Chapter Text
How odd, he contemplates. To think that this is all for him, yet he looks as though each petal and stem insults him.
Doyoung’s gaze spans the expansive gardens as servants bustle to and fro, then coming to a stop as it falls upon his brother’s sharp frame. He’s familiar with the harsh line of Donghyuck’s shoulders, the way his chin and eyes are lowered towards the grass in the false picture of complacency. To the labourers that carry supplies past him, he appears a handsome, nervous groom, focused on the days ahead rather than the triviality of the decor. Doyoung knows better. He knows the claw sharp stare that’s hiding beneath his little brother’s fringe of slightly curling dark hair, and that the pink staining his golden skin is one born of restrained anger, not nerves.
This wedding… in many ways, it was not meant to happen. Not yet, at least, and not like this. Donghyuck was not meant to be the first of the two of them to marry, was not meant to have the extravagant wedding that would solidify their social standing, was not meant to be standing in front of a sunflower-dotted wedding arbor. The wrongness of it all hung in the air like fog, thick and choking, like a bad omen. Something was going to go awry- Doyoung could feel it and he knew his brother could, too.
He traverses the space between them with even steps and rests his hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder once in reach. Lightly, as not to upset him further. “You do not have to be out here… You torture yourself, trying to feign interest in all of this.”
“It’s my wedding,” he murmurs back. There’s a bite in his words, a sort of acrid bitterness that would make most recoil. Doyoung is glad to hear it, glad to know that he’s receiving the privilege of Hyuck’s unmasked emotion. “I must.”
Doyoung exhales and lets his hand slide back down to his side, briefly noting the spatters of blue-gray paint still clinging to his skin. “Stubborn, as per usual.” The accusation is quiet, direct, much like the man himself. “Come, you can at least take a moment to breathe, or to escape the sun.”
“Thank you, brother, but I cannot.” Donghyuck’s rejection is quick and leaves little room for further prodding. His attention is drawn elsewhere, anyways; towards a large, open backed wagon filled to the brim with painted pots of flowers. There’s a boy perched atop of it, clinging precariously to the edge and helping to move the cargo off of the wagon’s bed. His back is turned, but he looks young. Small, drowning in his white tunic… frail, even.
“It… will be beautiful, at least,” Doyoung sighs. When he receives no reply from his brother, he frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Donghyuck shakes his head. “The wagon-” he begins, taking a step forward with such sudden urgency it startles Doyoung. He must’ve seen something the elder couldn’t, for a mere breath later, they hear the sound of thick wood splitting. There’s a hoarse cry, and a resounding crack, and when he turns to look the black haired boy from atop the cart has dropped out of sight-
“Dear god,” Hyuck breathes. In an instant he has left Doyoung’s side to rush towards the rapidly forming cluster of servants. Whatever is happening, it’s inducing panic in everyone. They rush towards the incident until a wall of worried bodies forms, so tightly packed together Doyoung can’t see anything. Just his brother pushing through, swift and efficient, with the type of urgency that comes with his incapacity to be a bystander when someone needs help. Whereas Doyoung… he stands frozen, too stunned and caught in the tangle of his own thoughts to react, even as the shouting rises in volume.
He’s not cold. The servants throughout the estate and even his own parents think him to be, he knows that, and he can accept that scrutiny, but- he isn’t made of ice. Not entirely, at least. He still worries, still stands there wondering what happened to the black haired boy with a hand pressed to the base of his throat. He simply… isn’t as adept at showing it. Rushing to help, foregoing all else but the one in need of help; that is Donghyuck’s specialty. Doyoung observes, gathers details hungrily and tucks them away for later use, or… disuse, as the cycle continues.
Someone splits off from the group in a hurry, nearly bowling people over as he runs. Clear intention hastens his steps, along with the harrowed expression on his face. My brother must be giving orders. Good, Doyoung thinks. The boy’s attention doesn’t shift for even a moment as his rushed steps become a bounding sprint. Sending for a physician, perhaps, or some form of first aid.
“On my mark, lift the cart, I’ll pull him out!” That’s Donghyuck’s voice- it always seems to rise above even the loudest of crowds.
“The blood, oh God above, his legs-”
“Poor child, heaven save him-”
“Hasn’t anyone sent for a physician?”
