Chapter Text
The day Jeongguk returns to the family island, the sun reflects on the placid waters of the lake, shining bright as if it’s mocking him and the tragedy that struck the Jeons like a bolt from the blue.
As the motorboat bobs up and down sprinting toward its destination, he stands on the deck, uncaring of the splashes of water that reach him from time to time and of his dark hair whipping his face in the wind. With his hands buried in his trousers pockets, he just wonders where Junghyun might be. His elder brother disappeared a week prior in a boat accident that heavily affected their mother, now bedridden with both legs broken and a few cracked ribs. It’s only for her that Jeongguk left his vineyard in Italy after seven years of self-exile – and because, apparently, he’s now the heir to the title of Count, the estate, and every duty connected to them.
Not something he asked for, but also not something he can give up on with the snap of a finger.
The motorboat takes a turn to the left, and the island finally comes into view. Once a plot of land on a rock emerging from the crystalline waters, at the end of the 19th century, it was enlarged by Jeongguk’s ancestors by building retaining walls and covering the stone with enough fertile soil to reach its current size, sixty metres wide per one kilometre long. Two-thirds of its surface is occupied by a park rich in exotic plants, while on the remaining land, they built a palatial villa following the canons of the neo-Gothic-Venetian style. A bit pompous, if Jeongguk can share his opinion, but it certainly leaves people in awe of its magnificence when it soars from behind the treetops with its loggia, surmounted by a square tower where his childhood bedroom is still waiting for him.
At first glance, it looks like nothing has changed, but as they get close to the pier, Jeongguk spots some signs of decay, missing stones in the containing walls overlooking the water, an unnatural lean affecting the lighthouse as if the ground was giving way under it. He frowns. Didn’t his brother put anyone in charge of maintenance?
He leaps on the wharf as the motorboat is still performing the docking operations, landing easily out of muscle memory from when he and Junghyun used to commute daily by boat from the villa to the school on the mainland, just 200 metres as the crow flies, even though the crossing took – and still takes – a good quarter of an hour since the nearest port is further away.
Nobody is waiting for him, not unusual since he didn’t tell anyone the exact time of his arrival, and anyway, there’s no luggage to unload, which will be delivered – if everything goes smoothly – the next day.
A portion of the natural park is visible beyond the wet basin on his left, and he’s surprised to see that it looks like an unattended jungle, an inextricable tangle of excessively long branches, creeping ivy and fallen or falling trees where there used to be clear tracks, their rock pavement now barely visible under the scutch. There’s no doubt it was abandoned, and a long time ago at that: he wonders why as he takes the path on his right, heading towards the villa.
Luckily, the area close to the living quarters seems to experience much better conditions: in the English garden, the rose bushes share the same deliberate wild-and-fallow look as the ones in his memories, and his mother’s greenhouse is still intact and in use, pink orchids peeking out through the glass panels. On the terrace on the roof of the servants’ quarters, right in front of the above main house, the symmetry of the formal Italian garden is unchanged: the boxwood hedges in the shape of the family coat of arms are low, even if it’s obvious they haven’t been pruned in a while, and the statues are whole – the stone ones, at least: the topiary which should represent a Venus is overgrown and now shares an uncanny resemblance to a penguin.
Stepping into the entrance hall after such a long time away from home almost prompts Jeongguk to ask for permission, but he bites his tongue to stop the “Excuse me?” from tumbling out as he folds the sunglasses and tucks them into the collar of his navy shirt. Silence surrounds him, feeling out of place where he remembers servants scurrying around carrying blankets to wash and food to serve, his mother giving orders to welcome guests like a generaless to her brigade. Now that she is unable to do so, he supposes it’s only natural that everything has quieted down.
Without waiting for the arrival of the butler to welcome him, Jeongguk finds the way upstairs without hesitation, climbing the steps and reaching the East wing on the second floor where his mother’s apartment has always been located. He knocks lightly on the jamb and opens the door before even hearing the answer.
