Chapter Text
San heard it before he saw it. The obnoxious roar of a car built for no other reason than to brag, drifting up to him over the distant chatter of students and tires crunching on gravel, mixing with the warm late summer air. Against his will, he averted his gaze from his book.
From his place sat in the bay window of his room, high up on the third floor, he couldn’t make out many details, but that car was unmistakable. An old Mustang, all gleaming fire-red lacquer and flashing chrome, slinking onto the courtyard with the lazy elegance of a panther, coming to a halt across several parking spaces to spit out a young Asian man in baggy clothes, sunglasses glinting as he pushed them onto his head, stepping onto the light grey gravel like he owned the place. San scoffed. Prick.
With mild bewilderment and general dislike, he watched the students flock to him, gathering like moths to a flame, watched him greet them with cavalier handshakes or mere nods of acknowledgment, leaned against his fancy eighties sports car as he entertained his company. Always had to be the centre of attention.
Lightly shaking his head, San returned to his book, that irritating high-pitched, cackling laughter floating in through the open window right beside him as he plucked another yakgwa from the big plastic lunch box stood beside him. It had been so peaceful there, in the soft August breeze of the sunny afternoon, snacking on his mother’s honey biscuits as he read the newest publication from his favourite romance author, right up until Jung Wooyoung had shown up. Now there was this itch right under his skin, robbing him of his peace.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the wooden door to his room creaked open to reveal a lanky white boy with a lazy grin. “Look who it is,” his best friend stated smugly, sauntering into the room as the door fell shut, “Choi San himself. Hiding up here again?”
“This is my room,” San replied absent-mindedly, flipping a page. He sighed. “Adelaide and Seonghwa are at the willow, if you’re looking for them.”
Arthur tsked disapprovingly, slouching against the window frame by his feet. “Darling, I know. Who do you think told me you’re holed up in your room?” He reached his long arm for the box of yakgwa, stealing two as he turned his head to the window, sunlight flooding over his tanned, freckled cheeks. Then he heaved a dramatic sigh. “Such a pretty boy, isn’t he?”
San looked up, traced Arthur’s line of sight to the fire-red Mustang and rolled his eyes, went back to his book. “He’s an arsehole is what he is.”
Their conversation faltered, then, him reading, his best friend leaned against the window frame, the commotion of arriving students distantly filling the room. And usually, he didn’t mind Arthur being in his room while he read, even liked it, but he’d been up since four in the morning, had a five hour drive with a horse trailer and several hours of getting things set up behind himself, and all he really wanted was another thirty minutes or more of undisturbed reading time.
So when Arthur still didn’t make any moves to leave five minutes later, he sighed and tore himself from his book. “Mate, did you just come here to stare out my window?” he asked, a sliver of irritation in his voice. “Or d’you want something from me?”
The young man idly ran a hand through his blond locks. “Can I not simply want to see you?” He turned to him with a lazy smile. “You’re right, though. Adelaide told me to tell you to come to the willow.”
San raised an eyebrow. “And she couldn’t’ve done that herself?”
“If you would check your phone,” the other replied, travelling off. Then he pushed himself off the window frame and wandered towards the door. “Well, I’ll check on Nova now, see if Pete’s managed to mess up his supplements again, but I heavily suggest you don’t keep the girls waiting for too long.” With a languidly lifted hand, a graceful look over his narrow shoulder and a soft, teasing ‘bye’, he slipped through the door and left him to his book.
San sighed, flipped forward until he found the start of the next chapter – seven pages – and decided to finish the chapter before he got ready to head out. He savoured these last few minutes of quiet, paragraphs flying by worryingly quickly, and then the title of the next chapter taunted him from the page and he sighed deeply, sliding a receipt between the pages as he closed the book. Time to get dressed, he supposed.
