He Walks Alone in the Moonlight

SEW ON A PRETTY SMILE

(TW: for nongraphic mention of SA to a minor)

   He was used to the brush trailing down his back, but Minjoo focused on brushing from Jihyun's scalp. The teeth of the comb would scrape along Jihyun's bare neck, and the sensation lulled Jihyun into a state of calm. In the quietness of the room, Jihyun's mind began to wonder. He recalled what had happened moments prior, and his face became red with heat as he thought about how the prince had seen his body. Jihyun expected his skin to crawl when he remembered how the prince had held him, but Jihyun couldn't bring himself to feel any disgust, only embarrassment. He could only feel ashamed, for he shouldn't have allowed himself to be so vulnerable, but Jihyun didn't understand what had invaded his mind and made him spiral so viciously.

"Are you ready to talk now?" Minjoo asked, withdrawing from Jihyun's hair and setting the comb down with a soft click.

"I don't know," Jihyun answered, picking at the silken sleeve of his robe. Truthfully, even his mother's death hadn't made him feel this hollow, this lost. Perhaps it's because he was no longer a child, and he now had no one he could rely on other than himself. But he was utterly powerless against the whims of these men. Even Minjoo, who treated Jihyun with nothing but patient kindness, was not truly his friend, couldn't be his friend with the insane power play that existed between him, and all of the crown prince's comrades. It made Jihyun feel, for the first time in his life, truly alone. He wanted to say this, to express the tangled up emotions inside of him, but he couldn't say these treasonous thoughts to Minjoo, could he? The tailor was loyal to the prince first and foremost. So Jihyun settled for silence, shrugging off the conversation Minjoo offered, feeling weariness in his bones. After the silence persisted for some time, Minjoo spoke.

"I want to share something with you. I'm sure right now you feel..." Minjoo hesitated as if struggling to find the right words, "well honestly I've never been in this situation, but I have experienced.... things. Things that were hard, and made me scared of the people around me." Jihyun stared at Minjoo. It was hard to imagine that the man ever had a hard time around others, but Jihyun distantly recalled his conversation with Chang, about how something happened to Minjoo a long time ago. Jihyun met Minjoo's eyes, nodding slightly to show that he was ready to listen. Minjoo took a deep breath, releasing it with a shudder before launching into his story.

~~~~~

Rain hit the tiles with a soft pitter-patter, turning the green roofs of the palace black with water. The young crown prince stalked through the palace pathways, his loyal guard, Jaeon, close behind.

"There is nothing to do in this forsaken place," the royal boy grumbled, kicking a stone and sending it into a puddle with a splash. Jaeon said nothing, the older boy focusing on keeping the umbrella over the prince's head. The pair turned a corner, and a sudden foul stench caused them to wrinkle their noses. The prince turned to give Jaeon a questioning look, but the guard's eyes were scanning the buildings before him with hawk-like awareness. The smell seemed to be one reminiscent of burning, but there was no sign of fire. Uneasy, Jaeon passed the prince the umbrella.

"Stay here, you're highness." The boy was too young to want to protest, as he had only recently begun his combat training, and trusted the older boy's instincts wholeheartedly. Jaeon palmed the handle of his blade but did not yet draw it. One had to be certain before drawing a blade in the palace, lest he offend someone of higher rank. Jaeon did not have to go far before the source of the smell made itself known. A boy, perhaps a few years younger than the crown prince, tumbled out of one of the buildings, falling into the wet street and curling into a shivering mass before Jaeon's feet. The stench grew tenfold as Jaeon felt a gust of hot air from the building the boy left. Jaeon drew his sword, sure by the garb of the new boy that he was no one of significant importance. Before he or the crown prince could utter a word, a trio of snickering noblewomen emerged from the building, their hungry eyes too focused on the fallen boy to notice the other two.