Propped against the headboard, Misook, Countess Jeon, would look unaffected by the accident she was involved in if it wasn’t for her legs in traction suspended from the metal scaffolding that frames the king-sized bed she’s been sleeping in since the day of her marriage. Her onyx black hair – not a grey strand in sight – flows smoothly on her shoulders, well-combed and tidy as she’s always kept it, although not collected in the usual bun out of convenience. It partly blankets her sharp features, softening her appearance a little and giving her voice a more mellow tone when she widens her eyes and asks, “... Jeongguk?”
“Mum,” he calls, choking out a sigh, then he’s by her side, collecting her into his arms as Misook melts into tears.
“I’m here… don’t cry, it’s not good for your health…” he pleads, but she pays him no heed, hiccuping despite her cracked ribs, clinging onto him for dear life. Such desperation is so uncharacteristic of his mother, usually stoic and impenetrable, that Jeongguk feels guilty for cutting ties and leaving her alone all these years. If he knew what was about to happen, he would have called on his birthday the week before.
“I’m sorry, mum, I came as soon as I heard…” he apologises through her unintelligible wails, caressing her back in a meagre attempt to ease the pain. With each stroke, all the decisions he took at eighteen lose their sense – leaving home to take his degree in Italy, staying there after graduating, progressively ignoring his family’s attempts at getting in touch, everything because the mere thought of the island reminded Jeongguk of him—
Misook emits a strangled groan and starts coughing violently, startling him.
“Mum? What’s wrong? Do you need anything? Mum!” With every word he says, his voice sounds even more panicked, especially when the woman doesn’t answer, clawing her chest instead as she pulls out of Jeongguk’s hug and scrambles to reach out to the emergency call bell. After successfully pressing the button, she flops down against the pillows, chest heaving as the alarm rings through the house. Her other hand never stops crushing Jeongguk’s.
Nobody speaks, and the dragging silence is broken only by the footsteps of the approaching nurse. They just give one strong knock before swinging the door open, and Jeongguk turns to see who exactly has the nerve to act as if this was their home right when the newcomer opens his mouth.
“Milady, are you… Oh.”
What the Hell.
Jeongguk’s past stands just beyond the threshold, full lips slightly parted in surprise as their eyes meet, seemingly freezing them in time as they study each other with equal parts wariness and bewilderment. He is the first one to recover, coughing lightly to clear his throat and shifting his gaze to Misook, who doesn’t seem to have noticed anything.
“What can I do for you, Milady?” he asks softly, voice as melodious as the one committed to Jeongguk’s memory.
“Bring me water… and paracetamol,” Misook whispers, closing her eyes as if it could lessen the pain. She doesn’t reopen them until the man is back with a full glass and a blister pack.
“Here, Milady,” he says in the same calm, reassuring tone, extending the water and a white round pill to her, but before Misook can even lift her arm, Jeongguk intercepts them.
“I can help her, thank you,” he states in dismissal, then makes the mistake of looking at the other in the eyes again. His face is closer now, and if Jeongguk wanted, he could count the lashes – long, dark, beautiful – that line his black almond eyes, but he can’t bring himself to do anything, completely enthralled by the gaze peering at him from beneath brown fringes. A whiff of scent reaches Jeongguk’s nostrils, something clean and floral, so pleasant that he inhales it before he can stop himself. His eyes almost flutter shut as sweetness fills his senses, stunning him and taking his breath away.
Again, he is the one to take them out of the trance.
“Well, then…” he says, taking a bow and excusing himself. The door closes behind him with a click, and Jeongguk struggles to divert his attention from the wood panel and go back to his mother, as if staring at it long enough could allow him to see through it.
“Isn’t there anyone here to… help you?” he finally asks, carefully avoiding to use take care, as he knows well enough that his mother would hate even the idea of having to depend on anyone. “Where’s the staff?”
