the three of you. Almost instantly you recognize the voice and face of Suh Kangjoon. He stands before Seokmin, his voice irate, “Why the hell are you here?” 

Seokmin looks at him, his voice reserved and questioning, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t think we’ve been acquainted yet.” 

“Are you trying to mock me?” Kangjoon huffs, you’re sure if it were colder outside his breath would escape him in large plumes of white. “Name yourself!” 

“I am a member of Gochang’s Sodang unit under the Naegeumwi, my name is Lee Seokmin.” The guard states stoically, no inflection to his voice in trying to sound superior or below the man in front of him.

“A Naegeumwi… Lee…” It’s almost as if Kangjoon’s trying to piece together a puzzle, “Are you from Lee Alcheon’s-?”  

“Yes. I’m here in Seorabeol on official business.” Seokmin states calmly, “As I had some free time, I’ve come to visit my friends from Kwak Hall.” 

“Don’t lie to me! You’ve come to spread malicious rumors about the last time we met!” Kangjoon barks, his chest puffing out as if to intimidate Seokmin. 

The guard doesn’t seem in the least bit phased as he responds, “I have come here to see my friends, nothing more.” Seokmin shifts his weight from foot to foot as he brings his hand up to his chin in faux ponderance, “Or… Would you rather me remind you of what occurred when I last saw you?” 

His eyes sharpen at the Hwarang, who seems to have been taken aback by the statement.  

“If you say so,” the Hwarang cedes, realizing that he was in no place to argue with the commander of his organization listening quietly in on their conversation. “We’re settled. I’ll be on my way.” His voice holds a semblance of respect as he walks away with the handful of other Hwarang he’d arrived with.  

Despite the situation escalated by Kangjoon alone, Seokmin seems rather relaxed as he watches the Hwarang storm off into the compound. You only let out a sigh of relief when Kangjoon leaves your line of sight, you weren’t aware you’d been holding your breath.   

“Jihoon,” Seokmin asks, a small frown on his lips as he turns back to the commander, “Who is that man?” 

“His name is Suh Kangjoon,” the commander’s arms cross as he lets out a sigh, knowing full well how problematic the Hwarang is. “He’s a captain from the Hanseong unit who’s come to stay with us for the time being. I’m sorry about him, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you anymore.” 

“I’ll be alright but,” Seokmin looks at you before returning his attention to Jihoon, “Keep an eye on her. I’m sure if he found out she was here it wouldn’t go over well.” 

“I’ll try to drop by again soon,” Seokmin smiles, a twinkle in his eyes, before he turns on his heels and heads towards the city. You watch him as he leaves, his tall figure becoming smaller and smaller with every step before he eventually disappears down the pathway. 

Even if he was an important person and a friend of the Hwarang, he was an enigma to you. Seokmin was assuredly high amongst the bone-ranks, maybe even higher than the Hwarang’s commander, yet upheld himself with integrity and mindfulness to everyone he came across. You’d never been made aware of a noble that was like that before, most adhering to the rigid structure of the realm.  

𝔄𝔲𝔤𝔲𝔰𝔱 15𝔱𝔥, 661 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 It’s hot. Blazingly so. The city is blanketed by a heat so unknown to you that you found yourself perspiring as you awoke that morning. You’d thought you’d been sick until you walked into the main hall and saw the other captains in a similar state to yourself. There was nothing to be done about it except for staying in the shade or perhaps cooling off by a river. 

Yet, that’s not what was in store for you. Ever since your actions on the nights of the inn raids, Jihoon has been much more forgiving in his attitude, allowing you to resume your patrols with the captains. And seeing as Kim Mingyu was about to head out, you decided to tag along. 

You regret that decision almost immediately when you step onto the city’s streets, the crowds not doing anything to damper the rays of sun beaming down onto you. 

“Mingyu?” You ask as the two of you walk down the street, “The Hwarang patrol both night and day, right?” 

“They do,” he nods, wiping the sweat that had accumulated around the headband on his forehead, “Why?” 

 “Why is it that you do? Wouldn’t that be more of the city guard’s job?” You question as you pass by an armory, the heat of its fires only causing you to perspire more.  

“Because most of the city guard’s been called to the front,” his shoulders shrug, “Emperor Gaozong called them to help his forces root out Gogoryeo last month, so they’ve had a decline in their numbers… I’m not sure when they’ll be back, I heard the King was leading generals to Siigok Garrison so I can only assume it’ll be a while.” 

“So, you’ve become the city guard then?” 

“I mean, in a way,” he thinks, “We arrest thieves, people who’re looking for fights and who don’t pay for their meals. And then there are those who think they’ll just mooch off merchants...” 

It wasn’t fully the answer you’d been expecting, maybe along the lines of it. The adoption of the guard’s role was something new, but you couldn’t fault them for it if the city needed their swords. Before you’re able to continue to question him, a few men in Hwarang blues down the road seem to be trying to wave Mingyu down. Getting closer to the scene, you can make out Junhui’s figure and a few more Hwarang men.  

“Hey!” He smiles as the two of you stand before him, he looks to you before asking, “Find anything about your dad?” 

“No,” a small shake of your head, “Nothing yet.” 

“Ah, cheer up,” he says, gently hitting you on the arm as he sees your downtrodden frown, “There’s always tomorrow.” 

“You’re right,” pepping up slightly at his words. Junhui seems to be able to energize and lighten the mood whenever someone was feeling low, it was something you’d noticed over the course of getting to know him. It was almost as if his optimism was contagious. 

“Did you find anything fun, Junhui?” Mingyu questions, probably wondering if there was any more reason for Junhui flagging you down other than wanting to say hello. 

“Nothing in particular…” Junhui admits, “But, all of the people on this street are acting really busy.” 

You think he’s being a little over dramatic, but a closer observation of the pedestrians and shopkeepers has you thinking a little more critically. There was almost a nervousness, an anxiety, threading itself through the air and in their movements.  

“It looks like they’re… packing up?” You observe, eyeing one merchant in particular boxing away his things. 

“You think they’re worried about the war with Gogoryeo or the Baekje guys?” Mingyu asks Junhui, crossing his arms. 

“I thought that the Baekje threat was resolved...?” You say, looking from Mingyu to Junhui, confusion seeped into your voice. 

The taller rests his hand atop the hilt of his sword, “We didn’t tell you, did we? Those Baekje bastards have been showing up again, that’s why we’ve been having extra rounds.” 

“Even if we did weaken them at Wonweol,” Mingyu frowns, “I can’t really imagine them standing idly around when we’ve put some of their men in the ground. And now that the king’s absent… it’s a little trickier for us.” 

“Were the loyalists planning on doing something?” You ask, the way Mingyu had spoken leads you to believe something had been in the works. 

 “Not sure,” Junhui says with a shake of his head, “Other than what we found out after the raids we haven’t gotten wind of anything else.” 

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Mingyu notes, “All we’ve got to do is do our jobs. The loyalists attack Seorabeol, we drive them out. It’s as simple as that.” The Hwarang just accept the cards they’re dealt and never seem to complain. 

“If the loyalists continue their stunts then we’re probably going to get orders from the king to do something whenever he gets back,” Junhui sighs, not knowing how long the sovereign would be out of the capital. 

“What do you think he’d decree?” A tilt of your head as you ask, unknowing what more he could make the Hwarang do. 

“In the past the Hwarang have fought almost as their own regiment, he might do that.” Junhui shrugs, his hand moving from his sword and down to his side. 

“That doesn’t happen too often,” Mingyu nods almost approvingly and then turns to you with a joking smile, “You should join us.” 

You laugh at the sudden invitation, knowing full well the offer isn’t real. Seeing as the female version of the Hwarang, the Wonhwa, had been thrown away since before the Hwarang themselves were even conceptualized, it was a long shot to think that you could march along their ranks. As much as you want to help these men, you’re not sure that they’d fully accept you into their ranks. But if you could aid them like you had on the night of the raids on the two inns, you wouldn’t mind doing something like that again.  

“If you want me to go with you, I wouldn’t be opposed,” you shoot back to Mingyu, cracking a small smile at him. “If you need me to help, I’ll do whatever I can.” 

His smile deepens, the dimples on his cheeks beginning to show, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind if the time comes.” 

𝔄𝔲𝔤𝔲𝔰𝔱 18𝔱𝔥, 661 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 “Excuse me,” you say quietly as you make your way into the main hall, the wooden handle of the teapot in your grasp coarse on your palm. The heat of its contents rising to try and weaken your grip on the vessel. “I brought you all some more tea.” 

The Hwarang captains and men sit in various spots around the hall, you’re not sure why they’re convening, but they’d been in there for at least an hour discussing some matter at hand. 

“Thanks!” Junhui calls out and beckons you over, he takes the pot from your hands and begins to pour tea into his already halfway filled cup, “It’s almost like you’re our servant or something.” 

More so a page, but you weren’t going to correct him quite yet. You take back the pot and look around for anyone who might need a refill. Spotting Eunseok trying to catch your eye, you make your way over and fill his cup. 

“Thank you,” he says once you’re finished, quickly bringing the cup to his lips, and blowing on the warm contents.  

“It’s no problem,” you smile, voice barely above a whisper as you try not to disrupt the main conversation flowing throughout the hall. As you’re about to move away, Seungkwan swipes the pot from your grasp, pouring his own cup of tea and taking a drink of it. His face contorts for a moment and you question, “Does it not taste good?” 

“It tastes fine, I guess,” his shoulders shrug as he leans back in his seat, “It could stand to be a little warmer though, maybe you’re just taking too long to pour it.” 

“Oh,” you frown, taking the pot back from him, holding your free hand to the side of the vessel for a moment to test the warmth, “I’ll go and brew some more.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Soonyoung butts in, motioning for you to hand him the pot, “I like it lukewarm because it’s easier to drink, right, Hansol?” 

“Right,” the aforementioned captain nods, “It’s easier to drink on a hot day like this.” 

It looks as if Soonyoung’s about to speak again before Youngmin barges into the hall, a stoic expression drawn onto his face.  

“The Hwarang have received an official request from the Crown to head to Ongsan Fortress. All available men must get ready to set out at once,” Youngmin says, a sternness in his voice hinting at a notion of pride somewhere hidden away in its depths. There’s general excitement beginning to buzz among the Hwarang before he continues, “It seems as if they’ve noticed all of our hard work as of late.” It’s then he lets himself break out into a prideful smile; it was clear he was proud of the work the Hwarang had achieved in the past few weeks.  

As you scan the faces of the room, there was one in particular that has a sour expression forming as Youngmin finishes.  

“We don’t have time to celebrate,” Jihoon says, rising to his feet, “We need to get moving now, so get off of your asses and go!” The captains and other men then begin to follow his lead and stand, “Those loyalists are already in Seorabeol, we need to cut the head off of this snake before it lays any more eggs.” 

Once the men filter out and it’s only you and the captains, Jihoon speaks up, “Only when there’s somewhere else to go they tell us to haul ass?” He shakes his head, “We may not be the Guard or the Watch, but it doesn’t mean we’re any less expendable.” 

“Soonyoung and Seungkwan,” Seungcheol says after Jihoon’s done mumbling to himself, “You’ll remain here. I know it’s not what you want, but your injuries from Wonweol are still preventing you from active duty.” You glance to his hand, knowing full well that the colonel would be staying behind as well.  

“Speak for yourself,” Seungkwan frowns, clearly perturbed by the orders, “It’s not like my injuries didn’t recover. But I’m not at peak performance, even I can realize that. So, if you want me to hang back, I guess I can…” 

“That’s bullshit!” Adversely, Soonyoung points to his forehead, the cut he’d received during the raids still an angry pink where the skin had been slashed. “This is just a scratch, Kwak’s just being too careful.” 

“Are you being serious?” Mingyu scoffs at the younger, “I heard you in your room crying about how much it hurt still last night.” 

“You bastard,” Soonyoung pouts, “Don’t you want me out there with you guys?” 

“Oh, believe me, I do, Kwon.” Mingyu shakes his head, chuckling, “I just want you at your best. Not crying into your pillow because of a scratch. Even you heard him, right?” He looks to you for affirmation. 

“HEY!” Soonyoung whines, you think he’s going to clamp his hand over Mingyu’s mouth but the older moves away before he can. “Don’t ask her! And can you try to keep your mouth shut for a little while?” Soonyoung then gives you a sideways glance as if to ask if you really had heard him complaining yesterday. 

“...Your injury still hasn’t healed, Soonyoung.” You don’t explicitly admit that you heard his grumblings, even though you had. The band he normally wears with the Hwarang insignia hides the scar well, but without it, like he is now, it’s a stark reminder that he isn’t quite ready for the front lines again. 

“Hm, you said you wanted to go with us if we ever got the orders, didn’t you?” Junhui interrupts the lull in the room as he asks you a question. “Are you still up for that?” 

Even if you said that you’d join Junhui and Mingyu when you were out with them the other day, you thought you’d been joking, or half-joking at least. It would be risky if you did join them.

“I don’t see any reason why you can’t tag along,” Youngmin says with a nod of his head, “Opportunities for the Hwarang to move under Crown command alone are rare.” While he’s supposed to be the leader of the Hwarang, Kwak Youngmin was very easily swayed by his men’s words.  

“What?” Soonyoung says, almost confused as he looks from Junhui to Mingyu. “If she’s going with you, then maybe it isn’t such a bad idea for me to tag along too, right?” 

“You’re still not where you need to be,” Junhui says, nudging the other with his elbow gently, “Just stay here and heal up.” 

“Are you sure it’s okay that I go with you?” You ask, still not fully convinced they want you tagging along with them. 

The captain and colonel sigh at your reservations.  

“We can’t promise that you won’t get injured, or worse.” Jihoon says, a distressed glint in his eyes as he speaks to you, “I think you should stay here.”  

“Staying here would be an undue burden on the rest of us that stay,” Seungcheol argues back, “We’re not here to be a source of entertainment for you.” 

“Seungcheol…” Hansol speaks up, “So, as long as she’s not being burdensome, she’s free to go with us?” 

Is he standing up for you? It seems to be the case as Seungcheol looks at him in surprise, his eyes widening at the captain.  

“You’re really in favor of taking her along with you?” The colonel asks, his brow furrowing as he tries to understand the rationale.  

“She was an asset to us as Wonweol,” Hansol’s shoulders shrug, “Taking that into consideration, I hardly believe that she can be considered a ‘burden’, when recalling that.” 

“Great!” Youngmin exclaims, relinquishing the two from their conversation as his hands clap together. “I’ll take full responsibility for your inclusion, that is, if you want to go with us.” 

“Do whatever you want to do,” almost as if he can sense your hesitation, Seungkwan speaks up. The two of you make eye contact, and a smaller version of the smirk he almost always has plastered on his face curls to his lips. “Just as long as you know that this is a battle you’re going to, not a party.” 

Maybe you’d be able to help them out as you had on the night of the raids. It was a strong maybe, but you couldn’t let that hinder your decision making, could you?  

“I’d like to participate,” you find the words falling from your lips before you have the thought of saying them in the first place. Perhaps it was your subconscious speaking for what you truly want.  

