He Walks Alone in the Moonlight

THE SCENT THAT LINGERS

"We should not be leaving the prince's treatment in the hands of someone who is drunk," Jaeon grunted out the protest as Minjoo pulled him away from the pavilion. The tailor huffed, trying to blow hair out of his face as he supported the guard's weight with his whole body. Jaeon paused, strong enough despite his injury to make Minjoo halt. Minjoo jerked his neck aggressively, annoyed by the hair in his face and by Jaeon's action.

"We're not going back. Jihyun can clearly do a better job than Chang even if he is-"

"It's not that," Jaeon cut Minjoo off, shifting his weight backward and pulling the smaller man toward his bare chest. Minjoo cast his eyes sideways, suddenly breathless as his heart beat painfully. The arm that wasn't over Minjoo's shoulder came up, and with rough fingers Jaeon brushed the hair from Minjoo's face, tucking it behind his ear. "There." The guard allowed no time for the act of affection to sink in, turning Minjoo back around and forcing the pair forward with limping steps. Dazed, Minjoo let himself be directed to Jaeon's room, a small building connected to the prince's residence by a semi-hidden pathway. It was, in fact, the very building Minjoo stayed in when he first came to live at Horangi Palace more than a decade ago.

Letting Jaeon situate himself upright on the bed, Minjoo prepared the tasanghua once more, dipping the pads of his index and middle finger into the cloudy ointment. Already, Minjoo could clearly make out the bluish-gray bruise stretching across Jaeon's side. A pale yellowish mark cut through the middle, identical to the edge of the stone lanterns affixed around palace grounds. Most concerning, and only now visible to Minjoo in the candlelight, was the blood dried in Jaeon's hair and the slight swelling around his left eye. Minjoo finished his work on the bruise in silence, trying to keep his hand from shaking each time he passed over a scar. Sealing the tasanghua, Minjoo rose and made his way to the empty basin at Jaeon's bedside, taking it outside and rushing to the well behind the prince's residence. He gripped the well's stone wall, sucking in air as his knees grew weak. The tailor swallowed the saliva that had grown thick in his mouth, then watched his breath cloud the cold air in front of him as he struggled to regain control of himself.

This reaction was something he tried desperately to hide from Jaeon, tried to hide from everyone. As the only one in the prince's party who knew how to use a needle and thread, Minjoo had been assigned as the de facto medic purely because he could stitch up whatever gnarly wound one of the members came home with. Minjoo, however, did not have a stomach for such things. Each gash, burn, bruise, and scar reminded him of the brand on his chest. The sight. The feel. The smell. And the worst was when he saw those wounds on Jaeon. They always seemed to be on Jaeon. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Minjoo filled the basin with water and made his way back to Jaeon's room. The guard hadn't moved, still upright on the bed, feet firmly planted on the ground as he stared at the doorway. His posture relaxed, ever so slightly, when Minjoo stepped through that doorway.

"Put your feet toward the wall," Minjoo murmured as he placed the basin on the floor and threw a cloth into it. Jaeon listened, slowly turning his back to Minjoo. "Now lay down," Minjoo said, sitting on the stool beside the bed and gingerly guiding Jaeon's head into his lap.

"What are you doing?" Jaeon asked as he watched Minjoo's slender hands dip into the basin and wring the cloth until water no longer fell from it. Minjoo didn't answer, instead pressing the cool damp fabric against the swelling on Jaeon's face. Minjoo's free hand came to cup Jaeon's jaw, his fingernails gently scraping back and forth across the bottom of the guard's chin. Jaeon's scalp prickled, the skin on his chest growing tight until his nipples pebbled.

Finally satisfied with the cleanliness of Jaeon's face, Minjoo removed his hands and returned the cloth to the basin. Heat raced across Jaeon's body at the absence, only soothed when Minjoo's fingers returned, this time to carefully undo Jaeon's hair. The guard closed his eyes as the seamster expertly unwound the braids and hair ties tangled in Jaeon's blood-matted hair. Since his eyes were closed, he did not see the sickened expression that painted Minjoo's face as flecks of dried blood clung to his damp skin and darked the white crescents of his fingernails. The coppery smell of blood familiar to them both cloyed the air as Minjoo brought the basin to rest between his legs and dipped Jaeon's hair into it, scrubbing the black strands between his palms. As long as his hands were moving, no one would notice them shake. The water soon became murky, and Minjoo left once more to fill the basin with fresh water.