Too many voices, far too loud- Doyoung can’t pick them apart anymore. The volume crescendos, presumably as his brother initiates the rescuing. He cranes his neck, rises on his toes, anything to see just a few more details- but all he manages to catch is the crowd shifting in tighter to lift the cart. The scream follows tears through him. Doyoung has seen injury, small accidents here and there, but he had never heard such agony. Pain can rip the most inhuman noises from someone, he learns.
In a storybook, a healer would have arrived by now, carried on the wind or a swift horse to soothe the pain and take care of everything. The poor boy would be on his feet and smiling as he thanks everyone for their efforts.
The reality is… it is achingly long minutes before Doyoung hears the approaching hoofbeats that signal the physician’s arrival. Half an hour, at least… Has my brother left him anything to save? He stops trying to look- he doesn’t want to see what could cause such a sound from a man. Instead, he spends the time busying himself with preparations. Sending off a few servants to locate his mother, she’ll want to know, and another few to gather what supplies they could and deliver them to the guest room in the east wing. His gaze notes other pairs splitting off as well, undoubtedly sent on tasks by Donghyuck. If there had been time to be proud of his little brother, Doyoung’s heart would surely be bursting with it.
The physician thunders in with the boy that sent for him clinging tight to the saddle behind him. He’s young, agile, clutching a bag of what Doyoung assumes to be medical supplies in one hand as he approaches the incident. Before the horse has even halted, he swings off its back and forces his way through the gathered crowd with clinical efficiency. It is as though time itself slows. The onlookers halt their movements entirely, waiting with bated breath for the physician to fill his role, to save this life.
When Doyoung was little, he had once fallen out of the tree he and Donghyuck had been playing in and broke his arm. He remembers the suffocating cluster of worried faces at the sight of the young master’s injury, remembers the way pain and the weight of their gazes pressed the breath out of his lungs. You mustn't crowd him, his little brother had cried, so small and young yet with the conviction of a man in his voice. You must let him breathe.
Doyoung moves. Now, solid true intent guiding his feet and his mouth, he fires off instructions rapidly. “Away, all of you. Let the physician work. You all- move to the front garden, see to the final preparations around the walkways. You four, the stables are in need of your attention. We will have guests, plenty of horses to see to.” It’s odd to hear the way his own voice sounds. He understands why they call him cold, but… by the way they scatter to heed his words, at least it is effective.
It is only when the gardens are bustling with activity (albeit nervous activity) once more that Doyoung goes in search of his brother.
He knew where he’d be, so it isn’t truly much of a search, but the estate’s property sprawls enough that it is a bit of a walk. Most of the hallways run long and empty, with everyone out working in the wedding space. The injured boy was brought to the east guest room as per Doyoung’s preparations, and where the boy was, Donghyuck would be. There’s not a chance in heaven he’d have let go this quickly.
Donghyuck’s location does not surprise him- however, what does is the presence of the one who found the physician. Black haired and short in stature, the young man stands outside the door to the room with the posture of a lazing teen, though the keen glint in his eyes speaks to a more militant vigilance than he lets on. There is blood staining his hands and the front of his too-large white shirt. It’s half scrubbed away, as though he’d taken the time to snatch a towel but couldn’t be torn away long enough for a proper wash. The baggy plainclothes and delicate face… Doyoung tilts his head as recognition strikes. This is the servant who practically flew in search of the physician, the one who looked so deeply distressed when he returned on horseback.
“Sir,” the servant murmurs, spine snapping stock straight before bending in a respectful bow. Something about his voice… how does one manage to make ‘sir’ sound like an accusation?
“It’s alright.” Doyoung waves the bow off. “My brother- he is inside, no?”
“With Taeyong and the physician, sir,” he replies. “Taeyong is the young man who was crushed but moments ago beneath your family’s wagon of wedding flowers. The physician has been attempting to save his life.”
Doyoung merely blinks at the sharpness in the boy’s tone, but… as he peers closer, he sees red rimming the servant’s eyes, and the faintest evidence of tear tracks upon his cheeks. He’s scared, that’s all… He fears for his friend. “Tell me your name, and if that boy is conscious, I can inform him that you are guarding his door. It is quite clear that you are worried for him. I’d like to think you’d speak with a bit more kindness, otherwise.”
“Ten.” The odd name comes on a harsh breath, one syllable laden with poorly repressed emotion. It looks very much like this Ten would like to say more- but Doyoung doesn’t have the patience for it at the given moment, and he doesn’t have any desire for an argument. Or for the boy to get himself into any trouble, should someone overhear him speaking this way to the Lord of the estate’s son.