𝔄𝔲𝔤𝔲𝔰𝔱 24, 661 - 𝔒𝔲𝔱𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔒𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔞𝔫, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 (𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔅𝔞𝔢𝔨𝔧𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡) Entering the territory of the former kingdom is more eye opening to you than you had ever thought it would be. Rather than the calmness that had been exemplified by the King’s announcements back in Silla, there is an anxious tension wrought in the villages and towns as the Hwarang sweep through. Even though they were only passing by the inhabitants would warily gaze upon you, the captains, and the rest of the men as if to gauge how hostile their new countrymen would be. 

The main goal is to reach Ongsan, a former Baekje fortress that stands on the border between the two Kingdoms. It seems as if the same group of loyalists from Seorabeol had taken over the now-emptied armament and claimed it as their headquarters. The Crown assigned the Hwarang the mission of expelling them, in a way of their gratitude for their performance on the night of the Wonweol and Jeolin Inn raids. 

Judging from what the captains were saying this morning, it seems as if you’re not too far from your destination. You don’t know the layout of this land, the towns unfamiliar and the faces just as so. 

For the most part, the men have been silent, only the odd gripe from one of the Hwarang. The absence of both Seungkwan and Soonyoung are notable, their voices seeming to fill in large gaps of silence when in attendance. It’s not until your troupe stops in front of a walled gate, presumably leading into a city, that Youngmin speaks up. Before the group stands a few other soldiers, from Silla by the looks of their armor.  

“My name is Kwak Youngmin, leader of the Seorabeol Hwarang. I am here on orders from Kim Seokmin, an army general under His Majesty King Munmu.” He stands before an officer of the troupe that was already there. 

Kim Seokmin is one of the most influential members of the Crown’s court. The father of Kim Mingyu and former Hwarang himself, he acquired favor from the kingship due to his efforts in a handful of Baekje rebellions in the decades prior.  

The officer looks confused, his brow furrowing, “You were told to report here? Did you not meet with the men from Unghyeon?” 

“Unghyeon?” You mouth the word in the same confusion the officer was expressing. It’s a Silla fortress some distance away from where you all stand now, it hadn’t been brought up in any conversation the Hwarang had had on their trek. 

“Several generals and their troops were sent there to convene before the attack,” Hansol leans over to you and whispers, “If we were meant to meet with them, it’s most likely the message to tell us to do so was intercepted.”  

“Does that mean they know we’re coming?” You ask quietly, looking around to the other captains to try and gauge what they’re thinking.  

“It’s likely they’ve put the pieces together,” Hansol nods solemnly, “But I can’t imagine they have the numbers to rival both us and the other group.” 

“This could still get messy, though,” you sigh, hoping the break in communication wouldn’t be but so impactful to the mission. 

“Regardless of that, our aid has been formally requested,” Youngmin stands firm as he speaks to the officer, “If you could relay this to your commandi-”  

 “If that’s the case then I suggest you try and convene with the King’s garrison,” the officer states as he cuts off Youngmin, “We can’t let you in here because we have no idea what’s waiting on the other side.” 

“Our orders say to stay stationed here,” Youngmin frowns, clearly frustrated with the lack of cooperation. 

“There’s nothing we can do about this, Chief,” Hansol speaks up, stepping over to Youngmin. “If they won’t allow us access here, maybe it would be in our best interest to try and find the others.” It looks as if Hansol was going to suggest something else before Kangjoon interrupts. 

“Find the others?” He shakes his head almost angrily, “Kim’s orders were to stay stationed here until we were signaled to enter the city. Why would we ignore a military command when we haven’t received anything to tell us to do otherwise? I think we should remain here on standby.” 

“If this was a camp that we were stationed at, that might make sense, Suh.” Hansol states with a frown, “But this is, or very soon will be, the front lines of a battle.” 

“Are you really trying to go against me?” Kangjoon nearly snarls back, the mere thought of someone going against his wishes enraging him, “Don’t forget that I’m the Hwarang’s War Counselor.” 

“And I’m the leader,” Youngmin interjects, “Hansol’s made a good point. We’ll look for the other group’s camp and hopefully get a better understanding of the strategy at play.” 

And with his words, the Hwarang begin to walk along the narrow pathway surrounding the fortress in search of the other group of generals and soldiers that are on their way from Unghyeon. Your group eventually finds the ally camp to the eastern front of the fortress, wooden spikes that had been hastily made surrounding it. A few soldiers come out to greet a few members of the Hwarang as you enter, they might be friends or family members who haven't seen each other in quite some time. 

Almost as soon as you’d entered the camp, Youngmin is ushered into one of the tents to speak with a few generals. You’re not sure who’s in there, but with the pallid complexion of the Hwarang’s leader upon his exit, you can assume it had been higher ranks than he’d been expecting.  

The orders are now to travel to the Southern Gate, the opposite end of where your original orders had been to go with a general and his troops.  

“If these guys say anything, and I don’t think they will, just let me know, okay?” Junhui says as everyone begins to leave the encampment. “Park Kimsu’s not a friendly face around here.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, not noticing Mingyu saddling up beside you. 

“What he means is, his father’s an enemy of my father,” Mingyu says, a gruffness to his voice as if he’s recalling something. “His father’s probably the one that sent the Watch out the night of the raids to try and take credit for what we did.”  

“That and he’s a major prick,” Junhui adds, “I can’t imagine his men are much better.” 

“Come on you guys,” Youngmin says as he slows his pace in front of you three, falling in line to your steps. “We can’t talk about them like that,” he contradicts his words by letting slip a sly smile for a few seconds before straightening his face and resuming his position at the front of the line.  

By the time you all arrived and set up your small camp, night had fallen quickly, plunging the surrounding area into an inky black, save for the lights several fires dotted around the site provided. Youngmin, Jihoon and the captains had gone off to speak with Park Kimsu and his officers, leaving you and the rest of the Hwarang to sit around camp with little else to do.  

They return what feels like hours later, their shoulders sagging and eyes looking tired as if they'd just run for that time instead of sitting in on a meeting. Eunseok, who had accompanied them, walks over to you with a small and lethargic smile.  

“For the most part they’re being cooperative,” he sighs, “The only reason Kimsu was paired with us is because his father asked for it, though.” 

“Why would he do that?” You ask a tilt of your head. Earlier, Mingyu has said that his and Kimsu’s families were something along the lines of enemies.  

“I don’t know,” Eunseok shakes his head, “Maybe to rile us up? Regardless of that though, we’re here to watch over the gate and make sure no one escapes.” 

“Regardless of that, they’re treating us like reserve troops,” Junhui’s voice is strained as he walks over, his arms high over his head as he stretches. Once he drops his arms down, he speaks up, “They’ve left smaller reserves around the South entrance because the biggest fight is going to happen at the North Gate.” He sounds a little disappointed, as if he were anticipating a big battle.  

“We don’t know what they’ll do exactly,” Hansol says as he trails after him, “We may very well see battle.” 

But that means waiting and seeing as the sun isn’t to rise for a long time, that means waiting overnight. As the crowds disperse and settle into their tents, you find that the Hwarang, at least, are sleeping in shifts so that if the call to arms were to come at night, there would be someone to rouse everyone else.  

“You can rest your head on my shoulder if you need to,” Mingyu says as the two of you sit down to keep watch, the flames in front of you seem like they’re trying to lull you to sleep. 

“I’m alright,” trying to stifle a yawn behind your hand as you shake your head. You’d feel wrong trying to sleep when you know these men could get called to face death at any moment.  

A nervous anxiousness coils around your stomach until you find yourself falling asleep later in the night, not awaking until the sun’s barely peeking over the horizon. When you sit up from the laid down position you’d slept in, you notice that the men had kept a silent vigil all through the night. Even as you were drifting in and out of consciousness, you noted that there were men posted around the camp, looking for anything or anyone suspicious.  

A little while later a large boom reverberates through the surrounding forest. You first think it’s a crack of lightning, or maybe the subsequent boom of thunder that succeeds it, but the sky is clear today, not a cloud in sight. It had echoed like thunder, startling the birds in the nearby trees, and causing more people than just you to jump in shock.

“What was that?” You question Hansol as he walks past you, seeming to look for someone coming in from outside of the camp. 

“It looks like the main army is beginning to siege the fortress,” He says, his eyes narrowing as scans the tree-line. The soldiers and Hwarang within the camp are moving by now,  

“Let’s get a move on!” Jihoon shouts out from somewhere deeper in the camp, his voice nearing as he continues to speak, “They’re not going to pause the fight until we get there, so get moving!” 

“We were told to stay here,” Park Kimsu says as he emerges from his tent, probably stirred from the commotion outside. The general watches the scramble of men in the camp race for their weapons and armor for a moment before he turns to Jihoon, “You don’t command my men.” 

“Our job is to siege the fortress, not sit on our asses and wait for this to pass by,” The commander bites back, he was almost yelling at the general. “We’re here to root out these loyalists, that won’t happen if we just stay here!”  

“We haven’t even received orders to push!” Kimsu quips, his brow furrowing at the Hwarang.  

“If you have any pride in your position, forget the damn orders and move your men,” Jihoon huffs, straightening the band around his forehead, “They aren’t going to willingly surrender.” The commander and general stare harshly at one another for a moment, almost as if they’re testing each other in a battle of wills. Jihoon, seeing as it was useless to try to neg the other any further, spins on his heels and begins to stalk off. 

“Where are we going?” You whisper to Hansol as Jihoon passes by, muttering something to himself.

“To face the enemy head on,” He says quietly, “Which, in our case, means the Southern Gate. The main fight is meant to happen at the Northern Gate so I wouldn’t be surprised if they try to divide our numbers to get more support up there.” 

“I see,” You nod, the same nervousness invading your veins once again, it was now riddled with an adrenaline that was probably the only thing making you think clearly. 

Jihoon’s rage at the general seems to have roused the reserve troops, who now, instead of loitering around the camp, seem to be mostly readied up. Led by both Park Kimsu and Lee Jihoon, the army and the Hwarang march their way to the Southern Gate. 

It was only a short trek to the destination, but the remains of skirmishes that seemed to have happened moments prior litter the ground. Soldiers, dead and dying, lay on the ground, chunks of wood from the gate lay in reddened splinters as arrows, both broken and intact, lay riddled where fragments of the gate’s doors once stood. The group that had come before you seems to have successfully made it into the city, but not without losses of their own. You can see both Baekje and Silla armor on the bodies of the fallen soldiers.  

Even if you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what you might see, the reality of it all still shatters your heart. 

Though the Baekje and Silla forces were nowhere to be seen, had your allies driven them further into the fortress? After a quick moment of assessment, Jihoon orders a few captains to investigate what happened, Youngmin sighing as he does so. 

“Had we known a group of Silla warriors were coming in beforehand we would’ve joined them and lost fewer lives.” He frowns as he looks over the scene, looking up once he sees Hansol returning from his survey of the area.  

“It looks like our forces attacked the gate earlier this morning, were repelled briefly before the flank on the Northern Gate began,” the captain recounts, looking to Jihoon, “After their forces were divided the army at the Southern Gate was able to advance into the fortress.” 

“Do you have any word on what’s happening at the Northern Gate?” Jihoon questions, obviously beginning to silently plan a course of action.  

“They’re still fighting,” Hansol nods, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if he can tell what Jihoon’s thinking, “The King’s garrison has yet to advance into Ongsan.” 

“Lee!” Mingyu shouts out as he returns from his own survey of the area, running from the direction of the pass to reach the stronghold. “There’s supposedly Baekje reinforcements coming from the west as well, not many, but enough to make a dent in our numbers if we let them.” 

Jihoon’s expression of confidence wavers momentarily as he listens to Kim as he approaches, but before he can comment on it, Chan also races over to the group of captains from surveying inside of the fortress.  

“Commander,” he starts off, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, glinting in the daylight now hanging overhead, “It’s believed that the men who led this are heading for the heart of the fortress to try and kill the loyalists trying to run for it.” 

The commander thinks after listening to the cumulative reports, contemplating as to what the next move should be. Although Youngmin is the recognized formal leader of the Hwarang, you’d come to learn the most major decisions were given to Jihoon to make. This was no exception, the crowd of captains anticipating his orders while Kimsu was speaking with his own men of what to do next.  

“It looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Jihoon’s lips curve into a small smile after a moment of silence. “Kim, take your men to the pass to deal with any incoming loyalists. Lee, Choi,” he turns to Chan and Hansol, “follow the men into the fortress, but make sure to keep an ear out if Kim needs any reinforcements at the pass.” 

There’s nods and affirmations from the captains and officer before the commander turns to Youngmin, “I’m sorry for giving you the hardest one, Chief. Can you speak with the higher ups back at the main camp about a punitive measure for the group that got here before us? As far as both Kimsu and I were aware they weren’t supposed to do that, and I’ll bet they’re doing more in there than just routing out the loyalists. If we’re to do anything about that then we’ll need the higher ups permission.” 

While an independently run body from the Crown’s army or guard, the Hwarang still need permission to act under that guise of pseudo-Crown rule and dole out their justice. 

“I’m sure I can do something about it, and if not me, my father,” Youngmin nods, a smile forming as he thinks it over. You’re not sure who Youngmin’s father is, but if his son is the leader of the Hwarang, his position in the Crown’s council must be higher than anyone else’s father in the organization. It would still be tricky to gain that permission with all of the Hwarang naysayers and adversaries within the council.  

“Eunseok, can you go with him?” Jihoon asks and turns to their youngest member, “Someone has to keep an eye on him.” 

“Of course,” He nods, “I’ll do my best.”  

Jihoon smiles wryly at him before turning to the remaining Hwarang. “The rest of you are following me into the fortress and to the Northern Gate. As for you,” he looks directly at you, “You can’t go with Youngmin, but other than that it’s up to you.”

You know he doesn’t know where to place you. It’s not as if you’re one of the Hwarang he could command to a role and set you there. Maybe having you decide your own fate was a way to take the burden off his shoulders.  

“I’ll go with you, then,” You say after a moment of contemplation. Along with Jihoon, a group of Hwarang, and a group of regular soldiers, you’ll race into Ongsan and try to open the Northern Gate for the King’s garrison to make way into the fortress by suppressing the loyalists inside.  

The groups disperse shortly after, Mingyu and his men heading to the pass, Youngmin and Eunseok leaving for the main camp, Chan and Hansol leaving for the heart of the fortress, and then Jihoon and you making way to the Northern Gate from inside the fortress itself.  

Jihoon, you and the group of soldiers accompanying you race through the fortress. Seeing it from the outside had hidden how expansive it is on the inside, large courtyards and twisting hallways have your mind running in circles as you slowly run out of breath. You come upon another seemingly empty courtyard before stopping in your tracks. There was someone standing in the middle of it, someone wearing neither Silla nor Baekje armor. In fact, they are dressed more like a noble than a fighter. 

The sun is shining so harshly onto the courtyard as you approach that it’s hard to get a good look at his face. It’s obscured in the sunlight and the light yellow of his robes and the glinting silver of a blade in his hand is doing little to help that. There’s a strange aura surrounding him, almost as if he's waiting for something to happen. 