As expected, Misook dismisses his concerns with a hand wave. “Please, let’s not talk about this. I can manage on my own, I’m not an old hag yet. Rather, let’s talk about you. How was Italy?”
Resigned (but only for now; they’ll need to face the problem anyway at some point, whether she likes it or not), he starts sharing some anecdotes about the vineyard he bought in Valpolicella and the wine they’ve been producing (they’re still trying to strike the perfect balance of flavours, but the upcoming grape harvest looks promising – what a shame that Jeongguk won’t be able to be there with the pickers), and goes a bit back to his university life, trying to blame his rash younger self for all the tattoos that now decorate his right arm – and which Misook clearly disapproves – when in reality, most of them aren’t even three years old.
They don’t mention Junghyun, not even in passing. After all the crying Misook did after she saw Jeongguk, the last thing he’d want is to cause her another coughing fit in her condition. They have a lot of time ahead of them to discuss what happened, when the pain will have subsided and the situation will be settled. Truth be told, Jeongguk himself hasn’t had time to really digest and accept it yet; it all feels surreal as if it was happening to someone else, not to him.
“I should leave you to rest now— no, don’t worry, I’ll stay in my room at the villa, I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures her, tenderly squeezing her hand.
“Please come visit me often,” Misook pleads as she squeezes back, eyes growing a little bit watery.
“I’ll do my best, but I also have to check the ledgers and take over the estate management, not to mention the issues relating to my vineyard,” he reminds her, in the hopes that mentioning more practical matters will distract her from the incoming fresh tears.
It seems to work: Misook’s eyes look much drier after batting her lashes. “Right, you need to work too. My good, responsible boy,” she approves, then: “If you need anything, just ask Seokjin, okay?”
Jeongguk holds his breath a little at the name, so quiet that his mother doesn’t even notice the barrage of questions that fight to bubble up his throat.
What is Seokjin doing here? Why did he come back? Did he ever leave in the first place, or did he stay on the island after Jeongguk ran away?
It’s not something he can ask her without raising suspicions, so he swallows them back. One way or another, he’ll know the answers in no time – he has to interact with Seokjin at some point, anyway.
Surprisingly, he can’t wait.
Jeongguk doesn’t search for long before finding Seokjin. Actually, he doesn’t even search since, upon stepping out of his mother’s bedroom, he sees the other walking down the hallway with his back to him, hoodie tapering to his waist to highlight Seokjin’s hourglass figure.
Jeongguk swallows, then heaves a deep breath before calling, “Seokjin! Seokjin-ssi?”
The man in question stops in his tracks and turns slowly, as if he was taking his time to push his face into indifference. The attempt is only half successful, his thick eyebrows slightly bent in a wary expression.
“Yes, Milord?”
Somehow, those impersonal words stir Jeongguk a bit closer to anger. He takes two steps toward Seokjin, walking away from his mother’s chambers.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, gritting his teeth.
Seokjin points at the door behind himself, stating calmly, in a tone that Jeongguk would only describe as petulant: “This is my bedroom.”
What? “Who says it? Since when?”
“Since five years ago, per Milady’s request,” Seokjin answers, abandoning the emotionless facade and spewing the words as if he was the one who had the right to be angry. It’s a bitterness that Jeongguk has never associated with him, but alas, people are bound to change over time. “What do you even care?”
“Until proven otherwise, this is my house, Seokjin-ssi,” Jeongguk points out, taking another step forward.
“And I am your house’s keeper, Jeongguk-ssi,” Seokjin lashes back, crossing his arms. “Try to keep yourself updated, okay?”
Jeongguk’s face heats up, a fire fueled as much by anger as by shame. “What about your father?”
Seokjin shrugs. “He got old and retired away from this place at the arse end of the world.”
Jeongguk’s teeth clash so hard that he feels a stabbing pain in his jaw. “Do you want to fight so badly?”