Closing the window, he spared the courtyard a last glance, dragging his lip up in disgust at the sunlight glinting on the bracelets wound around Jung Wooyoung’s wrist, the confident smirk he could see from up there. Turning away from the window, he shook his head to himself, then opened his closet and considered its contents; he really needed a new pair of tights (or five), but the dark brown ones would have to do for now. He just hoped no one would see him.
He made a disgruntled sound as he brushed his fingers over the worn down silicone on the inside of his knees, glad that the thicker black fabric on the inside of the legs somewhat hid the horrible state of it. Slipping into one of his wear-softened polo shirts, he sighed about the fact that decent riding trousers cost half a fortune, picked up his phone as he plucked a pair of gloves from his closet, eyebrows shooting up when he spotted six missed calls and way too many messages from his friends. What could possibly be that important?
In his freshly greased knee-high boots, he eventually left his room, phone tucked into the pocket on his thigh, and locked it behind himself. The few students scattered about the hallway barely spared him a glance as he snuck by, too busy with getting settled in, and he internally thanked himself for having had the foresight to arrive in the morning so he wouldn’t have to move his things about when everything was crowded.
He left the house through the terrace door, striding over the neatly cut lawn, headed straight for the stable. From somewhere to his right, the satisfying clack of hooves on pavement sounded through the afternoon air, but he paid it no mind, slipping on his gloves, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he approached one of the paddocks attached to the low stable.
Diogenes waited for him at the fence, brown ears perked, flipping back as he positioned himself parallel to the fence and curved his white-sprinkled neck, gathering his limbs and hindquarters into a piaffe. San giggled, stepping to the fence, clicking his tongue at the gelding in rhythm to encourage him, his smile stretching wider when it made the horse break into a short terre à terre. It wasn’t quite right, but he’d got the spirit.
“Good boy, Dio!” he praised as Diogenes relaxed and came to him, reaching over the wooden fence to caress his pretty brown and white head. “Excited to train, are you?” He chuckled, kissed his soft nose. “Cutie.”
But his phone buzzed in his pocket, reminded him that he had somewhere to be, so he sighed deeply and headed into the stable. Once inside, he crept into the spacious tack room, found his wide locker and unlocked it as he texted Adelaide to relax, that he would be there in a minute. It was always strange, he thought as he walked down the aisle with a black halter slung over his shoulder, how clean this place was. Spotless floor, lacquered wooden boards on the stalls, brightly lit by the warm white overhead lights, smooth surfaces and gleaming metal name plates on stall doors. Still, there was that unmistakable smell of hay and feed and horse.
The door to his box let him in silently, sawdust whispering under his boots as he crossed the empty space, though he never made it past the opening to the paddock before a white, grey-freckled head appeared before him. “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted, sliding the halter off his shoulder, “You wanna ride out?”
Athena flared her nostrils, lightly stretching towards his raising hand, and he couldn’t help smiling as he haltered her, as he led her from the stall and into the hallway, distantly noticing the clack of several other hooves as he stopped to close the door behind himself. Just then, he remembered to take the lounge rope he’d forgotten in the box with him, reaching over the door to get it and-
“Excuse me,” a voice piped up behind him, in the most aggravating posh accent, “Do you mind?”
San rolled his eyes, hanging the bundle of red rope over his shoulder before he turned around; he was, of course, met with the school’s golden boy himself, leading his Dutch warmblood with one hand and his Thoroughbred and Hanoverian with the other. Pure-bred beauties, all of them. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he replied, giving the boy a pointedly fake smile, “Is my existence bothering you?”
Jung Wooyoung tugged one side of his upper lip up ever so slightly, eyeing him with something between disgust and anger. “Funny you would think I give a rat’s arse about you.”
San scoffed. “You seemed to care plenty last year.” He made a grimace of mocking pity. “Mad ‘cause daddy can’t buy you skill?”
The other’s jaw worked. “That won’t happen again.” He sent him a withering glare. “I will crush you this year, Choi. Just you watch me.”