Jihoon, perceptive to that, motions for everyone to stop before encroaching on the character. The Hwarang stop in their tracks, save for one man too eager or arrogant to follow the commander’s orders and charges towards the figure with his sword out. The stranger seems to have only waved his arm once before the Hwarang falls to the ground, the dull sound of his body hitting the stone below echoing around the courtyard, the clangor of battle raging in the distance.  

“What the hell?!” Junhui shouts out, shoving his way through the throng of Hwarang and over to the fallen man. The man’s unresponsive, a thick pool of blood beginning to stain the ground under him. The rest of the men, first taken aback by the stranger, now glare at him for the loss of their comrade.

“You’re Hwarang, aren’t you?” The stranger speaks up, his blade tapping against the agate stone of the walkway, “I can tell because of those blue robes of yours.” He sighs out, “A bunch of pretty nobles playing soldier, aren’t you all old enough to know to stop playing pretend?” 

The man’s words are enough to make the already on-edge men agitated. Egged on by the harsh ridicule of someone they’d only just come upon. Each Hwarang, either noble or not, had their reason for joining. Taking their choice into question was cruel and that was clearly painted on their faces now.  

“First, you ruin my plans at Wonweol and now you’re trying to play hero,” They snicker, “You’re not even real soldiers, are you?” His gaze travels down to the fallen Hwarang momentarily before lazily and almost arrogantly meeting Jihoon’s eyes, “I’d turn back if I were you, unless you want to end up like your friend here.” 

“You’re the swordsman who beat Seungkwan at Wonweol?” Jihoon asks, the tension in the air thick and palpable as he speaks. “I heard you were quite good, but these are pretty big words coming from such a small man.” The smile on the commander’s face is anything but amicable.  

“And I heard that you all were talented, for what you are, but this sorry display is telling me otherwise.” The now adversary snickers, once again glancing at the dying, or maybe he was already dead, Hwarang. “The man I fought at the inn, his name is Seungkwan? It’s a bit of a stretch to call him a real swordsman.” 

You know from watching the men train that Seungkwan is skilled with a sword, but he had been injured by this man. Is his prowess with a blade more prolific than the Hwarang captain’s? 

“Insult Boo all you want,” Junhui stands from the body of the crumpled soldier to face the stranger, his hand reaching for the sword at his hip. “But why did you kill this man?” The hiss of the steel leaving the sheath cries out as he tears it from the scabbard, the captain’s teeth baring. “If I don’t like your answer then I won’t hesitate to tear you down right here.” 

“How prideful,” you can almost hear him roll his eyes, “The king says for you to ‘Jump’ and you say, ‘How high?’. Why are you chasing after men who’ve deserted their own movement? Or are you trying to let your own men in at the Northern Gate? Either way, your combatants are going to kill themselves before they’ll let you take this place by full force.” 

You glance at Jihoon and the men around him, not even one looking as if the other’s words were outlandish. It seems as if the man in front of you had stopped your assault on the fortress to spare the pride of the Baekje loyalists. From the stranger’s point of view, you can understand what he was doing and why he feels right about it. But that gave him no right to slay one of the Hwarang.  

“Is taking someone’s life for the sake of another’s pride just?” You speak up, distraught from this situation entirely, “The only one who can save your pride is you, not letting that responsibility fall into someone else’s hands.”  

A grin splits onto the other’s face, “There’s some truth in that, I suppose. Are you saying that I should let the Hwarang demolish any pride these men have just to simply gain favor with the Crown?” Despite the curvature of his lips, his voice is not amused. 

“That’s not what I…” The reddish-brown tint of his eyes scrutinizes you as you try to justify yourself, quickly falling away with the harshness of his demeanor.  

“Here I was, thinking you were trying to say something intelligent,” Jihoon steps in once your voice trails off, “but you’re just acting like a child. This is war, not a council meeting debating ethics!” 

“What did you just say?” Knuckles turning white with the newfound grip on his blade, the stranger questions accusingly at Jihoon.  

“The loyalists started a fight knowing their kingdom had been defeated already, and now they’re running away in shame because they’re too cowardly to face the consequence of their actions,” Jihoon argues, a heated tone to his words, “They don’t deserve honor! They’re traitors to their new kingdom by trying to incite a rebellion, you think that deserves an honorable death?”

 “Then you mean that they should’ve been prepared to die for their cause when they started this battle?”

“Anyone who starts a fight for a cause they aren’t willing to die for doesn’t know what it means to be a warrior.” Jihoon states, his hand hovering over the hilt of his own sword. “If they have an ounce of pride left in them, wouldn’t dying by your enemy’s hand while trying to stop them be better than falling onto your own sword?”  

Jihoon’s own conception of honor and pride aren’t something he can compromise easily, having been ingrained into him at an early age. But even then, you can tell that even if he and the stranger spoke for hours, they would never understand each other’s points of view. The commander finally draws his weapon, Junhui dropping into a fighting stance when he does so. Before either of the two do anything, Jihoon whispers something hastily under his breath that causes Junhui to relent his stance, sheath his weapon, and step back into the group of Hwarang.  

“You don’t seem like a coward,” Jihoon states, “So are you ready to accept the consequences of what happens when you kill one of my men?” 

“Those are some big words,” The stranger says as he raises his sword from his lax position, the gore from the fallen Hwarang still clinging to the blade, “Do you really think you can defeat me?” 

The answer isn’t verbal, but a ringing sound as their blades meet. They step back from one another, Jihoon’s grip tightening on his sword as he glares at the other. Now, the commander’s skill seems unrivaled but the thought that this stranger had beaten Seungkwan, the Hwarang’s best swordsman, lingers in the back of your mind as you watch.  

Next to you, you can see Junhui reaching for his own sword. If he were to leap into the fight, it would most certainly help Jihoon gain the upper hand. 

“You can’t,” you say and reach out, your hand falling onto his forearm before he turns to look at you. Meeting and fighting with this stranger aren’t why you and the Hwarang are here. The mission is to aid the forces at the Northern Gate. It isn’t any question whether this man was an enemy, a dangerous one, at that.  

Even if Jihoon can’t defeat him, he would never let the Hwarang abandon their mission, especially after his speech. 

Junhui turns away from you and watches the two men clash for a moment more, gritting his teeth and finally pulling his hand away from his sword. “Lee, I’m going to take your men for a second if that’s okay with you!”  

“Just go already, loudmouth!” Jihoon says as he once again falls away from the stranger, “They’re all yours!” 

“Alright!” Junhui calls out and turns to the men, “We’re heading for the Northern Gate, run straight there and don’t stop until those Baekje bastards have been put in their place!” 

The soldiers roar with a renewed vigor and begin to follow the captain. 

The stranger huffs something out as he watches the men run off, his hand clenching his sword as if he’s about to follow them. 

“You’re not fighting them, so pay attention,” Jihoon calls out to pull the stranger’s focus back to him. “If you don’t, I’ll cut you down from behind instead.” 

“Don’t get in my way!” The stranger shouts, bringing his sword down to meet Jihoon’s, the swing causing Jihoon to reel back once receiving it. 

Now that there was more of a distance between the two, the stranger’s gaze once again travels to Junhui and the running Hwarang. You think for a moment to stop running with the men and try to stand your ground with Jihoon, but relent after a moment, continuing to go further on with the rest of the troops.  

“Keep running!” Jihoon calls out, closing the distance between himself and the stranger, positioning his sword upwards once more.  

“You don’t even know your limit,” The stranger scoffs. 

You stop for a moment, finding yourself unable to keep up with the men. Looking back to the fray, you part your lips and shout out, “We’ll see you at the Northern Gates!” Leaving Jihoon without a word felt… wrong, so you yell out the not-so-subtle words of encouragement as you depart once more. “Come back to us in one piece!” 

Jihoon almost laughs at this, devolving it into a small chuckle as his gaze narrows at his adversary. “Who do you think I am?” A cocksureness riding along his words as you run past, only hoping that he would survive the encounter. 

By the time you and the rest of the Hwarang make it to the Northern Gates, it seems as if the King’s garrison has broken through already. There’re skirmishes happening all around the entrance but are soon quelled by the introduction of the Hwarang into the fight. Jihoon hadn’t arrived as the battles wane to a close and the sun begins to sink down into the sky. Several higher ups order a few of the captains to look for any remaining loyalists in the compound, leaving you to stand and wait for a sign of the commander or a returning captain. 

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” a voice says to your right. You’re met with the face of Officer Jeon, or Wonwoo as you’ve come to learn. Like Chan, he acts as a spy for the Hwarang but typically deals with Yamato forces, but he had accompanied the men to Ongsan this time, only showing how much more this mission meant to the Hwarang. “I know they will.” 

You can only nod your head in response and scan the area, looking for one of the faces you hope on seeing return. Every passing moment feels like an eternity, slowly inching by as the sun sinks lower and lower into the sky.  

It’s dusk when you see a figure emerge from the depths of the fortress, the darkening sky obscuring most of their features, but as they near the now lit courtyard you stand in, you can see that it’s a familiar face.

“Commander!” You shout out and race over to him, relief flooding your system. 

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” Wonwoo says, following closely behind you as you stop in front of Jihoon. “It doesn't even look like you’ve been hurt.” 

In the light of the fires, you can see that the Hwarang hadn’t been injured, but he wears a dark expression over his face. 

“I hoped we would have a real fight, but it looks like it was over almost as soon as you all arrived,” he frowns, “held up by a Hwarang opposer, no less.” 

“Who was he?” Wonwoo asks, tilting his head slightly. 

“His name is Hong Jisoo. I don’t know if his father’s a part of the council or if he’s just a lackey under one of them, but he’s clearly very anti-us.” 

“But if he’s still working under Silla rule, why did he try to stop us from going after Baekje?” You question, confused by the swordsman’s actions, weren’t both sides there to stop the loyalists? Something about this isn’t settling right with you. “Does that mean he was betraying Silla?” 

“I don’t know about that, but I do think he was trying to stop us from getting here,” Jihoon sighs out, closing his eyes as if to recall the situation, “The soldiers who broke us up were also confused by whatever game he was trying to play. But they didn’t try to command him to do anything after we’d stopped fighting, so he must mean something to them.” 

“He must have some notoriety in their ranks, then,” Wonwoo muses. 

“He’s a lazy piece of shit who uses his rank or his money to do whatever he wants, more like,” Jihoon says with a bitter edge to his voice. “If he flaunts that around he has no right to try and teach me what his definition of pride is.” 

Before Jihoon can ramble and rant about Jisoo, Junhui and the detachment of men he’d left with returns to the battle site. Junhui stops for a moment upon seeing the commander before breaking out into a large grin. The smile doesn’t last long though as he approaches, the curvature of his grin turning downwards. 

“We found a few runaways, but they were already dying or dead by the time we got there.” At Junhui’s words you feel your heart drop. It’s not that you were sad that the loyalists were dead or that the Hwarang hadn’t been able to capture any one of them, only that more lives had been lost in the conflict.  

“Honorable suicide, then?” Jihoon nods, not sounding angry at the result. “Good for them.” 

“Good?” You ask without thinking, how is that ‘good’? Only hours prior the commander was trying to stop the loyalists from succeeding in that mission, but now that it’s been done he’s lauding them. 

“You don’t understand,” the commander says and looks towards you. “As Hwarang, this isn’t good for us. We failed and let them kill themselves. They’re dead, what good would it be for me to ignore what they’ve done? It doesn’t matter if they’re an enemy or my friend, a man who dies with his honor intact deserves at least some respect.” 

“I guess that makes some sense…” You mutter, not fully understanding the reasoning or what he was trying to convey.  

His expression softens slightly, “The longer you stay with us, the more you’re likely to understand our mindset.” 

Now that this group has come back together, you make your way to the campsite to meet with the rest of the Hwarang you’d parted ways with that morning.  

The event of the loyalist takeover of Ongsan and their eventual expulsion from the fortress comes to be known as the Ongsan Rebellion to the citizens of Silla. And while the Hwarang had been called to action, their efforts were stymied with unforeseen circumstances and were able to find little in the way of gaining major approval with the Crown. Communication with the King’s garrison and the army alongside him had been poor and much of the Hwarang’s time had been spent waiting for battle with the rest of the reserve troops. 

And even when they were called to arms, the Hwarang found a strange opponent at every turn:  

Hong Jisoo, who had defeated Seungkwan at Wonweol, had claimed to be a member of the pro-Watch camp of the council during his encounter with Jihoon. It still isn’t determined who his family is and why his stance is so firmly against the Hwarang. 

Hwan Minhyun, the man who had injured Soonyoung at Wonweol was also in attendance at the battle. While little more is known about him, he had claimed to be in allegiance with Hong Jisoo. 

And then there was Xu Minghao, who also fought along with the prior two men with little mention of his full allegiance.  

Whoever these men are, it’s clear to see that they’re no allies of the Hwarang. In fact, it seems as if they’re set to become one of their greatest enemies.  

The battle claimed the lives of thousands of men, the king ordering his garrison to behead any survivors they found. Even then, some Baekje loyalists were able to escape westward, further into the territory that used to be their homeland. With the end of the Ongsan Rebellion, the king passes an edict labelling any man that fought alongside the Baekje loyalists to be branded a traitor in the eyes of the Crown and an enemy of the court. 

𝔖𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 8𝔱𝔥, 661 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 With the events of the raid on Wonweol Inn and the Ongsan Rebellion taking place within only a few short weeks of one another, it was causing a certain unrest to take hold within citizens of Silla. The Hwarang are doing their best to double up on their work to make citizens feel protected, but with the return of most of the Guard and Watch, it’s difficult for them to receive missions as big as the raids and rebellion had been. And even if they are assigned a task, the Crown overworks them, seemingly wanting to bleed them dry.  

The Crown’s approval of any of their missions spreads them thin, even with the newer recruits they’d received from Podang and Gochang, it isn’t enough to keep an appropriate amount of people to instill peace. After many long and arduous meetings, it’s decided that Soonyoung, to slowly introduce him back into his role after his injury, will travel to Hanseong, one of Silla’s northernmost cities, to do preliminary scouting for future recruits.  

The burning sun hits your face as Youngmin and you see Soonyoung off, a bag slung around his shoulder having been packed the night prior.  

“I’ll be on my way now,” The Hwarang nods at the two of you, “Make sure no one gets in trouble while I’m away!” 

“I’ll try my best,” you smile at him. His presence would be missed at the headquarters, even if the other men didn’t want to acknowledge it.  

“Find us a solid list of men, it doesn’t matter if they’re nobles or not,” Youngmin notes, putting his hand under his chin for a moment. “But seeing as it’s Gochang, you might encounter more nobles there than usual. I’ll join you there next month to see who you’ve recruited.” 

“Isn’t there someone who you’re looking for?” You turn to Youngmin, “I remember you mentioning someone once.” 

“Oh, did we not tell you?” Youngmin sounds a tad miffed, “His name is Kim Gongmyung. Classically trained and the rumor is that he’s very well versed in strategy.”  