“I’m merely answering your questions,” Seokjin denies, sounding very far from convincing.
“Well, keep answering where my mother can’t hear us, at least,” Jeongguk seethes, pointing at the library door not far away from them.
Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t protest and follows him into the room, leaning on a bookshelf with his arms still crossed in a closed-off stance. Jeongguk, for his part, props himself against the edge of a desk.
“So you replaced your father as the keeper. No one told me,” he admits, wishing that someone had so that he could have prepared himself. “But I guess there wasn’t much to say, given the stellar job you did turning our park into an unlivable jungle.”
“You can’t expect me to keep it in order on my own,” Seokjin replies defensively.
Here, it would be easy for Jeongguk to stress the other’s ineptitude again, but he decides against it, far more interested in the state of the island.
“Speaking about it, I didn’t meet a single soul coming here from the pier,” Jeongguk considers. “I’m not expecting the same people as seven years ago to still be working for us, but I saw no butler, no gardeners – obviously – and not even a single maid or the governess. Where is everyone?”
Seokjin assesses him for a long moment before exhaling a sigh, the air coming out of his nose. “You really don’t know anything, huh?”
It isn’t meant to insult him, so Jeongguk takes no offence and just shakes his head. “I guess I was too far away to tell me what was happening.” Too uncaring to even bother to ask.
“Well, then… Junghyun fired them all, one after the other. The gardeners first, then the butler, the governess with the maids, and lastly the cook. The estate has had no employees for two and a half years now,” Seokjin recounts.
“No employees but you,” Jeongguk corrects, voice quiet as he takes the news in. “You stayed.”
“... I stayed,” Seokjin confirms, looking away to stare at anything but the table where Jeongguk is sitting. “Someone had to, to help them with such a huge house, and… I…” he hesitates, pressing his lips together before continuing in a lower tone, “I cared enough about this place and its inhabitants to be the one.”
For an instant, Jeongguk’s ribcage turns into a bass drum, vibrating strongly with a low, boom sound as his heart kicks the bones like the mallet hits the drumhead. It lasts just long enough for him to notice it, and gosh, he’s so stupid for being moved by Seokjin’s words.
He deflects, focusing on more pressing matters. “Why did Junghyun fire them?”
“Because of money, what else? The estate is on the verge of bankruptcy, moving closer to the edge with each passing day.”
The estate is what, now?
“I don’t believe you,” Jeongguk declares, too much in disbelief to even entertain the idea.
Seemingly miffed at being doubted, Seokjin spats, “Wait until you see the ledgers. Or, I don’t know, pretend that everything’s okay and not going to shit like your mother does.”
“Respectfully, my mother has other things to think about, especially now,” Jeongguk points out, equally miffed and more rightfully so.
Realising what he said, Seokjin pales. “... You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I know how taxing this situation is on her.”
“... How is she?” Jeongguk asks. During the little time he spent with his mother, her focus was stubbornly on him, refusing to even mention herself. She was impenetrable like a fortress, but Seokjin must have more insight into her well-being since he spent days with her after the incident.
“Sometimes… she just acts like nothing happened,” Seokjin starts, uncrossing his arms to fidget with his fingers, picking at the non-existent hangnails. “She speaks as if the lake hadn’t swallowed Junghyun, but he managed to get to safety and is just recovering somewhere, waiting to come back anytime.”
“Oh, fuck…” Jeongguk murmurs, bringing the back of his fingers to his mouth, pondering. If his mother starts detaching herself from reality, he’ll need to transfer her to a hospital on the mainland to seek help from a psychologist, and he wouldn’t want to uproot her from home when she’s so fragile.
“Other times, and especially in the early morning after waking up, everything seems to dawn on her, and she has these… wailing fits where she cries her heart out, which isn’t good for her ribs.”
