Vivid | Lee Minho

•Scene 8•

• • •

"Y/n."

There was a gentle wind that stretched its playful fingers to tousle your hair. It sang as it did the same to the young man standing before you, making the long strands of his hair dance ever so gracefully in the air.

His eyes, which were always so kind, shone with determination, excitement, anxiety. It was all to your dismay, for you knew what he was about to utter into the universe.

"I love you. I'm in love with you and have been ever since we met under this apple tree all those years ago."

How truly miserable.

You had tried your best to deter him, and yet here he was, confessing such reckless feelings. That soft demeanor of his was an excellent guise for his stubbornness.

"That cannot be, Jeongin," you told him. "How could it be that you love me?"

He smiled, and it made little stars twinkle in his fox-like eyes. "I knew you would doubt me so, but I swear it, Y/n. I swear it on every star in the sky, on every god that would hear me."

"How can you swear on the stars when you cannot see them all?" you shook your head, which elicited a musical chuckle from him.

"Your wits have always bested mine. But I am serious, and I don't think I was ever this serious about anything else."

"Still..." you sighed, "I'm afraid father would not approve."

A weak excuse that did so little to scratch his will. He only declared, "Then I will earn his approval."

You knew that it would be an easy feat for him. He might have only been a painter's apprentice, but he was beloved by all in your village. Principled, kind, diligent. He was a good man. Your father's approval would even precede his question.

It was pointless, all of it.

Whether or not he gained the approval he sought, your time was limited. What was left was not worth his efforts or his hopes. His so-called love was only a detriment to himself.

You did not want it. You did not want to hurt him.

But you could not tell him that. You could never.

Instead, you offered him a small smile, hating, with every fiber of your being, the happiness that illuminated his face right then. "I shall wait, then."

Your smile was a cruelty and so were your deceptive words. With your ever-growing guilt, you could only wonder if those words would haunt him in a future that was too near.

• • •

The familiar sensation of silken sheets flooded your mind as you were roused from a slumber you did not recall falling into.

It was quiet.

You turned your head to the side, weary gaze settling on the man sitting near your bedside. Your movement was immediately noticed by him, and his head snapped up from the papers he was reading through.

An exhale of the purest relief.

"You're awake."

Wordlessly, you tried to push yourself to sit, and Minho stood to help you, a tender hand at your back while the other clasped yours gingerly. Someone had changed you into sleeping robes, you noticed. It most likely was your handmaidens.

You also noted the dryness of your throat, as though you had gone an entire day without a sip of water.

Perhaps reading your mind, Minho carefully filled a glass of water from the pitcher on your nightstand and handed it to you. "Here, have some water."