“Thank you,” he cuts in quickly. “for fetching the physician as quickly as you did. I am certain your swiftness will bring about a more positive result.” His words are clipped, clinical, but ever-polite and calm.
Ten’s eyes narrow at the gratitude, as though he doesn’t trust it. “It was for Taeyong.” Not for you. Doyoung can read the subtext clear as day. The look in his eyes, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous, reminds him so strongly of his little brother. Perhaps… more jaded, and with less of Donghyuck’s kindness, but the fierceness is the same.
He addresses the response with nothing but a small incline of his head. “If you’ll excuse me,” Doyoung murmurs, already turning on his heel to make for the door. There’s been more than enough delay- he knows his brother has enough stress in his life to be trying to care for an injured little boy. Someone needs to pull him out, lest he grow too entangled with taking care of the boy to look after himself.
The door swings open with the softest click as Doyoung twists the gilded knob. His eyes scan the room hastily. First, they find his brother where he leans against the far wall, two fingers pressed to his mouth the way he always did when he was fretting, brows furrowed enough to crinkle his forehead. Doyoung’s stomach twists up in knots at the sight of Hyuck’s bloodied hands and clothes, even though he knows it is not his. Then, he notes the young physician beside the bed, equally painted with a dizzying amount of red.
“Doyoung,” Donghyuck calls, but he hardly hears it, for his gaze has found something far too startling to ignore.
The bed is small, for the estate’s standards, and yet it dwarfs the slim boy entirely. The sheets are too clean, too white against his body. It is some of the only unbloodied fabric left in the room. They must’ve changed the sheets before I arrived, Doyoung realized. The legs are the most frightening, the place his eyes are caught the longest. The cart’s weight did more than break bones… It crushed the boy, maimed him, leaving one leg a mottle of black and blue and the other a horrible mess of long, angry gashes where skin was torn apart. The largest of them have been stitched- the physicians first step, it seems. The oversized shirt he wears keeps most of his torso out of sight, but Doyoung can still see that the boy’s left arm was scraped and bruised from shoulder to fingertip.
And his face… At first, it is difficult to truly see all of the boy’s features. His cheeks and nose are cut up, likely from the wood of the cart, or perhaps the gravel he fell upon. He looks so young… Like he could be Donghyuck’s age. It was hard to tell for certain through all the carnage. The boy’s features felt like an insult to behold. Long black lashes fanned out over high cheekbones, soft petal-pink lips and a jaw that could’ve been sculpted by a master, ink black hair brushing his collarbones- it felt wrong to see those features drawn tight with pain, spattered with blood. Too delicate, too lovely, too tortured. Like a prince from a storybook had been… twisted and beaten into a corpse of war.
“The boy has lost a great deal of blood, and… I cannot predict if he will recover, or if the severity of his injuries will take his leg, or even his life. Especially considering the level of care a servant would be able to afford.” The physician’s low voice draws Doyoung’s attention back. Shifting his gaze away from the pale form in the bed feels arduous, a slow and stubborn tear.
“Taeyong,” Doyoung murmurs, tentative.
“Pardon, sir?”
“His name. The servant standing guard outside mentioned it,” he explains. “Taeyong.”
As Doyoung repeats the name, this time with just a touch more volume and confidence, the boy- Taeyong begins to stir. His fingers twitch once before twisting weakly in the sheets they’re laid upon, and Doyoung hears his voice for the first time. It comes out in a tight, breathy sound, something between a frightened sob and a pained moan. All eyes snap to him in an instant.
“Doctor Na- what were you saying? You won’t treat him because he is a servant, if my understanding was correct.” Donghyuck takes a sharp step forward.
“No, that’s-” Na cuts himself off with a sigh. They’re all aware of it now; the way Taeyong’s breath passes noisily through his mouth, like it is scratching its way out after each inhale. The small sounds of agony that slip through every now and then, little strained keens. “Come, let us step outside. This should not be discussed here, not right in front of him.”
“Is… it safe to leave him alone?” Doyoung worries.
“You said his friend is outside?” When he nods confirmation, the physician continues and moves towards the door with his brown leather bag of supplies tight in hand. “We’ll send him in, then. It’ll only be a minute.”