It sounds similar to what Jeongguk witnessed earlier in her bedroom, and something that he’d rather not see anymore. The silver lining – if one exists in this situation – is that Misook seems to be having a hard time processing the sudden loss of her eldest son rather than denying it altogether.
A new question makes itself known on the tip of Jeongguk’s tongue, ready to be voiced. It’s something he’s been curious about, something he’s been wondering ever since the news reached him, but he hesitates, knowing that the answer will likely be the hardest thing to listen to in his whole life. It takes a lot of courage to finally force the words out.
“... What happened, exactly?”
Seokjin doesn’t answer immediately, studying Jeongguk in silence for a long while instead, pondering, probably judging whether the other man is ready to hear the story. Hell, Jeongguk wouldn’t even ask if that wasn’t the case. Who did Seokjin take him for?
He’s about to prod him into speaking when Seokjin replies with another question.
“Do you remember how late summer storms can be unforgiving here?”
Of course he does. The transition to autumn is somewhat violent, sudden and uncertain on the island, constantly swinging between chilly mornings, hot sunny afternoons, and nights that demand extra blankets and lit fireplaces. One would easily be fooled by the clear skies, only to find themselves in the freezing pelting rain the following moment.
At Jeongguk’s nod, Seokjin goes on.
“That day, since the weather was particularly nice, Junghyun decided to go on a boat ride. He took the speedboat, since he hadn’t ridden it in a while, and convinced Milady to join him.” Knowing Misook’s aversion to the speedboat, it was surprising she even agreed in the first place, but Junghyun had always been her favourite. “As you probably already guessed, about an hour after their departure, grey clouds started gathering in the sky, and soon it was raining. I don’t know where exactly they went, but by the time they warned by radio that they were coming back, the storm had picked up strength and the wind was blowing so strong that I heard the noise of trees falling coming from the park.”
Jeongguk shivers on impulse at the image, knowing full well how nasty the storms hitting the island can be and often are. September is the worst month to spend there, and his father used to say that the only good things about it were Jeongguk’s birth and chestnut picking. “But I wouldn’t swear on the chestnuts,” he’d say with a playful wink.
“Junghyun was an experienced boatman,” Seokjin is saying, “but the squall was too much even for him, and the speedboat crashed against the containing walls as they were fighting to enter the harbour.”
“Don’t stop,” Jeongguk requests, noticing the other hesitating. His voice is faint and unconvincing, but Seokjin obeys.
“Junghyun was thrown overboard and disappeared underwater. Milady was luckier – if we can use this word – because the boat crashed close enough to the wharf that she managed to reach out to it. And she would have been able to get off if a wave hadn’t hit the side, making her lose her balance and fall overboard. She was able to cling to the dock, but was crushed between it and the sinking speedboat, resulting in the fractures you know about.”
Horrified, Jeongguk feels teardrops forming in the corners of his eyes. “She barely survived…” he whispers. “If it wasn’t for the rescuers, she would have been… I don’t even want to think about it.”
He shuts his eyelids, pressing on his temples in the hopes it staves the tears away. It seems to work, and when he reopens his eyes a few minutes later, he sees that Seokjin has stepped closer, almost invading his personal space, and is looking at him with eyes full of sadness.
“Milady will be fine, the doctor who operated her legs said that she’ll be able to walk again in two months, albeit with the aid of crutches,” Seokjin tells him in reassurance. “It will take six months to heal completely, but it’s not that long. Time will pass in a flash, and next spring she will be back to tending to her greenhouse.”
While Jeongguk is happy that his mother’s prognosis is favourable, the pity he can hear in Seokjin’s voice somehow irritates him, and he takes a step back in avoidance.
“That’s great, thank you for informing me,” he says curtly, looking away. “I’ll hire a carer to keep her company during her recovery, they’ll be here in a couple of days tops.”
From the corner of his eyes, he sees Seokjin opening his mouth to speak, then pausing and finally making up his mind. Jeongguk knows what the other is about to suggest even before Seokjin says it.
