He Walks Alone in the Moonlight

IN THE LANTERN LIGHT

A prolonged pause followed Minjoo's story, giving Jihyun time to digest the words as Minjoo struggled to maintain his composure. "It is still hard to talk about, some parts of it, but after those things happened, I started acting the way you did, I collapsed in on myself, I couldn't see the point in pushing forward, I channeled my frustration in ways that weren't... good for me. I just don't want you to get to that point, because it starts with this," Minjoo grabbed Jihyun's wrist, running a thumb over the bandages that covered his scratches, "And it can become this." Minjoo pulled away and tugged down on his sleeve, revealing his shoulder and chest. There, shiny in the lantern light, was a patchwork of messy raised scars in the center of Minjoo's chest. In the midst of all the scars, what appeared to be a pale red symbol was sunken into Minjoo's skin. Jihyun couldn't help the small gasp that fell from his lips. "It's the brand. I tried to carve it out of me. I nearly killed myself in doing so. Do you know who helped me get better, who saved my life?"
    "Who?"
"The Crown Prince." Jihyun reeled back at the information. Minjoo chuckled dryly at Jihyun's expression, pulling his robe back over himself. "Judging by your reaction, you truly do despise the Crown Prince, although I cannot blame you. If anything I would find it stranger if you weren't so against him." Jihyun opted for silence, too afraid to voice his affirmation. "Jihyun, the Crown Prince isn't a bad person. He can be... vicious, but he protects his own. He has to live as if everyone is against him, has to build this violent and untouchable reputation, otherwise-"

"I'm done talking about this. I want to go to bed." Minjoo paused, drawing back at Jihyun's unusual frigidity. Truthfully it hurt, to have opened himself up to Jihyun only for the servant to be so cold, but Minjoo supposed he was naive, for expecting a common servant to understand the complexities of the royal family and court. To understand the mind games and backstabbing that was commonplace in the palace. Why the prince acted the way he did, and how Jihyun didn't seem to realize that the prince had cast it all away just for a chance to win the servant over. There was no point in explaining it to him now, he would see it himself when he entered the palace, no matter how much the Crown Prince would try to hide him from it. "Alright, get some rest. I'll come back later."

Minjoo exited the room with a soft creak of the door, smoothing the sound with his palms as the door settled into place. Minjoo took a deep breath in the quiet hallway, pressing his forehead firmly into the door frame, feeling the wood prick his skin. Groaning, Minjoo drew his head back, sucking in another breath before tilting his head forward. Before his head could meet the wood, a warm and calloused hand slipped between Minjoo and the door, softening the blow.

"The Crown Prince saved you? Just him?"

"Jaeon!" Minjoo stepped back, saying the guard's name in a startled whisper. The hand that was against his forehead fell to cup the back of Minjoo's neck, Jaeon's rough thumb tracing slowly up and down the column of Minjoo's throat.

"When did you get back?" The question was low and breathy as it escaped Minjoo's lips. Instead of answering, Jaeon pressed a bundle of clothing against Minjoo's chest, holding the bag there as if to create a physical barrier between the two.

"Answer me first. Was it just him?" Minjoo's mind already felt hazy with Jaeon's closeness, his touch.

"What? No. No... it was you. You know that. That it was you." Absentmindedly Minjoo brought one hand up to hold the bag, and the other to grasp Jaeon's wrist. An attempt to keep the hand on him, although Minjoo knew he ultimately had no control over Jaeon's actions. The man came and went as he pleased, and Minjoo was powerless against Jaeon's will. Minjoo met Jaeon's dark eyes in the dimness of the hallway, catching the lust, frustration, anger, and hunger swirled within them. And the adoration. Only for him. It had always confused Minjoo, to witness Jaeon's restraint, a restraint that hurt him, and only he seemed to want to continue. Minjoo would accept anything Jaeon was willing to offer, but maybe that is why the guard kept his distance. Still, they had moments like this, where Jaeon's restraint ran thin and his desire won out. It was those moments that Minjoo longed for, that kept him steadfast in his affection. Jaeon's hand slid down Minjoo's neck and trailed down the tailor's chest, slipping under the fabric of Minjoo's robe. Minjoo let out a shaky sigh as Jaeon's warm hand settled in the middle of his chest, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the tough skin of the scars there.

"Do not forget. That you owe me your life." The words fell in a husky staccato from the guard's mouth. Minjoo rolled his head back to peer at Jaeon, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"I could say the same to you." Jaeon only grunted at Minjoo's response, pulling his hand away and leaving Minjoo with a chill in its absence. It wasn't long before that hand returned, burying itself into Minjoo's sleek hair as Jaeon brought the tailor's head forward. Jaeon pressed closer, burying his face into Minjoo's neck. Minjoo stood perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, as the guard took deep breaths against Minjoo's skin. Each exhale against the sensitive skin sent a wave of tingles down Minjoo's spine, making him hot in the face. Minjoo took his free hand and brought it to the back of the guard's head, stroking the hair there.

"I suppose it would do no good to warn you to be careful?" Jaeon muttered against Minjoo's neck, lips brushing over flesh with each word.

"Jihyun is not a threat. At this point, he is only a danger to himself." Jaeon was silent at Minjoo's defense. "I know you do not trust him, but trust me." Jaeon could say nothing to Minjoo's plead, just as powerless in the tailor's presence as he was in his. The hardest words were always unspoken between them. I trust you. I need you. I love you. They could never say it, but the understanding was there, balanced precariously on each of their tongues was the admittance that neither of these prideful and scarred men could bring themselves to say.

"You are the only one I trust."