“To be honest, I haven’t met him but only once or twice,” Soonyoung relents, “But at the least I’m sure he’ll let me speak to him.” 

“That’s all we need,” Youngmin nods with a small smile, “His father’s on our side in the king’s council, and if we approach him kindly, I’m sure it’ll be within his interest to help us.” The leader seems confident just by his facial expression, but there’s an air of unsureness coming from the Hwarang.  

“Alright, I’m going!” He lets that discontentment fall from his features seconds later, nodding his head before speaking. Soonyoung then turns to you, “I’ll do my best to find any information on Heo while I’m there, so just hang on until I get back!” 

“Be careful!” You call out to him as he turns on his heels, bounding out from the main hall and towards the exit. As you watch him leave, and the smaller he seems to get the further he is from you and Youngmin, the melancholier you feel. Youngmin looks different though, a small smile residing on his face as he watches the Hwarang set out. “You look excited, are you thinking of all the new members you’re getting?” 

“Of course, seeing out numbers increase is great. Even more so if they’re strong and able,” He says as Soonyoung finally disappears outside of the main entrance.  

𝔖𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 27𝔱𝔥, 661 - 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔬𝔩, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 Time passes quickly after Soonyoung’s departure. So fast that the date of Youngmin’s departure for Hanseong arrives with little resistance. The morning before he’s meant to depart, you find him standing in one of the compound’s courtyards, quietly watching the wind pass through the leaves overhead. 

“Is everything alright?” You ask as you approach him quietly, not wanting to startle him. 

“Hm, oh, hello,” he looks at you with a small smile, “I’m alright, are you doing okay?”

 “I am,” you nod, “I’m just thinking about how you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

“I see,” he says with a short chuckle, “I can’t leave Soonyoung alone for too long, can I? Who knows what sort of trouble he’s already found himself in?” 

“I’m sure your absence here is going to affect the men like Soonyoung’s is,” you sigh out, already knowing the feeling of having such a pivotal character of the captains gone for nearly a month now. Youngmin is the Hwarang’s leader. If anything, this will be a larger blow than Soonyoung’s departure. 

“It’s only a month,” he tries to reassure you, “I’ve been gone for longer before. And besides, Jihoon will make sure everything runs smoothly while I’m away.” Youngmin probably isn’t aware that his kindness and Soonyoung’s strange but bright personality were things that kept you mentally intact day after day here. With both absent from the headquarters, you’re not sure what kind of emotional blow it’ll have on you.

Your discontentment with the situation must have placated itself on your face because Youngmin looks at you now with a sad, small smile.  

“Is there anything you want me to bring back for you?” He questions in hopes that it might make you feel better, “I’m going to stop in Toehwa-hyeon on my way back, did you want a memento from your hometown?” 

“Oh no,” you shake your head, grateful for his offer, “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“Are you sure?” Youngmin pushes a little more, “If there’s anything I can do for you, and as long as it’s within my power, I will.” You don’t want to ask any more of him, he’s so accommodating already that you’d just feel wrong in asking him to bring you something. 

“There is one thing…” You pause for a moment, “Could you train me?” 

“Are you-?” Youngmin’s brow furrows as he thinks of your statement, “Are you talking about fighting?” 

“I am,” you nod quickly. 

“Oh no… I think that would be a bad idea,” he sounds cautious, tentative, “I get really aggressive when I teach, if I ended up injuring you, I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself.” 

“I see…” You probably sound defeated, your shoulders shrugging downwards at his words.  

“But that statement came out of nowhere… Did you have a reason for asking?”

“If I’m going to help watch over Shoshin while you’re gone, I want to be able to instead of hiding while everyone else puts in the effort.” 

Youngmin chuckles nervously at that sentiment, “But you’re not one of the warriors, so I doubt you’d ever have to raise your sword to an enemy.” 

“You’re right, but I still want to be able to protect myself if something were to happen,” you insist gently, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. 

Youngmin mulls it over for a moment before perking up into a smile, “Well, if that’s the case, I’d love to teach you a few things.” 

The leader runs around for a moment, returning to you with a pair of practice swords and two cords so you can tie up your sleeves without getting hindered by them. Rather than use the traditional wooden practice swords of the Hwarang, Youngmin’s opted for the lighter bamboo variant as to not accidentally injure you with the splintery cousin.  

“Let’s start,” he says as he stands beside you, his own bamboo sword raised outwards. “I’ll warn you though, the style we teach at the Kwak school and the Hwarang are a little… arduous.” 

“I’m ready,” you state firmly and raise your own bamboo sword out to the open space in front of you. 

“Then let’s begin with your stance,” he says, looking towards your feet with a scrutinizing gaze, “You mentioned you’d trained before, right?” 

“It was mostly for self-defense, but I was taught how to use the blade I have with me,” you say as you look down to your feet, trying to position them correctly.  

“Then I won’t have to worry about teaching you a new form,” he notes, “Just get into the stance you’re most comfortable with.”

With the smooth grip of the practice sword in hand, you fall back into the stance you have memorized from all your practice sessions. Your hold on the hilt of the weapon tightens as you await instruction. 

“Too weak!” Youngmin shouts out, different from the calm tone his voice typically carries. “If someone’s coming from your front to attack you, the first thing they’ll reach is your sword and your arm. Tighten your grip more or they’ll knock the sword right out of your hand, be wary of that.”

“Okay!” You nod and try to hold onto the sword even tighter, the knuckles on your hand beginning to ache with the strain. It was somewhat endearing to know that he isn’t treating you any differently because you’re a girl.

“Now you’re holding on too tight,” he notices the tremble from the overworked muscles of your hand, watching the fake blade quiver in the air. “Because you’ll be a bit weaker than most you’ll ever fight against, you should try your best to avoid someone attacking you from the front. To do that you’ll need to dodge or redirect the blow from their sword, but since you’re holding onto it so tightly…” 

You’re not sure how much time has passed since Youngmin had begun his instruction, but the sun is hanging low in the sky now as you try and retain everything, he’s been teaching you.

“It’s getting late.” He muses after you finish swinging the sword for what feels like the thousandth time. It’s cause enough for you to look up at the reds, oranges and purples that are beginning to saturate the sky. And almost as if you’re pulled from your training, fatigue sets into your bones and causes you to collapse to your knees. Your limbs shake with exhaustion, clothes dampened with sweat, your breath hollow as you try to suck in more air than your lungs allow you. 

Youngmin looks over to you as you collapse, his stern expression from training you softening to one of concern. “I’m sorry!” He says, a panicked tone overtaking him, “I got so into it that I pushed you way too hard!” 

“I’m fine,” you breathe out, offering him a weak smile, “You ended up teaching me like that even though I’m not your student, thank you.”  

“I see,” he doesn’t sound fully convinced, but the worried edge to his voice subsides a bit, “If that’s how you feel then I’m glad I could help.” His face holds a mixture of guilt and hesitation, though, “I am sorry, I haven’t fully trained someone in years, and I suppose I went a little overboard.” 

“You mean before you became the Hwarang’s leader?” You ask as you shakily rise to your feet. 

“Right,” he nods with a nostalgic smile, “Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Eunseok all attended my family’s school. Seungcheol, Soonyoung, Junhui and Mingyu joined us afterwards, Hansol never fully joined but would stop by often. We don’t have time for it now, but we used to test our skills out against each other nearly every day.” 

The topic of the ‘old days’ often came up when the captains were tipsy or drunk on their alcohol. Youngmin’s father had been high up in the Crown’s council when he was alive, but later left to start up his own fighting school, much like Lee Alcheon had done. 

“All of that training must’ve been tough,” you wonder aloud.

“It was,” Youngmin nods in agreement, “But it was fulfilling, in a different way than what our work is now.” He gazes off into nothing as he reminisces, causing a pang of envy to invade you for a moment.  

“Earlier you said you weren’t my student,” Youngmin speaks up, looking at you, “Since I am technically a master of my family’s school, and I spent today training you… I think that more or less makes you a disciple of the style as well. That would make you a student like a few of the captains.” 

His words cause a smile to break out on your face, “Thank you.” Obviously, it isn’t an official method, and it was hardly a full day’s worth of instruction, but it made an unbridled happiness bubble within you. “I’m so grateful for what you’ve taught me today.”

enjoy what you read? leave a comment! it helps with motivating us writers to keep producing content for our lovely readers ❤

heads up! poly fic :)

jeonghan let out the longest, loudest sigh you'd ever heard from him. he reaches up, rubbing at his arms for warmth as he looks around. "ah... i forgot my sweater again."

he's not subtle. he never is. but you say nothing, instead looking at joshua's phone again as he tries to figure out where this restaurant is. seungcheol doesn't look up from his phone, either, checking the reservation again to make sure that you'll still be able to make it on time.

"it's cold," he continues. "i think i might freeze before we get there..."

joshua doesn't look up, either. "cheol, are you still paying?"

"one less person to pay for," he says. you glance over and see how he's giving himself away with a cheesy grin right now, fighting it back to try and remain neutral.

jeonghan just steps behind you, wrapping his arms around you and snuggling in... for about five seconds before you're shoving him away the exact moment his cold hands slip underneath your shirt. you yelp, bumping into joshua, who steadies you immediately, and jeonghan ends up pushed into seungcheol.

"it's not even that cold!" you pout, already removing your cardigan. you throw it at him, pouting harder at the way he laughs at you. "just ask for it like a normal person next time!"

his eyes twinkle as he grins at you, already pulling your cardigan on. "thank you, honey," he chuckles, already moving in to kiss your pouty face. "i'm glad one of you loves me."

and he laughs when seungcheol throws his jacket over him, so endeared to how his two pouty loves give him whatever he needs, while his other love watches on with a smug grin.

---

𖠗 𓂃 。˚ ⋆𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘢𝘰, 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘗𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘳

pairings: xu minghao x reader genre: one night stand, s2l (?), smut (mdni), drabble, *not proof read* word count: 1.3k words synopsys: on a whim, your friends dare you to get nipple piercings done at minghao's tattoo and piercing shop. inspired by: this minghao lip piercing vid

tags: bodypiercer/tattooartist!mingaho, touchstarved!reader, afab!reader, minghao has a lip and tongue piercing. smut tags/ warnings : nipple play, unprotected sex (plz do not do this w strangers lol), cream pie, fingering, pet names (sweetheart, baby), unrealistic portrayals of getting your nipples pierced.

likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated/encouraged ^-^

note: ...hi lol the amount of times i saw that video of mingaho... like i can't not just post a short fic about him being the person to do your first body piercing (?) djflajdfhkjahk . this is my first time posting something so short lol. this is just a lil something so i could take a small break from writing my scoups fic :>. lmk what u think!!! enjoy heeheh <;3

“You’re going to have to take off your shirt.” Minghao looks at you, a little unimpressed.

With doe eyes, you nod hesitantly. Laying down on the sterilized but soft piercing bed, your palms begin to sweat. The thought of the needles going through your sensitive nipples, twice, is causing you to second guess your friends’ dare. The adrenaline rush catching up with you, making you believe that you should’ve just asked for another option. Anything but this…, you chanted in your head.

Minghao puts his gloves on, glancing back at you to see what state you’re in, concluding that you’re at the stage of regret.

He prepares all his piercing instruments on a tray beside where you lay. As he takes his seat on the chair your pulse starts to pick up again. Thanking god that the tattoo shop had private rooms for piercings.

“Uh Miss. Your shirt?” He asks again, the needle now in his hands.

“Oh. Oh! Right sorry.” You chuckle uncomfortably, lifting up your baby tee. Your nipples now on full display for a complete stranger. An attractive stranger at that.

“You know you don’t have to do this.” He says nonchalantly as he tweaks your nipples. It causes your breath to hitch, the feeling his fingers on twisting you. You know it’s not in a sexual manner, but you feel a buzz rushing down to your core.

You can’t help but notice the way his tugs at his lip piercing, his tongue occasionally poking out of his mouth, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his tongue piercing.

“I-it’s too late now.” You stutter. Your answer comes out almost in a breathy moan but you quickly cover it up with a cough.

“Hm. Not really. I can see how scared you are.” Minghao shrugs.

He notices the way your thighs squeeze together. He smirks inwardly, the fact that you’re getting turned on during a piercing is intriguing to him.

“Well I can’t just back out now.” You whine, Minghao continues to prod at your nipples. Trying to find the perfect place to strike the needle through. He finally picks up on the effect he has on you.

“You’re quite a dirty girl aren’t you?” He chuckles, staring into your eyes.

You freeze at his words, the seriousness in his gaze indicating he isn’t joking around.

“W-what the fuck? Why would you even say that?”

“Because I know that pussy of yours is dripping right now.” He smirks.

You’re utterly baffled, your mouth opening and closing but you can’t seem to answer him. He isn’t even wrong, you’re so turned on just from him playing with your nipples.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about” You huff, the blush on your cheeks running down to your neck.

You do know though, because you can feel your panties begin to stick to your pussy lips.

Minghao puts down his piercing instruments and takes off his gloves, standing up from his chair to tower over your laying body. His hand trailing up your inner thigh, it surprises you enough that you let out a soft whimper. Minghao only smirks at your reaction.

He isn’t the type to fuck a client, but the way your doe eyes looked at him as he tried to find the sweet spot on your sensitive buds turned him on. He knew right at that moment that he was going to pierce you in more than one place, except the second time wasn’t going to be with a needle.

As his long fingers ascend up your thigh, he finally reaches the heat between your legs. His movements causing your skirt to hike up your body.

“Naughty naughty girl…” He mutters as he feels for the dampness on your underwear.

If he weren’t so damn hot, you really wouldn’t be feeling this way. But it was something about his dark hair and the way his tongue played with his lip piercing, it was hypnotizing to say the least.

“Hmmph please,” You let out a wanton sigh, your eyebrows scrunching.

His fingers rub your throbbing clit through the fabric of your underwear. His movements precise due to his years of experience tattooing and piercing people.

“What do you want sweetheart?” He coos.

Minghaos fingers move your panties to the side, letting the pads of fingers glide against your cunt. Rubbing circles on your puffed bud, he begins to kiss up your exposed upper half. His wet kisses and lip piercing leaving a hot and cold tingling against your searing skin.

“Y-your fingers. Please.” You beg him, gripping onto the forearm that’s playing with your sopping core.

He doesn’t say anything more. Giving into your request, he places two fingers into your fluttering hole. You moan loudly, feeling the sensation of his long digits filling you.

“You’re fucking soaking baby” He groans, imagining how tight you’re going to feel on his cock.

Minghao cant wait. He wants to know what it feels like to be inside you.

Pulling down his pants and boxers, he frees his hard length. Sighing at how unrestricted he is.

You lift your back off the piercing bed, leaning back with your arms supporting you. You create space for him, spreading your legs to let Minghao slip between them. Your panties stay pushed to the side, skirt hiked around your hips, and your shirt pulled up past your heavy breasts.

Minghao takes you in, seeing how sexy you look exposed for him.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” He demands, voice unwavering. It sends a shiver up your spine, loving how dominant he is.