“Well, I could continue to take care of Mil—”
“No,” Jeongguk cuts him off, raising a hand to stop Seokjin there. “I need you to focus on the garden and the park. In fact, you know what? You should leave the house and go back to the keeper’s hut, it would be more convenient. The new caretaker will need a room, anyway.”
Seokjin fumbles, flabbergasted. “Excuse me, what? That room has been mine for years now, and the keeper’s hut hasn’t been used for half a decade,” he protests, getting more upset by the second. “It’s abandoned and there’s barely any electricity there!”
“I don’t care, you can repair it when you get there. That’s your job, after all,” Jeongguk spats. “If it’s not clear enough, it’s an order, Seokjin-ssi. I want you out of here by dinner time.”
Seokjin’s nostrils flare in anger like a bull’s, and for a few, tense moments, Jeongguk wonders if he’s going to charge and pounce. Actually, he wouldn’t mind a fight, feeling the other’s body clash with his as they scuffle.
Seokjin, however, decides against it. He takes a deep, steadying breath and flashes Jeongguk a delightful smile as he answers, mellifluously: “Your wish is my command, Milord.”
It sounds more like a Fuck you, and riles Jeongguk up to the point that he starts trembling nervously as soon as Seokjin leaves the library to go pack his belongings.
How dare he? Jeongguk came back to face the tragedy and mourn at his mother’s side, and yet all he could think of now was Seokjin, who invaded and monopolised his senses as soon as Jeongguk heard his voice again for the first time in years.
He couldn’t help but notice how much Seokjin changed as Jeongguk was away. His hair, once a reddish-orange bush, was trimmed and brought back to its natural dark brown hue, the fringes falling softly over his thick brows and onyx eyes. Somewhere along the way, he forwent eyeliner and switched to lip balm, which makes his mouth look moist, more plump and shiny, eye-catching. Seokjin also put on some weight and muscles and now his chest fills the lilac fleece hoodie better; consequently, his shoulders also look less angular, though still as lake-wide as when they first met. He was probably born that way, and Seokjin’s mother would be able to attest to that, but that kind of anecdotes were never shared, for the woman in question was never in the picture, as far as Jeongguk knows, nor mentioned. It had always been just Seokjin and his father.
It was to reunite with said father that Seokjin came to the island in the summer of seven years ago. He was twenty-three heading to twenty-four, fresh out of university, some boarding school on the mainland where he had lived since middle school, and happy to finally spend time with his old man whom he could only meet during vacations. Instead, he found himself stuck with Jeongguk, the youngest son of his father’s employers.
Well, not that Seokjin had much choice: it was Jeongguk, eighteen years old and plagued by boredom, who decided it would be fun to pester the stranger. Seokjin was older, new and somehow exotic, coming from the big outside world which the younger would soon navigate as he started his university studies abroad. Seokjin was nothing like that stuck-up of Junghyun, who looked down on Jeongguk every time the latter tried to drag him into some brotherly activity, acting as if he was too grown-up for any of them even though they were only two years apart.
Naively, Seokjin gave Jeongguk a free hand, and the other eagerly took the whole arm. The elder used to go fishing at a stony beach, hidden in a remote corner of the natural park and rendered evocative by a crown of bald cypresses that shaded it. Since the water was shallow, casting the line there made little sense, but Seokjin didn’t really care about catching something: it was his personal version of a zen garden, and he enjoyed idling away in the peaceful atmosphere surrounding the area.
Until Jeongguk came to disrupt it. The first time, Seokjin was so caught by surprise by his appearance that he screamed, slipped and fell in the water, soaking his shorts through to his underwear; legends had it that a flock of ducks had taken flight over the forest, annoyed by the ruckus. Jeongguk, on the other hand, was so terribly amused by the sight of a beat-red, dripping Seokjin that he started showing up in the most outlandish ways just to see him startle and shout, going as far as diving underwater and sneaking up on him pretending to be a fish caught on the hook.