“Quickly, then.” Donghyuck sounds exasperated, impatient, like he wants nothing more than to get things over with. It’s near petulance, the way he crosses the floor in long, swift strides so that he can exit the room before anyone else can even reach the doorknob. But Doyoung’s little brother is no brat. It’s Taeyong, he thinks. He can’t stand to hear his pain.
Doyoung understands. There’s a knot in his stomach that tightens and twists with each rasping breath. He leaves the room with the same urgency, nearly bumping shoulders with Na in his hurry.
It all gives Doyoung a headache. He would remain silent, if he could. Uninvolved.
“I will do what I can. Everything I can, but you must understand… If he cannot pay, there are things I am incapable of providing. Supplies, medications... none of it is free.” The physician has his hands folded neatly behind his back. There’s a calmness to his posture, a sort of elegance while delivering difficult news that Doyoung can imagine only comes with experience. A life hangs in the balance, yes, but his tone is far more suited to a business transaction.
“He’s… suffering. God, he may die- because he was…” Donghyuck hisses out a breath and turns suddenly, pinning Doyoung with his gaze. “My silly wedding is the cause of this. I am responsible, aren’t I, brother?”
No, fool, of course you aren’t- it was an accident. But that isn’t the answer that his fiery little brother seems to want. “I… suppose the family is responsible in some ways, yes. I am no lawyer, but it did occur on our land, under our supervision.”
“Exactly. It’s settled, then.”
Doctor Na blinks. “Pardon?”
“In essence, he was a guest at our estate, no?” Donghyuck begins, lifting his chin. “And now he requires care. It’s our responsibility to provide funding for whatever he needs- the best treatment possible. We will pay. I assure you, Doctor, we can most certainly afford it.”
Donghyuck-ah, you and your bleeding heart. This time, Doyoung says nothing. There’s plenty of issues with the idea that come to mind- the fact that the two boys live on the wealth of their family rather than any income of their own, the fact that their parents very likely wouldn’t spare this injured boy an ounce of sympathy…
“Ah- your kindness will not be for nothing, I am certain. I believe he might just recover, with proper care and your generosity.” The bow of the physician’s head is one of grace and respect- and perhaps, if Doyoung is reading the settling of his shoulders correctly, a bit of relief. Saving Taeyong is important to him, then, or perhaps his heart simply weeps the same as Donghyuck’s.
“I’ll need to gather a few things- I came here so urgently, I didn’t have as much time to prepare as I’d have liked.” Na tilts his head. “A visit to an apothecary may be in order as well.”
“Go, then.”
Both Haechan and the physician turn to look at Doyoung, each of them a tad surprised at the sound of his voice. The instruction was a bit cold, a bit clipped- but time is still passing, and a young man that his family has just claimed responsibility for is suffering.
“Right-” Na clears his throat and gives his head a shake. “Right. I’ll be just a few hours, then. If possible, someone should stay by him. The bruising near his sternum and over the sixth and seventh ribs is severe enough to suggest the risk of internal bleeding. Ensure he doesn’t drown in his own blood, please.”
The brothers share equally horrified glances with one another, but the physician doesn’t seem to notice. He’s gone in seconds, steps reaching a harsh, unyielding pace as he glides down the hall and out of sight. In some ways, it is a relief to be alone once more with his little brother, so that Doyoung may feel a little less odd in his silence. On the other hand…
“You should stay with him-”
“I need to tell mother and father.” Donghyuck’s voice overlaps with Doyoung’s own as they both speak up at the same time. Both trying to escape the distressing task set before them. “Look- you know they’ll… be a little more willing to help out if it’s me. With the wedding happening, I mean- they know Anya’s family will bring more wealth to our own.”
The subtext is not difficult to read. They’ll listen to you because they love you more- but saying that outright is cruel.
“And I... Well, it’s just…” Donghyuck reaches up, fluffing his hair with one hand. When he speaks again, his voice is small and hesitant. “It’s.. difficult to be in there. You’re so much tougher than I am, you always have been... “
Doyoung frowns at him. Of course, of course Hyuck would be the one to insist on caring for him and want to escape the bloody, frightening parts when the chance arose.
“Hyung, please?”
Doyoung’s frown curls into a grimace. “Fine.”