“Want your cock please.” You whine, spreading your legs further.

He shakes his head and laughs softly, moving closer to fill in the space between you two. His lips touching yours, surprisingly soft. His tongue enters your mouth quickly, and your whimper at how his tongue piercing feels against your wet mouth.

You wrap your hands around his neck, legs around his waist. He long member poking at your entrance, teasing you. It bumps against your clit slightly, so much so that you being to lose patience.

Taking matters into your own hands, you grab his dick, pumping it a few times before leading it into your entrance. Minghao follows your actions, moving his hips forward to finally sheath himself in your warmth.

You both moan at the sudden intrustion, your mouths open, tongues playing with each other as he begins to pump himself in you.

A salacious moan leaves your lips, you throw your head back as his long hardness fill you completely, bumping into your cervix ever so slightly.

Minghao grips on your thighs harshly, completely feeling the ridges of your hot pussy. You’re completely sucking him in and he can’t get enough. The noise of your wet cunt being fucked by him is sending him closer to his orgasm by the second. he can’t help but move faster, just to hear the way his skin slaps against yours.

He only speeds up as time passes, causing your juices to leak onto the leather beneath you. Minghao dares to look down between you two, seeing the way his thick cock is splitting you open.

“F-fuck! ‘M gonna come” You exclaim, gripping onto his biceps.

“Come for me baby.” He mutters, thrusting in and out of you like no tomorrow.

You finally let go the second he takes one of his hand to rub your clit, tipping you over the edge with a stroke of his thumb. Your pussy clenches hard against him, sending him into his own release.

“Wanna cream you baby” He says in pants, you can only nod, already feeling over stimulated.

He takes that as permission to release his hot load into you.

Still continuing to rut his hips into yours, he rides out his high. The sight of his seed spilling past your lips and forming a white ring on his cock is enough to make him hard again.

To your dismay he pulls out, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his release off your thighs.

“So how about that piercing?” You ask with a shy smile, chest still heaving up and down from your previous ministrations.

© wonustars

𖠗 𓂃 。˚ ⋆

general taglist: @christinewithluv @soonyoonswoo

a/n: thank you for reading! if there’s any typos/mistakes/missing tags lmk! likes, comments, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated. have a question, thought, or request? leave it in my ask box. mwah <;3

- anna!!

◈ love of my life // yoon jeonghan

jeonghan x gn!reader, 2k+ words

tags: technically requested by lots of people bc everyone wants jeonghan fluff, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, crack, mutual pining, almost-confessions

warnings: light swearing

summary: in which your relationship with jeonghan isn't exactly platonic and isn't exactly romantic... but rather, it's a secret third thing.

It has to be at least two in the morning when Jeonghan's ringtone blares throughout his bedroom, and he rolls over with a groan, grappling blindly at his nightstand before finding his phone and pressing it against his cheek. 

“Who is this and what do you want?”

“Jeonghan, let's go on a date.”

He recognises your voice in an instant, even in his half-asleep state, and he huffs a laugh, flopping back against the pillows and rubbing his eyes. 

“Gee, at least ask me when it's not ass o'clock in the morning, won't you?”

“No, no, this only works if you get up right now,” you say. “Come on, Jeonghan, just go on a date with me. Right at this very moment.”

Jeonghan rubs his eyes, before taking his phone away from his cheek and peering at the screen so he can read the time. “See, you’re not presenting a very good argument,” he says, once he’s put the phone against his ear again. It’s almost three in the morning. What are you thinking? “I don’t wanna date you that much.”

You make a sad sound on the other end of the phone. “What will it take to get you out of the house?”

“Wire me an obscene amount of money right now and I’ll think about it.”

There’s a pause.

“No. Best I can offer is a pretty please.”

Jeonghan can’t help smiling at your dry tone, and he rubs his eyes once again with a yawn. “Fine. I guess I can’t expect anything better from you, anyway.” He can almost see you biting your lip in annoyance, wanting to quip something witty back at him but also wanting to keep quiet so he’ll actually come. 

“You know me so well.”

“Yes I do,” Jeonghan teases, and groggily hauls himself out of bed. “I’ll be ready in ten. Where do you want me to go?”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll pick you up,” you say, suddenly sounding excited. “Just wait for me and I’ll come over to take you out.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

You laugh, bright and happy, like it’s not four in the morning and you’ve asked your best friend to go on a date with you. Jeonghan can’t help but smile again, even as he grapples blindly through his dark room to find some clothes.

“Don’t worry. It’s a promise.”

───────────── 🌘

Jeonghan is, admittedly, more than a little confused when you just take him to the nearest playground.

Sure, maybe this entire thing is weird—you calling him up during ridiculous hours of the morning to “go on a date” is definitely not something you’ve done before—but that’s just the kind of friendship he and you have. 

It’s like how, last year, he spent an entire month calling you increasingly ridiculous pet names, ranging from “beloved” to “honey butter snuggles bunny bear”, and purposefully took you out to public cafes and restaurants to test them out for everyone to see and hear, preventing you from punching him as hard as he probably deserved. 

So this is, like, nothing new. Just a funny and silly thing the two of you do, because you've known each other for the whole of your lives, and when it comes to the way your relationship works, the lines separating “platonic” and “romantic” have always been curiously nonexistent. 

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s never meant to mean anything.

But sometimes, sometimes, it feels like it should.

“I think I’m going to end up alone forever,” you say abruptly, and Jeonghan looks over at you in surprise. You’re sitting on the swings next to him, dragging yourself back and forth as you look up at the sky. There’s nothing to see up there, with the clouds obscuring any moonlight, so it's obvious that you're just looking away so he can't see your face. 

It's so quiet; Jeonghan didn't realise that the world could be this quiet at 2 in the morning, and it makes your words echo extra loud into the abyss, before they're swallowed by the darkness. 

Jeonghan shrugs. “Maybe you will.”

Instantly, you're leaning over to swat him on the arm, and he laughs. 

“Asshole,” you say, but there's no venom in your voice, even as you level him with a glare. “You're really no help. I'm trying to unload all my deepest fears for you, here, practically begging you to reassure me, and yet all you can do is be mean.”

“You said one thing,” Jeonghan points out. “I don't think that counts as unloading all your deepest fears.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it's my only deepest fear.”

“Why are you unloading your deepest fear on me?” Jeonghan asks, kicking his legs out in front of him. “We're on a date. Our first date, mind you, so this hardly seems appropriate.”

“Asshole,” you say again, but like before, the word has no bite. You glance over at him, before realising that he's looking at you, and then quickly raise your gaze to the sky. “I'm being serious about this, you know.”

Jeonghan says nothing for a long moment. Watches the way the pale light from a nearby lamppost gives you an unearthly, almost otherworldly glow. 

“I'm being serious too,” he decides to say, looking up at the cloudy sky with you. “You shouldn't be saying that stuff on a first date. Kinda makes it sound like you don't think things will work out between us, you know?”

You huff a confused laugh, looking over at him again. “Jeonghan, wha—?”

“And maybe you will end up alone,” he carries on, thoughtfully, as if he's talking to himself, forgetting that you're sitting there too. “But maybe you won't. I think you probably won't. And even if you do, it's fine, because I'll still be with you.”

It's a painfully vulnerable thing to say, made doubly so by the quietness of the night. Like a love confession, almost. Except it's not, because he's not in love with you. 

He isn't. 

“That's really sweet,” you say, almost begrudgingly, as if it pains you to admit that Jeonghan actually said something nice, and he laughs. “Though wrong. If you’re with me, then I'm not alone, am I?”

“Oh, I see. When you said alone, you meant in general. I thought you meant, like, romantically.”

“Well, maybe. But maybe I also meant overall,” you shrug. “I didn't think you'd want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Jeonghan swallows, tilts back on the swings, head still raised to look at the sky. “I want to spend every life with you.”

You look away from the sky at his words, turning to face him in surprise. The echoes of what he’d just said were already fading away, muffled and pressed into the velvet dark of the night, but the surprisingly soft air that followed in its wake still remained.

 Now, he's the one avoiding your gaze, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the shapeless, misty blur of clouds above him so he doesn’t have to look at you. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you tilt your head, and smile. 

“Oh, look at you, you sap,” you say, bright and teasing. “Face it, you like being with me. Oh! I bet you're in love with me, seeing as how you agreed to date me and everything! Isn't that right, Jeonghan? You love me.”

Jeonghan pulls a face, and you burst into laughter, so ridiculously loud and happy even though it's two in the morning and the whole playground is silent, the sound of your happiness ringing against the cool air of the night. He can't help but look at you then, exasperated and fond, shaking his head as you grip the swing chains and sway back and forth, still giggling to yourself. 

He sniffs, feigning annoyance as he leans to the side, making a dramatic show of pulling his swing away from you. 

“This isn't a real date. I could never date you.” He scrunches his face in faux disgust for good measure, and you laugh again, rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. And yet you still came out when I called, didn't you?” you tease, smiling widely, and Jeonghan has to admit that you're right. He's here because you asked him to be here. He’s here for you.

Hm. This was getting weirdly soul-baringly truthful for what he’d thought would be a silly little hangout in the middle of the night.

“Next time you call me at 2am, I’m blocking you forever,” he says dryly, giving you an exaggerated look of disdain just so he can revel in the laugh that it pulls out of you.

“No you won’t,” you say cheerily. “Because you looove me.”

“Um, lies.”

“No lies. You literally love me so much.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. You do, you do, you do, you’re actually genuinely in love with me and there’s nothing you can do to deny it, because it’s so obvious that I’m literally the love of your l—”

Jeonghan makes a clicking sound with his tongue and leans over to shove your arm, causing you to swing to the side as you cackle with delight at his reaction. He glares at you, again, sighing with exasperation as you continue to laugh.

“Yes, yes, I love you, just as much as you love me. Now if we’re not actually doing anything of importance, then can I go home?”

“What?” you say indignantly. “Of course not! If I can’t sleep, then that means you’re not allowed to sleep either.”

“I knew it. You called me out here because you couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Duh. Now come and push my swing, will you?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and stands up from his swing, groaning and holding his knees like he’s some kind of grumpy grandpa. You laugh, mocking him for his bad joints as he walks around to stand behind you, and he snarks back something ridiculously funny and rippling with light, twisting through the cool air.

And then his hand presses against the small of your back, soft and yet sure, and suddenly all you can focus on is that gentle, feathery point of contact that connects you to him.

Your laughter subsides as he begins to gently push your swing, and you move up, and down, and up, and down, the fleeting warmth of his hand an intermittent pressure against your back. He doesn’t say a word. Everything is quiet, in your head. Like his touch alone could silence any worries that still floated around in your brain.

It’s one of the things you adore most about Jeonghan. He makes you feel safe.

“For the record, by the way,” you say, voice quiet, “I really do love you.”

There’s no noise but the metallic creak of the swing, sounding weirdly small in the yawning abyss of the dark. Jeonghan’s hand is still steady as he pushes you, again and again.

“As a friend?” he asks, eventually.

You can’t see him, and maybe that’s for the best. His voice is tinged with a colour, an emotion, that you can’t quite name, warm and cool and fleeting and present all at once.

Yet more silence greets his words. You continue swinging, and he continues helping.

It’s hard to know what he means by that. As a friend, in a hopeful way? As a friend, in a meaningful way? Or as a friend, in a way that could maybe, maybe, signal that he thinks, or wishes, that you mean... something else.

More.

These things are difficult to tell, when it comes to Jeonghan. Who wears his heart on his sleeve and yet also hides it away where no one can see.

“Yeah,” you say, after it has been far too long since he’d asked, but it’s clear that you were both waiting for your answer anyway. The word leaves you as a sigh, threadbare and thin. “As a friend.”

Jeonghan huffs a soft laugh. Maybe because he believes you, or maybe because he doesn’t. You’re not too sure.

“Okay,” he murmurs, pale as moonlight. “In which case, I love you too.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

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JENNIE ✧ CALLING ALL PRETTY GIRLS

THE MIRROR-BLUE NIGHT; ACT I

―PAIRING: joshua hong x fem!reader ―GENRE: SLOW burn, affair au, suggestive, angst, romance ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 11.2k ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: mild language, very minimal josh in this chapter (sorry), death mentions, cheating, lots of introspection ―STATUS: ongoing

―AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is act i to my entry for svthub's world tour collab. it's heavily inspired by wong kar wai's film 'in the mood for love', and it's been fun to play around with a totally different atmosphere and setting, and i hope everyone that reads this enjoys it! if you do, please consider reblogging with your thoughts and comments i would love to hear them. hopefully before long i will have the following two acts out for you to continue <3

ACT I

. . .

It’s raining. You hear the patter of droplets as they fall against your windows, a symphony of sorrows cascading from gray skies. When you were a child your mother used to tell you that the rain meant the heavens were crying. That some angel high above was weeping for the sorrow of those below–for the tragedy of humankind. She made up a lot of lies when you were young, stories to either make you feel better or to just force you to stop asking her questions while she was trying to watch her favourite shows. 

It never worked, and you never believed her. 

It was raining, too,  on the day that you cremated her. A near torrential downpour that had washed out the roads on your way to the funeral home and caused a four car pile up on the on ramp. You made it, breathless and haggard, just in time to drip your way through the procession to the front of the church pews where you sat, cloaked in the black of mourning, to watch a small line of people espouse pretty stories and prettier lies about the woman who raised you. 

Were you sad about her death? Of course you were. Death was always sad, in some deeply philosophical and uniquely human way. The ending of all things–life moving onwards to something better (or worse). Leaving everyone else behind to deal with the sorrow and suffering and debt. You could feel her death around you everywhere you went. The last breath of her life sighing over you on windy streets, the final whisper of her words in the chattering of birds in the morning dew. She was omnipresent. Oppressive. Somehow even more than she had been when she was alive. A heavy shroud over your every move. 

You were sad about her death, but you did not feel the pang of it in your heart as you might have if she had been anyone else. Instead it was abstract–elusive. A fleeting thought that followed you throughout the day. A thought that you were sure would dissipate over time. Molecule by molecule as her soul moved on from this world it would dissolve and you would finally be left standing in a life of your own making, no longer bent to the will of the woman who molded you to fit neatly into her own life. Her death was sad but it also finally opened you up the hope for freedom. 

When it was your turn to speak, after the mass had ended and the few other speakers had said their peace with your mother overseeing from inside her casket, you hesitated. Standing in front of the crowd of people that had managed to crawl their way through traffic for the promise of a free lunch and a voyeuristic look at the poor, bereft daughter left to deal with this whole mess. The only remaining relative of this woman that had made everyone’s life around her a living hell. You stared out at their faces, blank with waiting, and expected the words you had prepared to come out as you had rehearsed. None ever did. You stood silent under the scrutiny of a hundred eyes and seconds ticked by into minutes as the blank expressions morphed into confusion or pity. Even your husband’s carefully neutral expression devolved into one of concern as he stared up at you from his seat. 

Thunder clapped outside the church, the rain picked up speed, buffeting the stained glass windows in its fury, and you thought that maybe your mother hadn’t been lying to you when you were a child. Maybe it was her fury that was clinging to your clothing–soaking you to the bone. 