And caught on the hook Jeongguk was, even though he didn’t immediately realise that the warmth and sheer happiness he felt when he was in the elder’s company, who was now fully expecting his arrival and playing along with him, were the very same feelings that he had been told he would one day have for a girl.
Seokjin was his gay awakening, and the fish he playfully hurled at Jeongguk after yet another prank was what the younger liked to consider his first courting gift. They kissed for the first time on the night of Jeongguk’s nineteenth birthday, hidden away in a nook of the library so that no one would find them and their secret out, knowing how frowned upon relationships between the staff and the family members were. And even if technically Seokjin wasn’t part of the staff, they were still two men in a world unprepared to fully accept them.
It was the same library where Jeongguk is standing now, and he can’t stop himself from wondering if Seokjin still tastes like peaches, still kisses as if he would gladly accept Jeongguk’s mouth as his only source of air.
He palms his face as a groan bubbles out of his throat at the thought. He shouldn’t even entertain such questions, but he’s unable to resist them, for while Seokjin at twenty-three had the charm of a scruffy pirate and risky adventures, the Seokjin of now exudes the sensuality Jeongguk associates with the alcove, sandalwood incense and scented essential oils. He aged like the finest of wines, and since then Jeongguk has learnt how to appreciate the fermented fruit of the grape, but even just thinking about starting over where they left off would be the most shameful of decisions, and Jeongguk’s memory reminds him exactly why, replaying the words with which Seokjin had ended their affair just three months after it started.
“I feel like a pervert every time I kiss you.”
Once again, it’s like his guts were sucker-punched, knocking air out of his lungs and leaving him breathless. The hurt and fury he felt at the time resurface with ease as if he had never completely gotten over them, and he holds onto a bookcase, gripping the shelf so tightly his knuckles turn white.
He hadn’t seen the blow coming, for Seokjin didn’t seem displeased with their constant lip-locking and Jeongguk’s hands on him, even though his hard-headed refusal to take the final step was probably dropping enough hints. But Jeongguk was blind to it, his inexperienced self only paying attention to what his eyes could see, his hands caress; and the answer he got from that alone was that Seokjin would soon capitulate in his arms.
Contrary to his expectations, the elder completely pulled back instead, uttering those words that made Jeongguk feel younger than he had ever been when he thought he was adult enough to be taken seriously. Seokjin clearly had a different opinion and was probably looking forward to getting rid of him to turn his attention to older partners.
Jeongguk was so deeply wounded and humiliated that when the boat which would take him away from the island docked, he got on it without looking back, praying that Seokjin would no longer be a part of his life.
Fate, however, seemed to have other plans.
“We’ll see,” Jeongguk says through gritted teeth, to no one in particular.
First, he’ll search for a caretaker for his mother. Then he’ll check the ledgers, talk to the bank, see if their finances are really that bad, and hire people to restore the park to its original state. By the time Jeongguk is finished and has to return to Italy, Seokjin will be so superfluous that he will no longer have a reason to stay.
By hook or by crook, no matter what it takes, Jeongguk will convince him to leave.
Anything to bury whatever sensation is stirring inside him whenever his thoughts wander in Seokjin’s direction.
In his bedroom, Seokjin folds and packs his clothes calmly, contrary to his inner agitation.
The reason? Jeongguk.
“Brat,” he seethes as he puts a shirt away; bratbratbrat, his mind echoes. He doesn’t know, however, if he’s referring to Jeongguk or himself. The younger’s vindictive reaction was expected given how badly they separated, but Seokjin wasn’t planning to entertain his tragic hero’s delusions, not until his mind went haywire and decided that offence was the best defence.
He said things about the island he didn’t even mean, and now here he is, driven away from his bedroom out of revenge.