Every sound he makes, however soft, seems louder than a snapping bowstring in the quiet room. Doyoung returned to the room just a few minutes ago, where he had paused in the doorway at the sight of Ten clinging desperately to Taeyong’s less scraped up hand. He had been crying, a steady stream of helpless tears while he counted his friend’s breaths. Doyoung had no interest in disturbing him. Far easier, he thought, to simply brush past and sink into the large leather chair by the window, quietly sketching on a spare bit of paper with a pencil from his pocket.
Every time the pencil scratches a bit louder on the page, he winces, looks over at the pair by the bed and prays they don’t notice. Not that Taeyong would, of course- the boy is lost somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. If Ten does, he doesn’t show it.
Doyoung sneaks glances at them, every now and again. It’s impossible not to. Even injured, even with his pretty features tightened and crinkled with pain, hair sweat dampened and plastered to his neck, Taeyong demands to be looked at. It isn’t until his paper is filled with small sketches of delicate hands and slightly parted lips that he realizes he’s been drawing him- not in full portraits, but in tiny isolations, single painstakingly detailed features.
“Are you going to stay?” Ten asks, soft and raspy as he breaks the silence. “Sir.” He tacks on the respect as an afterthought.
Doyoung tilts his head. “Yes.”
“Someone has to cover for him, or he won’t have a job when he heals. He’ll be thrown out.” He throws Doyoung a flinty glare. Accusatory, like Doyoung would be the one to toss the frail boy out into the street. “It has to be me.”
Doyoung blinks at him.
“You’ll stay?”
“As I said.” His hand stills before he releases the pencil, laying it neatly across the now full page. “Yes.”
“I will check on him again soon.” Ten’s words are kind and concerned on the surface, but the tightness in his jaw says otherwise. Look after him or else, Doyoung hears. The smaller boy rises and swipes his hands beneath his eyes, flicking away any trace of emotion that had clung to his skin. For a moment, he lingers, fixing Doyoung with that sharp stare before he turns to glide out of the room.
The door clicks softly behind him, and Doyoung is alone with the pale, lovely, broken creature laying in the bed.
It’s odd to sit there, listening to him breathe, watching the way his sweat-sheened skin reflects the flickering gold candlelight. It’s odder still when the realization strikes; Taeyong is beautiful. Much like a painting given life- every stroke delicate and intentional, even down to the tinge of flushed red that climbs the slim column of his throat.
He remembers years ago, when they had found Donghyuck weak, shaking, and feverish, the force of his coughs lurching his small frame. His usually warm, golden skin had taken on a sickly grey pallor, aside from the blotchy spill of red on his cheeks and around his eyes. Terror held Doyoung’s heart in an ice-cold claw for weeks as he sat by his brother’s bedside, clutching his clammy hand like a lifeline. They’d worried it was consumption, at first, which would mean they may have to prepare their goodbyes. It was the most frightened he’d ever felt.
Taeyong’s room feels the same now as Donghyuck’s did all those years ago. Too warm with the windows tightly closed, too quiet save for the laboured sounds of struggling lungs. He doesn’t want to face the way it makes his chest feel tighter. He most certainly doesn’t want to address the way it makes some strange ghost of the soul-deep concern he felt for Donghyuck return to him now, urging his heart to beat a little faster and his thoughts to race. This isn’t illness, it is injury. The tactics he had used to care for his little brother would likely be meaningless for this boy. No amount of cool washcloths or herbal teas would heal a ruined limb. Blood loss can’t be solved by compassion, either. This is a stranger. Just a servant, he tells himself. Calm down.
But he can’t. There’s a soft rustle- the sound of fingers shifting against bunched sheets, then a sharper inhalation than the rest. Slowly, Taeyong’s eyes open. There’s a moment of stillness- Doyoung is too startled by his owlish eyes to move or react. His heart has doubled its tempo, thrumming against his ribs.
“Ten…?”
The voice is more of a wheeze than even a whisper, but it spurs Doyoung into motion all the same. His sketches are fluidly set aside as he rises from his chair and he crosses to the bed without thinking, his focus solely set on the boy in front of him. Not entirely aware- but he’s awake enough to speak. That must be a good sign, no?
“He left just moments ago. Save your breath,” he instructs hurriedly. “The physician worries for your lungs.” When he is about a foot or so from the edge of the bed, he stops. If it were his little brother again, he’d clutch his hand, smooth the hair away from his forehead, scold him for causing such worry. Instead, he stands still as stone, as though there is a line across the wood floor that he isn’t sure he can cross. The other boy’s big eyes search room, sluggish and disoriented.