You left the altar without a word–just one apologetic glance cast over the audience of mourners–and sat back down next to your husband. Head held high against the brewing storm. You realised finally that you had nothing to say. 

For your husband’s part, he played it well at the time. His silent hand found yours and gripped it tight as you both kept your gazes focused on the priest as he tried his best to stitch the proceedings back together after the abandoned eulogy. He kept your hand in his throughout the rest of the funeral–from the end of the mass, through the reception, and all the way to the committal he was there with you. The anchor at your side. 

When had he stopped? 

When had he stopped being there–holding your hand, playing his part as your partner through it all on this grand stage of life. When had he decided he no longer wanted to be that? 

You watch a rivulet of rain carve a line through the reflection of your face, splitting you in two as you stare out through the window in your living room and into the neon darkness of the city surrounding you. Who were the heavens sad for tonight? 

For your own part, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel much sadness. Only a hollow aching at the pit of your stomach, like a hunger long ignored. Gnawing at your insides as you stare out into some unfixed point on the horizon and wait for your husband to return home. Late, again. Always late these days. Always some excuse or another. Traffic, work, friends wanting to grab drinks, errands to run. Tonight though, perhaps, the excuse would be the rain. 

With a sigh you abandon your post at the window, floating through the apartment by the dim light of the city pouring inside. No reason to turn the lights on inside–you knew your way around. The remnants of your dinner sit undisturbed on the kitchen counter, steam long since evaporated, as they wait for a mouth to enter, a stomach to fill. You had lost your appetite when you received the text message. 

You knew it was coming, had known for months. At first it was easy to trick yourself into believing that nothing had changed at all. Everything was normal. These excuses were all truths and you were in fact in the wrong for not believing your husband when he told you. After a time this denial stopped working, however, and you moved on to believing that the changes were only superficial–temporary–that the fissure that had opened up in your marriage was not a yawning pit preparing to engulf you but an easily repairable crack in the foundation. Before long he would return to you as a ship to the shore. He would pour out his feelings and you would mend them easily, with tears of your own. Your relationship would grow in strength for enduring this storm and all would be well again. 

As the days and months dragged on, though, it grew harder to ignore the signs. You had seen them so many times before–on television, in film, in friends’ relationships, in your own parents’ marriage before it fell apart when you were 9. 

A whiff of an unfamiliar perfume in the air, breezing behind your husband as he enters the apartment after work–orange blossom, ginger, patchouli and jasmine. Cloying and heady. A scent of seduction and sex in the wake of a man that hadn’t touched you in days. He waited to kiss you hello now, waited until he had changed out of his clothes, maybe until after he had a shower. You would sit, perched on the arm of the couch, and stare out the window of your living room while he scrubbed the scent of another woman off of his skin. 

More evidence collected over the next few months. Pastel purple and blue splotches dotting the nape of his neck–just above the birthmark you used to trace over with a loving fingertip in the early days of your marriage. Lipstick stains faded on the white collar of a shirt–brick red, a shade that never painted your own lips. He was getting careless–bold. And you continued to observe without a word. Maintaining the calm on the surface of your life, letting the stains and perfume to sink deep underneath. 

Maybe you should have confronted him early on, when the days were still young and you still had lingering affection for this man that was becoming a stranger to you. You should have yelled, screamed, fought, let your tears flow freely in a torrent of anger and betrayal. Every rational thought in your mind was screaming out for you to face him down and do something. You would work yourself into a fury of anger and anxiety waiting for him to come home but the second he stepped across the threshold of your apartment, all of it dissolved. Melted away into nothingness and left only that old, hollow ache until that was all you had left inside.

You remember how your mother had reacted when she found out about your dad’s affair. The consequences were swift and brutal–a storm of emotions and rage bursting out and swallowing everyone in its vicinity. If rain was sadness, surely her rage had been a tsunami. Your dad left and you retreated–into your room, into yourself. Left alone to rebuild in the wake of this natural disaster. 

When you got married your mother warned you–warned you of your duties as a wife. To keep him happy, keep him home, and remember that marriage is work. Life was so hard after your father abandoned us, she would say, don’t let the same happen to you. She would sermonize his weakness and cruelty, and you would listen. But you loved your father, in spite of all his flaws and humanity. He was kind and soft-hearted and you never blamed him for what happened, how could it all have been his fault? This one man that bought you ice cream and tanghulu and took you shopping for school uniforms up until he died? No. You blamed your mother.

What would she say to you now, sitting alone in the dark staring at a photo of your husband with his arm slung casually over the shoulders of another woman, her head resting against him with a soft smile on her face. Pathetic, spineless child. 

You shrug off the ghost of your mother and focus back on the picture. They were in a restaurant, tucked into a corner booth. The low lighting cast soft shadows over their faces, obscuring the details of their features, but there was no doubt in your mind that  it was him.  It was the same slope of brow and cheek that you have run your fingers over so many times before. The same slight upturn in the corners of the mouth that you fell in love with. The glimmer of mischief and daring that so easily drew you in when you first started dating, now turned towards someone else. A stranger? You were sure you didn’t know her but there was something familiar about her in the photo, something about her profile that tugged at the recesses of your recollection. 

Your imagination has been running frantic circles in your mind since you opened the message. Where had he met her? Work? He wasn’t a part of any clubs, didn’t play mahjong on the weekends with friends, hadn’t been selected for any work trips where he might have brushed elbows with her in a conference. Might have snuck into each other's hotel rooms, followed each other onto the plane. She could have been a stewardess–as alluring as they are professional. An untouchable creature bending to your every whim and all you can do is look and hope and wish. Slip her your number as you disembark, pray she deems you worthy enough to contact. 

But he hadn’t been out of the city in at least a year. So that couldn’t be it. 

Maybe she had a more humble occupation. She worked at the hot pot restaurant his company frequented after work. That was how you had met so is it so out of the realm of possibilities that lightning might strike twice? 

Maybe he had always known her. Maybe you were the other woman–some twist of fate had led him to marrying you instead of his highschool sweetheart. A girl that had occupied his mind for longer than you had known him. Maybe she had traveled after graduation–moved to the US and taken his heart with her while he pined away and finally, losing all hope, he settled for the strange girl with the zealot of a mother. Turned you into a project to fill his loneliness and occupy his thoughts until she returned and he was reminded of all the things that she had been for him that you never could. 

Maybe. 

Or maybe she was just a whore. 

Your thoughts flitter back and forth; all possibilities confronting you at once, neon red  in alarm. You watch taxis and motorbikes speed through traffic on the rain soaked street 15 stories below your apartment–each one weaving a new thread of anxiety in your mind as you wait for one to stop in front of your building. Wait for your husband to emerge, shielding himself from the rain and rushing to get inside before his white-collared shirt is soaked through with the sins of his flesh. 

He arrives shortly after you give up waiting and prepare for bed. The rain has begun to let up and with it he steps through the front door of your apartment while you sit perched on the edge of your bed, running a hand over the embroidered silk duvet coverlet you had received as a wedding present. You listen as he drops his keys, briefcase, coat onto the kitchen counter. Focus on the sound of his footfall as he  walks through the short hallway to the bathroom. He doesn’t see you sitting in the dark, doesn’t seek you out to greet you. You watch as he flicks the light on to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. The sound of the shower running follows a few moments afterwards. 

You brace yourself when he enters the dark bedroom after washing himself free of the day. Body tense as he slips under the blanket beside you. The anticipation of something, anything, stiffens in your muscles and you wait for him to say something, to give you some explanation for his whereabouts. Nothing comes. He, believing you to be asleep, slips too into the arms of the night and you’re left alone–staring blankly into the dark of the room before you give into the heaviness of your eyes. 

Morning dawns, grey and overcast. You’re alone again, your husband having left for work with the tin of leftovers you had pre-packed for him, and the day stretches out in front of you–long and lonely–as you shove all thoughts of last night to the back of your mind and turn your attention to the household tasks that require it. 

The fluorescent lights of the supermarket buzz overhead as you make your way through the aisles with a basket hanging on your arm. You know what you’re getting–you’ve rotated through the same small selection of meals since you were 11 years old and started cooking for yourself–but you take your time anyway. Wandering through the rows of produce, fish, and imported goods. Enjoying the distant company of strangers, their idle chatter and routine conversations are a welcome reprieve from the oppressive silence that has dominated your apartment over the past few months. 

You drift to the fruits, letting their bright colours draw you in, and reach for a melon. It’s heavy in the hand, weighed down with the density of the flesh inside. It would be delicious–perfectly ripe, bursting with flavour and juice–you could almost salivate at the thought of slicing into it, bringing a cube of its sweetness to the tip of your tongue. You haven’t had it in ages. Your husband was not fond of fruits–he never had been. Always preferred spice and heat over sweetness, and you were more than happy to accommodate–to oblige his tastes and sacrifice your own for the sake of love. But now? 

The melon stares up at you in askance and you set it back on the stand with its brethren before you can give the temptation a second thought. As soon as you do, a hand reaches out to grab it, neatly manicured fingers wrapping around the fruit still warm from your touch. You smell her perfume before you see her face–that aroma of orange blossom, patchouli,  and jasmine (with a hint of ginger) cutting through the air of the supermarket like a knife through fruit. It’s even more overwhelming first hand. You turn your head, catching a glimpse of her face, her bright red lips, before she turns away and clacks towards the green wall of vegetables. 

You follow transfixed behind her as she weaves her way through the market, picking up an array of items as she goes. Mindlessly you fill your basket behind her, hands reaching out for whatever as you try to disguise your objective. You had only seen one blurry photo of her, clandestinely snapped with her head buried in the crook of your husband’s arm, but you would know her anywhere. In fact you did know her. Not by name, you had never been introduced, but you recognize her instantly now in the bright noonday lights of the shop. 

She lives in your building, a few floors up, you were sure of it. You had run into her in the elevator a few times, never exchanging a word, but always evaluating each other with that cold calculation of strangers destined to become rivals. Not that you knew that at the time. She had a husband. A man with kind eyes and a kind smile. You weren’t sure if it made you feel better or worse to know that you weren't alone in your suffering, that someone else was tied to the other end of this red string that entangled the four of you in its noose-tight vice. 

Does she recognize me? you wonder as you get in line a few people behind her at the register. Your eyes remain fixed on the back of her head while she pays and you tap your foot in anxious impatience as her form disappears through the doors and you’re left waiting for the elderly woman in front of you to deal out her entire coin purse to the cashier for spring onions and flour.

Finally you step out into the streets, bag of assorted groceries clutched tight in your fist, and you whip your head around to try to locate her. It doesn’t take long–she’s a flash of red in a sea of black–and you hasten your stride to catch up with her as she rounds the corner towards your apartment building, taking care to maintain a neutral expression. You trail her over the few blocks it takes to get back home, pulse quickening whenever her step halts–paralysed with the fear that she may turn around and realise what you’re doing. 

Does she  know who you are? Aa a neighbour, maybe, but as the wife of the man she’s having an affair with? Has he told her about you, have they shared jokes in confidence at your expense? Or are you some shameful secret he has kept hidden in his coat pocket. Maybe he slips his wedding band off before each meeting, spinning it around his finger thrice before tucking it out of sight, alongside his conscience. Does he know about her husband? Does her husband know about him the way you know about her? Were the same thoughts turning over in his mind as he sat at his desk at work, staring idly at their wedding photo? 

You follow her, a few paces behind, through the lobby of your shared building. Part of you–a bold, reckless part–wants to slip into the elevator with her, just before the doors can slide closed. Meet her face to face. Confront her and lay bare your knowledge of her discretion. Maybe she would cry, maybe she would yell, maybe she would laugh. Not one of the scenarios you envision ends with you triumphant, in each one your husband’s arms reach forth to comfort her and leave you standing alone, consumed with the red hot fires of rage and seething hate. 

You push that part of you away, back into the shadows, and watch as  she gets into the elevator. The numbers on the display above the doors climb higher and higher as she ascends and you hold your breath, waiting for them to halt. 22. Higher up than your own, more expensive. So it wasn’t money that had drawn her to your husband. You jam your finger against the button, calling the lift back down and wrestling between going home with this new knowledge or feeding into your curiosity and following her up to her door. Would you know the right one if you saw it? 

You press both floor numbers when you finally climb into the elevator, staring at the illuminated buttons as you slowly ascend. You stand still, staring at number 22, and wait as you move up and up–torn between the two options you’ve given to yourself. The doors finally slide open to reveal your floor, 15, and you stare out into the empty hallway, waiting for some unseen force to push you out of the lift. To make up your mind for you. Nothing does, and you just stand silent and still, frozen in time until they slide closed once more and you’re left looking blankly at your own twisted expression in the stainless steel. You keep eye contact with the twisted version of yourself reflected back at you and wait as the elevator continues its ascent. 

What were you hoping to gain from following this woman? Confirmation that she is, indeed, real? As if the brush of her arm against yours as she stretched out for your relinquished fruit hadn’t been enough to convince you. Her head bobbing through the crowds of people on the street as you kept pace behind her was just a figment of your imagination. Did you think you would find him there? Waiting for her? Eating slices of fruit from her outstretched hands in an act of worship? Your reflection purses her lips, eyebrows knit in thought, and you shake your head at her in askance, a silent plea, before the elevator finally stops at floor 22. 

The door slides open for the second time and you brace yourself to alight, but your path is blocked. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says, stepping aside to give you space to pass, “are you getting off here?” 

You freeze on the spot, standing on the threshold of a million converging thoughts as they crash through your mind. His smile is the same as you remember it, soft and kind. The smile of someone for whom life was easy, someone who hadn’t seen much strife. Or perhaps the opposite . Someone who had seen all the horrors life had to offer him and chose to remain soft despite them. You’re distantly aware that you look like a fool, standing there in the elevator with your mouth hanging slightly agape as you stare into the eyes of your husband’s mistress’ husband, but you can’t make yourself move. Paralyzed by a strange twist of fate that had, unbeknownst to him, entangled you in a web of deceit and betrayal.

Surely he didn’t know. 

“Is this your floor,” he asks again, prompting you to move or speak or do something more than just stand still as the elevator beeps its final warning. It wasn’t going to wait much longer. 

“N-no,” you stammer, trying to right your thoughts. “I was going down, actually.” In a panic you jam your finger against the button for floor 15. If he notices the obvious lie, he doesn’t say anything–instead politely skirting around you as he steps into the lift and presses the button for the ground floor.

The lift jerks as it starts to descend, and you hold your breath. Afraid that any movement might somehow reveal every thought you’re holding tight within. He keeps a polite distance, checking his phone as he stands in the opposite corner of the narrow, enclosed space. The elevator inches closer to your floor and your muscles tense in preparation to bolt through the door as soon as it slides open at floor 15. You stare up at the numbers as they transform–20, 19, 18. Eyes transfixed on the digital display as your brain whirrs with static noise. 

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” You jerk your attention towards him as soon as he speaks, head spinning too fast to pass off your expression as casual and you’re sure that you look as panicked as you feel. “When we first moved into the building, I mean. It’s been a while but I recognize you.” 

