Vivid | Lee Minho

•Scene 7•

Minho stepped into the study like a vision from a magical mirror, distant and unreal. His gaze landed on you immediately, and he seemed to blanch. "Lady Y/n?"

You did not miss the way he glanced behind him, as if to leave, nor did you overlook the hoop of blue flowers—a Warrior's Halo, you recalled—that hung from his arm like a terribly oversized bracelet.

"What brings you here? Should you not be resting?" he cleared his throat as he asked, not walking any farther into the room, eyes seeming to wander everywhere as to avoid you.

It irked you.

"That may be true," you stood from your seat, gripping your hands in front of you, a picture of composure, "but it has been increasingly difficult to speak to you as of late, Lord Minho."

At that, he grimaced, his hand rising to rub the nape of his neck awkwardly. "Ah, well..."

Never had you seen him so uncomfortable, and it made your heart clench. Your speculations must be true then. There could be no other explanation for his discomfort around you.

He had finally realized how troublesome your situation was and no longer wished to resume this partnership.

No, you could not let that happen. Never.

Your hands dropped to your skirts, and you clutched the fabric as though to pull strength from the velvety silk.

If you were going to appeal to him, this was your only chance.

Gaze fixated on the streaked marble of the floor, you took in a fateful breath before blurting out the words you so diligently practiced.

"Please allow me to stay—!"

"I'm sorry—"

What...?

Eyes wide, you dared to look up at Minho, who seemed to be equally taken aback by the coincidence of you interrupting one another.

But more than that, you were confused. Was he apologizing? Why ever would he need to?

"Oh no," you heard him mumble to himself, almost chastising. Something akin to heartbreak creased his brows and caused his shoulders to slump—as though he were breaking apart before your eyes. "It seems I've let my foolishness hurt you again."

"What do you mean?" you breathed the question, and your confusion gave out to bewilderment as he walked toward you, taking out the flower crown that hooped around his arm and holding it gently. Like that day in the festival, he stood before you and reached up, placing the Warrior's Wreath like a precious crown over your head.

Except this time, his hands lingered as though he were anchoring himself. When he spoke, he diverted his gaze to the side. "I was...in town earlier and I remembered that yours was lost in the fray."

You blinked at him, and it seemed that your speechlessness founded some courage in him to meet your gaze. Minho smiled then, the small, dejected kind of smile that did not at all suit his brilliance, and said, "I'm sorry, Lady Y/n.

"After the incident at the festival, I...did not know how to face you," he admitted, and you could hardly hear him over the pounding of your heart. Just what did he mean by 'facing you'?

All the explanations you could surmise were unfavorable, and you suddenly found yourself unwilling to hear him say more. Though, you could not muster the words to stop him.

"I suppose I was ashamed," he continued, standing so close, with his hands still on the flowers and his head bowed a measly fraction as if he were repenting. "Despite your honesty and despite remaining true to our agreement, I harbored many suspicions toward you. I doubted you. For so long, I thought you were a spy sent to deceive me. And even when that was proven false, I could not—"