When he finally finds Doyoung’s face and meets his gaze, his eyes widen. “Sir,” he begins. It’s better than before, but Taeyong’s voice is still nearly too soft to be properly audible and tight with pain. He shifts, hands sliding along the sheets with the clear intent to push himself up. To show respect- so he won’t be in trouble, Doyoung realizes. Something small and bitter blooms in his ribcage at the thought.
“Don’t try to stand. Rest,” he murmurs, taking one more step forward on instinct. Without thinking, he reaches out with both hands towards Taeyong’s shoulders. Not making any contact, but ready to urge him back down into the pillows if the need arises. He continues in a bit of a ramble at the sight of Taeyong’s panicked expression. How do I reassure him?
“The… injuries you sustained are serious, it would be advisable to avoid too much movement- especially without the physician present. Ah… Your duties will be seen to while you recover.” Doyoung draws his hands back to awkwardly return them to his sides. I know you’re in pain- but it’ll be okay, it won’t be much longer, he wants to say. “The physician, ah… He will bring medication and supplies shortly to ease the process.” Close enough, no?
The mention of medication doesn’t help quite as much as Doyoung had expected it to. Taeyong just frowns, dark brows drawing together until a little crease forms between them and shakes his head. Doyoung’s own brows mirror the expression for a few moments of confusion until it clicks- the cost, of course.
“The treatment will be provided for you.” He knows he doesn’t sound right. His brother is far better at the soft, comforting voice, the sweet words of reassurance. Sounding anything but clinical doesn’t come naturally to him. After a slow breath, he shifts his gaze back on to Taeyong’s fawn-like eyes. “Ah… We’re going to look after you, my brother and I; we’ll see to any necessary payments. You’ll be okay.” There- that last bit was better, he thinks. It would’ve been difficult for anyone not to soften when looking down at a face like Taeyong’s.
Seconds pass before he processes Doyoung’s words, the pair spending nearly a minute in a thick, awkward silence. The frown on his face doesn’t leave, but it does shift into something more overwhelmed than frightened. That must be a good thing, or better than fear at the very least- oh. Just as Doyoung’s relief begins to form, it melts away the second he sees silvery tears lining the boy’s eyes.
“You’re crying.” His hands lift, then lower again, then lift again to hover in an odd half-way risen position, uncertainty in every little movement. “Is it the pain? Have I said something? Do you need water? The physician, he shouldn’t be gone much longer- can I-” He cuts himself off abruptly and just… stares. With no idea what to do, he is frozen with a panicked stare of his own, his thoughts racing miles a minute.
“Thank you.”
Doyoung blinks. “Pardon?”
He takes a careful breath, a shallow rise and fall of his chest. “I am crying,” he whispers, the true low timbre of his voice beginning to show itself. “Because I am grateful. Thank you for… your generosity.”
Doyoung shakes his head. He can hear the effort it takes to speak, see the heaviness in each flutter of Taeyong’s eyelashes. The gratitude settles warm and heavy over his heart like a blanket, though he knows he’s not truly deserving of it. I’ll pass his words along to Donghyuck, when I can… This was his kindness, and my hesitation.
“The pain, it is…” Taeyong’s brows twitch and his eyelids flutter at an uneven rate. Rather than words, he ends his thought with a strained sound and a quiet, shaky exhale. Those lovely eyes are sliding closed once more, lashes settling back atop his pale cheeks.
“Rest,” Doyoung says softly, nodding down at him. Such a delicate, heartbreaking thing, bloodied and stitched and blurry with exhaustion… Doyoung feels his shoulders sinking as care for this stranger takes root in his heart. “Everything will be taken care of. Everything- I swear it.”
It’s not long before he’s lost to the world once again, sleeping fitfully in the blood flecked sheets as though he had never regained consciousness at all. Doyoung hovers near the bed for a beat, waits until he is absolutely certain Taeyong is asleep. One may describe it as fussing, now- how many breaths he counts, just to ensure the boy is stable. Of course, he would never admit it.
He takes care to keep his steps quiet as he crosses back to his chair where he sinks down, ready to resume his silent vigil. Already, it feels different. He knows a name, a voice, has the sight of beautiful dark eyes sketched into the most secure part of his brain. A stranger still, but a stranger with two feet on the path to something familiar, something more intimate.
He remains there, watching over him until the physician arrives to begin his care… and a little while after that.