You nod and take a second to clear your throat of the built up nerves before replying, voice trembling with a light quiver. “Yes, I uh–it’s been over a year now I think. I’m sorry but I don’t remember your name.”

He smiles–that same soft, kind smile as earlier–and shakes his head reassuringly. “It’s Joshua. Hong.” 

“Joshua?” your voice betrays a hint of curiosity–it’s not a common name here. 

“I moved here from LA years ago with my wife,” he supplies the answer to your unspoken question. Unwittingly adding a layer of intrigue to his personage that you hadn’t expected. At the mention of his wife, however, you feel the hairs on your arms rise to attention. A cold chill ripples through your body. The elevator dings, startling you out of your daze as it arrives at your floor. You turn to face the hallway as it appears between the doors, lingering astride the threshold between him and the emptiness ahead of you. Something inside of you hesitates, hanging back to remain in his presence despite the anxiety still flooding through your body. Something about the way he spoke had drawn you in, a strange curiosity taking root in your mind. You shake it loose; it’s not your place to say anything, and it’s not your place to further entangle yourself in this web. His life is his own. You take a step forward, finally clearing the door just before it beeps its insistence at you. 

You turn to say a farewell to Joshua–it wouldn’t bode well to appear impolite after he was so courteous to you a moment before–but before you can open your mouth to speak, he beats you to it. 

 “I think she and your husband know each other, actually. My wife,” he says, and you freeze again, stuck now staring at him from the hallway. He waves goodbye as the doors slide closed and you’re left standing statuesque in the hallways alone. Ears ringing with the echoes of his words. 

Does he know? 

Nothing in the way he held himself, in the casual expression gracing his handsome, well composed features would have led you to believe so but…why else would he have said that? 

You stand still, staring at the scuffed stainless steel doors of the elevator as if they might reopen and he might still be there. That he might dull the sharpness of your anxieties with some clarity . Instead you’re alone, bag of groceries cutting the circulation in your fingertips off as they hang forgotten in your hand.

You try to search the memory of his face as it lingers in your mind’s eye for any clue–any miniscule hint–as to what thought had been hiding beneath his calm facade. His face twists and contorts in your mind, swirling and transforming as you try to keep hold of the static image. Joshua, your husband, his wife, your own warped expression in the polished metal of the door. Many parts of an ever colliding whole. 

When you finally manage to get your legs moving and step away from the elevator the hallway seems to stretch out in front of you endlessly. You walk as if to the gallows, imagining all the horrors waiting for you when you open the door to your apartment. Your husband, Joshua’s wife. Limbs entangled in carnal desire. The heat of their bodies steaming the windows and fogging your vision as you stumble through the darkness. The thought overwhelms you, slows your already stuttering pace, though you know in your logical mind that no one’s there. She’s in her own apartment, and your husband is at work, and you’re alone. A state you’ve become numbly accustomed to. 

The familiar silence of your apartment is all that greets you when you finally enter, in spite of the baseless worries of your frazzled mind. It soothes the storm of worries clouding your mind as you stow away your meager haul of groceries and set out the ingredients needed for dinner. Joshua’s face fades to darkness as you slip back into routine–letting your hands take over and your mind to narrow to a single thought. 

So what if he did know. Would that change anything about your present circumstances? If he wanted a scene he had the chance to cause one and let it go. He could have held you in that elevator and interrogated you for all your husband’s many sins; pouring his hurt and betrayal out at your feet as you bear witness to your own anguish reflected in another person. But he didn’t. Instead he was polite, almost kind, and you parted without the cosmic clash the worst parts of you might have anticipated.  

The water for the noodles starts to boil and you quickly finish chopping your small array of vegetables before turning the heat down to simmer and tossing them in. Leftover shrimp lay on the side of your cutting board, ready to add in at the end. It was a lazy meal–one you never would have made early on in your marriage–but who cared about that now? You knew it would be the same routine tonight. Eating without tasting, alone in the kitchen, lit only by the light filtering in through the windows, while you stare at the clock on the wall. He’ll show up after you’re finished–maybe 15 minutes later, maybe an hour–and eat the portion set aside for him while you disappear into the bedroom and will the day to come to an end. 

Would Joshua’s night end the same or were he and his wife better at maintaining the charade of marriage? Were their hearts as distant when they lay in bed next to each other, barely touching? 

You had a hard time imagining it. You try, between mouthfuls of noodles and broth, to capture the image of them. Joshua sidestepping his wife in the kitchen, carefully avoiding her touch–her skin stained by the kiss of another man. Was his smile as soft and kind when turned upon the face of the woman who, with every breath she took, dared to remind him of the sadness that lurked beneath the surface of their life? Was the love he still held for her enough to erode all of her transgressions, even as she continued to transgress? Did he still hold her in his arms at night like no one else had ever touched her? Like he was the only one for her? Why, if he could so easily absolve her of her crimes, could you not do the same for the man you had promised yourself to? 

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the scene that was playing out. You knew nothing about this man–about his life or his thoughts. This scene you had conjured up, fleshed out with his feelings and emotions, was just a projection of some possible life dwelling within you.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. How different would things be if you tried?

The night drags on as all the previous ones have. You sit in front of the window, letting the TV drone on in the background, and stare down at the street below. Watching as people come and go–each with their own thoughts, their own lives, their own worries and desires. None more or less important than your own. It was comforting, in some odd way, to imagine the lives and futures of others. It took the distinct sting out of imagining our own. 

The front door opens, earlier than expected, and you glance over your shoulder to see him enter. He nods in greeting and you return the gesture before acting on an impulse you haven’t followed through on in months. You move towards him. You don’t even realise you’re doing it until his form comes into focus only a few feet in front of you. He doesn’t notice you right away, too busy reheating the noodles; you wait and you watch as he moves through the task with a slight droop to his shoulders. He’s tired. 

“How was work today?” you ask. The question spills unbidden from your mouth but you don’t rush to stop it. 

“Long,” he sighs, stirring the food as it begins to steam in the pot. There’s no hint of surprise or shock in his voice at your sudden interest in his day. He accepts it–whether from sheer exhaustion or ignorance of the deafening silence that has defined your life for the past few months. Maybe he never noticed how distant you were. How could he when he still held someone so close? “How was your day?”

“Fine,” you reply, intending to leave it at that before a thought flashes through your mind. “I ran into one of our neighbours earlier, in the elevator. Joshua Hong. We met them once or twice when he and his wife moved in just over a year ago, do you remember them?” 

“I can’t say that I do,” he shakes his head, flicking the heat off on the stove. His back is still turned, so you focus on his tone, on the micromovements of his muscles under his shirt. Searching for anything other than the polite disinterest he was feigning. Anything that might betray some feeling brewing below the surface. Fear, love, guilt. Anything at all. 

“Hmm, yeah I couldn’t remember him well either at first,” you agree, pausing to allow him the space to settle in, to pour his dinner into a bowl and sit down at the counter. He leans forward, blowing the steam away as he prepares to take a bite. “He mentioned you though,” you say finally, watching his face as he glances up at you with his chopsticks suspended above his bowl. “He mentioned you know his wife.” 

Silence. One brief, fleeting moment of hesitation. A slight lift of the eyebrow. You watch his Adam’s apple bob at the base of his throat, just above the knot of his tie. 

“That’s odd,” he replies, voice carefully neutral, he drops his gaze from yours and brings his chopsticks the rest of the way to his mouth to slurp up the hanging noodles. You stay silent, watching–waiting–as he finishes his bite before he continues. “He must be mistaken.” 

“Must be,” you nod, trailing a finger lazily over the countertop. You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. You let the silence settle in between you–an observer of its own, interrogating him with the absence of speech. You’ve had months to become accustomed to it, to make friends of the stillness of the air in your apartment, but you can see as your husband carefully avoids your lingering gaze that he hasn’t. He’s been too preoccupied to even notice it as it slowly moved in, taking over his place at your side. 

After a few moments you shrug, straightening your posture and smoothing down the front of your dress–releasing him of the heaviness of your gaze. The atmosphere settles back into one of easy stalemate and your husband resumes eating in silence. Nothing more is said. You slip back into blue.

 You never wanted a traditional wedding. 

With your father long buried and your mother under the spell of religious fervor, you never saw any appeal in the tradition or ceremony. You felt estranged from your scattered family–disconnected from the broader world. You floated in blissful independence, living life on your own terms and only reigning it in to pay fealty to your mother when required. Then you met him. 

He was handsome–dark hair and dark airs and expertly sculpted features. The sort of handsome that was easy to overlook at first but unraveled more and more as soon as you tugged at a loose thread of it. You looked at him across the lecture hall and took your time, dissecting his profile as the lectern’s voice melted out into the distance. It didn’t take long for your introduction to follow these looks. College is like that. Friends of friends of friends, dorm rooms, study hangouts in the library. Before you could even notice, your blissful independence had given way to comfortable partnership. 

After college, still in the early days of your courtship, you had grand ideas of elopement. The last lingering strands of your individuality. Traveling to a foreign country, marrying on a beach under the stars, and not telling your families until you either came back or decided you were going to live out your wedded bliss and future marriage in the streets of Rio de Janeiro or Sydney. 

He would entertain these fantasies–feeding into them, one morsel at a time, filling you with the hope of your aligned future. Filling you to the point that when the proposal inevitably came you couldn’t see the hunger still gnawing inside of you. 

Your husband was a good son, and his family paid for the wedding. It took little effort for you to resign yourself to ceremony and cast aside your dreams for love. The story of every fool in the world. 

That should have been the moment you knew that this would not last. Or at least that the happiness and contentment that shrouded your relationship was just that–mere illusory material. If you could turn back time, redo the last years of your life, you would have taken your meager inheritance from your father and booked a one way flight to the US. Used what little connections you had from distant family to build a life and chase your dreams. Live for yourself instead of the external expectations that you had been raised to abide by. You could have sent your mother back what little extra income you had–supported her from a distance as she ruined her own life where you did not have to bear witness. 

Instead, like the perfect picture of a good daughter, you went along with your husband and his family’s wishes. You let them arrange the entire thing and you–a mere passenger in your own life–silently went through the motions. Assured by word and by every soft kiss that all your dreams would be realised once it was all over. Your hands would reach the farthest destinations of your imagination, your feet would touch the sands of your desire. You let yourself be carried forward into this future with a smile, unaware that the only sand your feet would see would be the foundations of your own life as it crumbled and fell around you. 

You could only blame yourself. Even your mother tried to warn you, in her own way. Her own misery bearing down on your throughout your life–her inevitable cracking under the weight of everyone else's dreams bearing down on her until she simply couldn’t take it anymore. If you had been smart you would have seen it for what it was when you were 12. 

But you didn’t. You continued to simply go with it, smile waning as the years began to drag on and none of those golden promises spoken to you at night ever materialised. Business was good, now was not the time to take a break away it would only spell financial ruin for yourself and your entire family. Fine, you could wait. Were happy to wait, in fact. Dutiful and loyal and ever patient as you filled your days with the duties you had accepted in spite of yourself. Homemaking, cleaning, cooking. You had longed to work yourself, use your degree for something other than simply occupying space on your wall, then in a drawer–but no, your obligation was to the home, to your husband. Business was good. It was the right time to start trying for children. Did you want children? Did it matter? 

The flames of passion burned bright in your union early on. Your skin was on fire in the moonlight, bathed in sweat and dappled by the heated kisses of your new husband. Your body felt like a temple of worship, and he was there to pay his respects. He was the first man you had ever been with and you felt like you had won the jackpot each night as he brought you to new heights with his devotion. 

Maybe it’s true what people say about newlyweds. That passion is fleeting. The newness and excitement of having each other at the tips of your fingers would inevitably dull down until even sex simply became a part of your daily routine. A task to be completed, to stave off the questions of family and friends speculating on the growth of your family. Yours wasn’t meant to grow, though, it seemed. No matter how often you came together in pursuit of it, your monthly courses came as consistent as the full moon. Month after month until you stopped trying.

But there was love there, in the beginning. You think about it still, lying silent in the vast wilderness of your marital bed next to your sleeping husband. When you think to yourself  ‘how could I have let this happen’ your mind drifts back to those moments–wrapped up tightly in his embrace as he peppered your face, neck, shoulders, with kisses and promised you the world. How could you have known that it was built on such faulty foundations? That it would all drift away over time? 

You run a slow finger over your thigh, tracing the paths that he would take each night before. Remembering the love that you had shared. Wondering if the woman he shares it with now feels it as deeply as you had. Did he think of you when he was with her or had she eclipsed you completely in his memory? Was her back the only one that arched as he was deep inside her, spilling his love into her? 

The thought digs its barbed wires into your chest–ripping and tearing at what little tenderness you still held for the man. You let the pain sing you to sleep–weeping and burning for what once was and what might never be again as you let the darkness consume you in the dim blue of your bedroom. 

Dawn comes, as it always does, sunlight taking the place of the filtered neon of the city–streaming its way into your windows and nudging you awake long after your husband left for work. You’re alone again, and the thoughts don’t cease for the daytime. 

The flickering bulbs of the supermarket welcome you as you hunt around for a decent bunch of spring onions for dinner. Your hands find them and you add them to your basket, moving on to the next item on your list while your mind is half-occupied by the thought of the woman from yesterday. 

You wonder if she’ll make an appearance again. Standing behind you in line, perhaps, or waiting for you in the cold section–eyes scanning tanks of crabs for the perfect one. You wonder if she’ll be wearing red again. The contrast of the colour against her milky white skin as it hugs her body just so, conveying the image of someone with the world at her fingertips. 

Your own dress–emerald green, accented with black florals–suited you well enough. It was clean, well made, and fit you well even after all these years of wear, but it was just that. A dress. Function over form. It was the dress of someone who didn’t want to stand out, who wanted to blend into her surroundings and remain unnoticed as she moved throughout her day. It was the green in the shade of the bright red orchard as it shimmered in the sun.

As if summoned, a flash of red lights up your periphery–calling your attention away from the pear you had been inspecting. You lift your gaze to see her, a few stands down from you, a beacon of red just as you had envisioned her. You blink a few times to solidify her existence–not entirely convinced that you hadn’t just conjured her up out of smoke and mirrors. She remains, gathering a small selection of tomatoes before striding out of the produce section. 

The shock of her appearance from yesterday has long since faded. You’ve had time to reckon with the weight of her existence in your proximity. What was once a desperate, aching curiosity has since dulled to a cold, calculated interest. Instead of abandoning your grocery haul you stick to your list–taking the time to pick out the right ingredients–and achieve your own goals all while keeping her in your sights. You time your actions to match hers, moving on as she adds items to her basket, lingering by the teas as she stalls at the opposite end of the aisle from you. You make your way to the till, trailing her casually, and choose the cashier adjacent to her so you can pay at the same time. 

You leave the market assured with the knowledge of your mutual destination. No need to hurry, no need to chase, no need to match her pace. You let yourself fall into easy step a few feet behind her–content with enjoying the temperate weather that the day has brought. She arrives at the apartment a minute before you but you meet her in the lobby, standing silent beside her as you both wait for the elevator to descend. 