Two pairs of shorts find their place in the luggage as Seokjin admits to himself that, even though he was the one who got dumped, Jeongguk has more right to be resentful. A petty eviction is nothing compared to what Seokjin told him on that fateful December day seven years ago – and while they were happily celebrating Seokjin’s birthday in a horizontal position, no less.
He could have phrased it better, but its substance wouldn’t have changed: Jeongguk’s age made Seokjin uncomfortable.
It wasn’t their age difference, really: five years weren’t insurmountable in a world where couples dated despite bigger gaps, but society dictated what ages were acceptable for partners involved in a romantic relationship, and ruled that the younger they were, the more a large gap was to be avoided. So, even though five years wasn’t much, it felt as such because of the 1 in front of Jeongguk’s age and the 2 in front of Seokjin’s. That damned 1 nagged at him from the back of his mind, bringing maliciously into focus that Jeongguk shared the same decade with a whole lot of minors, and while Jeongguk wasn’t a minor anymore, it still made Seokjin wonder if he could be considered a—
He slams the bag shut, not even wanting to think about that word. “Pervert” was more tolerable to him, but an equally hurtful way to express the corrosive feeling that managed to creep up on him, conditioned by those beliefs well-rooted in their society.
Anyway, what’s done is done. Seokjin’s only regret is that Jeongguk had completely withdrawn and cut him out before he could even beg for a chance to both better explain his unfortunate choice of words and work together on his block, moving up his departure to Italy and leaving in haste.
And afterwards, Seokjin did things that Jeongguk, as hot-headed as he is, would never forgive, not even if he could put those words behind him. A point of no return existed, and Seokjin had surpassed it one too many times.
Since he insisted on shoving all his clothes and belongings into only one bag to take his unwelcome self out of the house as soon as possible, the luggage thuds heavily at the bottom of the stairs, and he has to rest there a little to take a breather before picking it back up. It feels loaded with rocks, and Seokjin whispers a curse as he drags it through the entrance hall and out of the door, his lungs pumping like bellows. He rests yet again on the welcome mat – its writing mocking him – before going down a couple of steps, praying he won’t take the whole afternoon to reach the keeper’s hut at the farthest end of the English garden. At least he is alone in his suffering, not even a bird in the sky witnessing—
Suddenly, the hair on his nape stands on end as a shiver racks his spine.
Someone is watching him, and Seokjin knows exactly who.
For the second time in a matter of hours, he finds himself turning to face Jeongguk. Seokjin takes a bit to locate him, catching sight of the other looking down at him from behind the closed panes of a window on the villa’s second floor. His right arm is lifted to move the white curtain away, giving Seokjin a full view of the multicolour tattoos that adorn it, while the other hand is tucked in his trouser pocket, contributing to his nonchalant posture. His expression is of uncaring contemplation, at least until his eyes meet Seokjin’s: at this, Jeongguk sniggers, wholly satisfied with the elder’s struggle.
Flushing brightly, Seokjin drops the bag. You petty brat, I’ll bite your ass if you cross me, he swears in his mind and, to convey his threat, he points at Jeongguk’s smug face, at his own ass, then mimics a ferocious bite that has his teeth clattering. He finally lifts a fist in the air, hurling it in the other’s direction and getting a pronounced eyebrow lift in response. Satisfied but still fuming, Seokjin picks his bag up again and stomps away, pushing ahead despite the strain in his body so as not to appear weak in the younger’s eyes.
From his observation post at the window, Jeongguk stares in disbelief at Seokjin waddling away. I challenge you to bite my ass? Seriously? Is Seokjin so brazen to make suggestive propositions to his ex that he hates and who hates him back not even two hours after meeting again in seven years?
Does he think that Jeongguk brushed everything under the rug? That he would even find Seokjin’s ass biteable? When it’s flat like a flatfish?
Come on.
And yet, the snigger on Jeongguk’s mouth turns into a smirk so amused he has to bite his bottom lip to prevent it from spreading further.