The anxieties of your trip yesterday melt away as you evaluate her through the steel mirror of the door–letting your gaze drift over her distorted figure. How long until she starts to notice your presence as more than mere coincidence? Would you be able to maintain this routine–living alongside her and watching from the peripherals as she goes about her daily tasks without so much as a second thought? 

As if in answer her eyes meet yours in the reflection. You politely avert your gaze, unwilling to be bested in this dance before it had even begun. Whether she was aware of who you are or not, you didn’t need to relinquish the satisfaction of knowing to her. 

The doors open at your floor and you alight into the hallway, leaving her to ascend the rest of the way to her own apartment where she would maintain her own charade. Your heart lurches at the thought, an odd disruption to the calm satisfaction you had been feeling up until now. You remember Joshua’s face from yesterday–the soft curve of his lips as he spoke to you. Polite, kind. You could blame yourself easily for your own husband’s infidelity but what had Joshua done to deserve this? 

Was he plagued with the same self loathing thoughts that haunted your every step? Or was his kindness, too, an illusion? Hiding some deeper malice that lurked at the heart of everyone wrapped up in this love affair.

You shake your head free of him as you enter your apartment and set your groceries down on your kitchen counter, but he returns as swiftly as he leaves. A thought circling round and round–unable or unwilling to give you a moment's peace as you unpack your bags. 

Somewhere in life you had adopted this sense of pessimism about life and the people that walked through it. It was easy to imagine cruelty at the hearts of everyone–to picture the worst case scenario, the worst intentions. But something inside of you revolted as you tried to apply it to Joshua. 

How silly, you think. I don’t even know him. 

And yet it remains, this tiny revolution inside of you. A hope for a kinder heart amidst the sea of troubles that you had been cast adrift on. Some lifeboat in the blue-black of it all. If you just reached out, maybe you could save yourself from drowning. 

Foolish, you think, casting the thought aside. No one is coming to save you. Not from your misery, not from your life, not from yourself. You had gotten married under the guise that your life would forever be tied to another person–that you would carry each other through everything–and now that that has dissolved to nothing, you know. You are alone. You have always been alone. 

The fog of winter rolls in shortly, blanketing the city in gray. For a few weeks in the beginning of December, your husband’s mistress disappears. He comes home on time, eats dinner with you, and you spend your days together like any married couple might. You’re lulled into a false sense of security and for a moment you think you could simply float back into the life you had expected to have and forget everything that has been. But only for a moment. Before long she reappears, her hair cropped shorter and  a spring in her step as she bounds through the aisles of the market. Your temporary marital utopia dissolves into the mist and you resume your post as observer. 

The weather starts to warm again, sunlight finding its way through cloud and smog to dapple the sides of buildings, and you take up a nightly ritual of walking through the streets in your neighbourhood. You never stay out too late, or stray too far, but you were starting to feel like a caged animal as you paced through your home and your thoughts night after night. 

On the nights your husband stayed out–either still at work or somewhere with her–you would forgo cooking all together, instead heading to a nearby restaurant as the sun starts to set over the city skyline. You eat slowly, relishing in each flavour and texture, and watch the rest of the patrons as they would do the same. It makes you feel less alone–or at least, less alone in your loneliness–as you would sit and watch the strangers around you bury their own miseries in the warmth of the broth steamed over countless hours. Their minds filled with thoughts and worries of their own. 

Tonight is much the same. You linger at home, straightening cushions and wiping down already clean surfaces to keep your hands occupied while you watch the clock tick down the time. Your phone lights up with a message–your husband informing you that he will be home late, telling you not to wait up. You slip on a light jacket and head out the door. Your feet know the way by now, they carry you almost mindlessly forward–down the elevator, out through the lobby, down the street, two left turns, one right turn, a few blocks ahead. You pass by some familiar faces–vendors and other denizens of the evening that you’ve become accustomed to during your walks–and you acknowledge them as a friend in your mind. Kindred spirits. 

You enter the small restaurant, blinking away the temporary fluorescent lights induced blindness, and take up your usual seat in the corner. Time ceases to exist in this place. If it weren’t for the last vestiges of sunlight forcing their way through the small, foggy window at the front, you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was day or night. 

Over the month or so you’ve started becoming a regular fixture of the place, you’ve grown familiar with a number of the other restaurant denizens. The cook and his wife–presumably the owners of the establishment–are ever silent unless yelling instructions about orders back and forth at each other. The wife, a small woman of indeterminate age, would move with efficiency between the five tables dotting the small space–taking orders, handing them to her husband in the kitchen, taking payments, refilling tea. She never appeared to be rushing, and no one was ever left for too long waiting for anything.

Occasionally a young man would take her place–likely their son or another relation roped in to help with the family business for a night. He was young–university aged maybe–and clearly disinterested in spending what little free time he had serving customers and bussing tables. The disinterest showed plain on his face even as he scribbled down your order (the usual, hot and sour soup and tea) and delivered it to his father in the kitchen. 

Tonight it was the woman, she didn’t even bother to ask you what you wanted as you had ordered the same thing every night over the past week. After a few moments she walks over with a teapot and cup in hand, setting them down with a silent nod, before turning to greet the next customer as they enter through the front door. 

You take a sip of tea, not too hot, before leaning back in the chair to settle in for another evening of people watching. The window in the front of the restaurant is clouded slightly with steam built up from the inside, and a light dusting of grime from the outside, but your eyes have adjusted to the distortion over the past month. You sit and watch as people pass by on the street outside, a few salarymen will stop in throughout for silent meals alone before returning to the streets, but often you’re the sole patron during the few hours you spend there each night. 

You watch as the new patron takes a seat at the table nearest the entrance–you haven’t seen him here before, but he looks the same as the rest. The same white button down, creased with a long day's work; the same black trousers; the same black tie and blazer thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. They were a dime a dozen in the city, these salarymen. Your husband had been one of them, once upon a time. Even with his many promotions over the years he still dressed much the same. You wonder briefly what made him stand out from the crowd to his mistress. 

The woman returns to your table a few minutes later, bearing your soup in her work worn hands. Steam billows from the top and you thank her before straightening in your seat and picking up your spoon. 

The food is not remarkable–truly nothing about this place is. Much like the salarymen that dip in and out through its front door, it’s no different than any of the other random hole-in-the-wall establishments that populate this city. The menu varies little from the usual, and the dingy white tiled walls do little to visually differentiate it. Everything about the place appears to be almost designed to blend into its surroundings. To serve its purpose without disturbing the status quo. It was solid and reliable and it's this very reliability that keeps drawing you back. 

It could be any restaurant. You could be any woman. 

You sink into the anonymity, slowly savouring the warm comfort of your food, and watch the slightly obscured figures of people as they pass by outside under the darkening sky. The man at the table by the door finishes his food quickly–in all of 15 minutes he orders, eats, and pays–with the chiming of the front door you’re left alone again as the only customer inside and the wife returns to rifling through a stack of papers spread out across the small table next to the kitchen. 

An hour passes as you sit in your chair, draining your soup and sitting silently as the scene repeats itself twice over. You glance at the clock on the wall, nearly 8:00pm, then down at your phone screen. No messages, no notifications. The light of the evening sun has all but disappeared by now, only a faint yellow clinging still to the corners of blue that construct the city at night. You push your bowl to the side and sigh–both ready and not ready to head back out into the street and begin your short walk home. As has become the routine, the woman sets her papers aside and presses a few buttons on the old till. You linger a moment longer at the table, watching a pair of women stroll by outside, before getting up and pulling out your wallet. No word is exchanged as you set down a few paper bills on the counter in front of her. 

The night air still bites with the remnants of the winter air and you tug your jacket tighter around to your chest as you step onto the sidewalk. It’s a quieter part of your neighbourhood, but still the streets are abuzz with people even aa the sky deepens with the threat of twilight. You fall in line behind a trio of women, walking a few paces behind them and letting your mind focus in on their conversation as they talk and laugh with each other.

Their conversation is nothing interesting–daily gossip about people you know nothing about, feel nothing for–but it reminds you of when you would wander around at night with your friends in University. Aimless and carefree, talking about nothing and everything that came to mind. When was the last time you had seen any of them? Not for months, surely. Maybe you should reach out.  

The women make a left turn a few blocks later, disappearing in the opposite direction that you’re headed and you let your thoughts drift off as their voices do. Would your husband be home already? Would he be upset with the lack of prepared dinner? He hasn’t mentioned anything about it up until now, but you do wonder how long that might last. You know you should summon up some excuse for why you’ve taken up these walks, why you’re sometimes not home when he gets back, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to lie. What does it matter anyway? 

You round the final corner towards home. The building looms ahead at the end of the street, lobby lights casting yellow highlights onto the pavement out front. 

“Mrs. _____.” You don’t hear the voice at first. Your attention is far away, lurking in the recesses of your thoughts, and it takes a minute and a repeated call for you to register that acknowledgement. With a quizzical look, you turn towards the source of the voice and see Joshua Hong striding towards you from the opposite side of the street, pace quick to avoid an encroaching motorbike. 

“Mr. Hong?” you ask, wavering with confusion. Still unsure if he’s a real person or a spectre come to warn you of some impending doom awaiting you as you approach your apartment. 

“I thought that might be you,” he smiles, coming to a stop under a streetlight a few feet away. “How are you?” 

You blink him into reality, righting your attention back to alertness after it’s time away. He’s sporting a cream coloured corduroy jacket over a plain white t-shirt. Blue jeans. He looks the same as the last time you met him in the elevator–the same dark brown hair carving waves over his forehead, the same easy smile. You return the smile, sense reasserting itself enough for you to remember your manners. “I'm well, thank you. How are you?”

“Also well,” he replies, gesturing for the pair of you to resume walking towards your shared building. “We were away for a while, my wife and I. Visiting my family in LA.” 

You know this–the kiss of sun on her skin and your previous knowledge of Joshua was enough to clue you into where they had disappeared to those few months ago. Though you weren’t about to tell him this. “Ah, that sounds lovely. How long have you been back?” Polite conversation demands the question, though the answer to it is already blaring red in your mind. 

“About two months ago or so,” he replies. “It was a nice  trip, thank you.” You arrive at the entrance to the apartment complex, Joshua reaches for the door before you have the chance and you nod a thank you as he holds it open for you. “Have you ever been?” 

“To LA?” you ask, though the question is rhetorical and serves mainly to fill the empty spaces in between. He nods, affirming. “No, I haven’t.” You fall into step beside him, low heels clacking across the well worn black and white tiles of the lobby floor. You think to leave your answer succinct but reconsider it as you approach the elevator for fear of the silence that might ensue if you do. “Though, I did once have a dream to move there and become an actress,” you laugh. 

“Oh?” He looks surprised at the sudden confession and you worry you might have said too much about yourself. “Why didn’t you?” 

No one had ever asked you that before. It’s your turn to be taken off guard now as you step up to the dual elevators. Joshua presses the ‘up’ button and you consider how to reply. 

Why didn’t you? 

“I–well,” you start, fumbling through your thoughts. “It wasn’t a very serious dream, and it wasn’t like anything would have come of it. My mother preferred that I stay here and do something more practical.” 

He nods, thoughtful, appearing to seriously consider your response as you watch the numbers descend on the display above the right side elevator. “That’s understandable,” he says after a minute, “I think most parents just want security for their kids. Acting isn’t the most stable or assured career.” 

The elevator arrives, its buffed stainless steel doors sliding open to grant you access to the lift. Joshua gestures for you to step in first, so you do, lighting up the button for your floor as he steps in behind you. 

“Which floor?” you ask. Another question you know the answer to but he humours you anyway and you press the button for him as well. 

Silence steps into the elevator with you just as the doors shut. You realise you’re twisting your fingers together in front of you–a nervous habit you thought you had gotten rid of years ago–and you shake them lightly before dropping your arms back to your sides. 

“What about your father?” Joshua breaks the silence after a moment and again you take a second to register his question, too focused on the audible sound of your breathing. 

“I’m sorry?” You glance at him, not trusting that you had heard him correctly. 

“Your father,” he repeats, soft smile still lightly dusted over his lips. “What did he think of this acting dream of yours?”

“Oh, I don’t–” you pause, clearing your throat. Truthfully, you had never even told your mother about it, you just knew what she would have said if you had. “I’m not sure, he passed away when I was 14.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, expression sombering. 

You revert to silent passengers as the lift continues to rise towards your floor. A part of you aches to say something, to break the silence again and continue polite conversation. Something about his demeanour was easy–easy to talk to, easy to be with. But you flounder for questions, comments, topics to mention. The weight of your partner’s affair presses at the front of your mind and you wonder how long you’ll be able to keep it at bay before it spills free from behind the dam of your resolve. 

“What were you doing?” he asks suddenly. Breaking the silence just as you think you might not be able to withstand it any longer. The question confuses you and it must show on your face because he clarifies, “when I ran into you outside. It was getting pretty late.” 

“Oh, right of course,” you say, “I was just out for a walk.”

He nods, understanding. “I was as well. Do you walk often?” 

“Most nights, these days,” you reply. 

“Does your husband not mind?” 

You want to laugh. “He’s not home often, these days,” you answer after a moment, casting your gaze to the floor. Dancing around the implications as the weight presses heavier in your mind. “Your wife?” you ask, flirting with the edges of truth unspoken nestled between you. 

“She’s similarly occupied,” he responds, voice softening. You meet his gaze in the reflection of the doors. A spark of understanding reverberates through you and you wonder if he feels it as well. Swelling like a bloom of light bursting in your chest. He holds your gaze steady, unwavering but silent. He knows. He must. 

The elevator dings, warning you of your arrival, and you clear your throat, tearing your eyes off his and smothering the warmth that had blossomed in your heart. “Thank you,” you say, unsure exactly what you felt compelled to thank him for but giving sound to the sentiment anyway. “For um, the chat. It was nice to see you.” 

“You as well,” he smiles as the doors slide open to let you out. You nod and step into the hallway, torn between the eagerness to be alone once more and a strange resistance at departing from his company so soon. The doors begin to slide closed behind you but you hear him call your name once and spin to see his hand blocking their attempt. “Maybe we’ll see each other again soon, on one of our walks.” 

You nod again and watch as he lets his hand fall, body swallowed back into the elevator as the doors shut and it continues its climb upwards. You stand for a minute, stock still in the hallway once more staring at the space where he was. 

It's amazing how little time it takes for your whole world to shift. It’s a fact you’ve been presented with again and again throughout life–the deaths of your parents, accepting your husband's proposal all those years ago, the photo of him sent to you by an old friend with his arms around another woman. Mere seconds of time that seemed to move entire planets–rearranging your life without your consent at a subatomic level. 

Standing in the hallway now, with the sound of Joshua’s voice lingering in your mind, you get the uncanny feeling that you’ve just lived through another of these moments. You turn away from the elevator and walk the final steps to your apartment accompanied with this knowledge, and the hope that his final statement proves true. 

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

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