“Oh, I will.” He gave him a sweet smile and turned away, began to walk towards the grooming space. “From right ahead of you.” He felt those eyes on his back like daggers until he turned the corner, a gleefully satisfied smile distorting his face. That fucking prick. Crush him, as if. The only thing Jung Wooyoung would crush was Cailín’s back, if he didn’t fix his seat. Such a shame to see an incredible horse like her go to waste on someone who didn’t know what to do with her potential. If he could get just one hour on her…
Sighing, he tied Athena to a steel ring in one of the grooming stalls, running his hand along the top of her grey-speckled white back – at the height of his nose – and into her tail as he left, heading back to the tack room. He caught another glimpse of Jung Wooyoung as he went, stood in his spacious box, caressing his Thoroughbred’s wine-dark, chestnut red head as his mares wandered onto their paddock, smiling lightly as he fixed Ivo’s forelock. San half wished he’d just get a stable hand, like everyone else.
Snatching the old gym bag with the grooming supplies from his locker, slinging it over his shoulder, he returned to Athena, and then he fell into the utterly familiar rhythm of grooming her. He didn’t think as he brushed her fur, scraped out her hooves, not really, following the motions he’d gone through countless times by pure muscle memory, and he only really came back to himself as he hung the new brown bridle over his shoulder, heaved the dark brown saddle onto his arm, saddle cloth and all, and picked his helmet from its place on the top shelf.
When he eventually rode from the stable, ducking under the low door frame, he’d had to promise Adelaide that he’d hurry up, but when he’d asked her what all the fuss was about, she’d shushed him and told him he’d find out once he’d gotten his arse to the willow. So much for that, then.
But it was a nice day for a ride out, he had to admit that. Mild late August, rare sunshine, a particularly cool day, the fresh air of the countryside, the clop of hooves, the familiar shift of a powerful body beneath him, and as he approached the forest and its well-ridden pathways, he considered that this might be better than his original plan of reading for the rest of the day. He had always loved a nice, calm ride through the green summer meads.
He let his mind wander as he encouraged Athena into a trot, listening to the sound of her hooves, the song of the birds, the breeze rustling in the crowns of trees, comfortably rising and lowering himself in the saddle in rhythm with the horse’s steps. Then there was that turn-off, the road sloping and curving uphill, and he barely had to nudge his heels into Athena’s sides and she broke into a canter; though not her hunter’s gallop, not the one that stretched her body as she raced along the road, but a calm, collected one that reminded him of the speed of the ponies he used to ride on when he was little.
It really was nice, he thought as the largest curve approached, sat back in the saddle, just the familiar rhythm of his horse and the summer forest and-
Another set of hooves approached from behind, fast, and then a wine and chestnut blur flashed past him, overtaking easily with long, powerful strides, movements more leaps than steps, thundering ahead as Athena picked up pace. San frowned, only caught a glimpse of the rider – bareback, baggy clothes, open hair, no helmet, like he’d just put the bridle on the horse and jumped on – and then the pair disappeared into the forest in a bolt of red and black lightning.
San grit his teeth. Fucking show-off. He really could do nothing in peace around here, could he? Thank Jung Wooyoung for that.
Predictably, his mood was less than ideal when he eventually headed down the drag path far into the forest, reins held loose, one hand resting on his thigh. He spotted the gleaming pearl fur of Adelaide’s Akhal-Teke first, glowing like silk even in the shade, then Seonghwa’s rabbit-brown Trakehner, and finally the deep velvet black of Arthur's tall Selle Francais. He heard his friends as he dismounted Athena, chatting somewhere among the whispering branches of the weeping willow, voices floating over the duckweed green pond.
His mare tied to the usual branch, he slid past the curtain of leaves, finding Adelaide and Arthur deep in a discussion about bugs that involved Adelaide wildly gesturing to get her point across while the young man just stood slouched against the trunk of the tree and gazed down at her. He had that idly smug air about him that he put on specifically to annoy her, really drawing out the fact that he was still a good five inches taller than her when he leaned against something.
Arthur lifted a hand in a supposedly calming manner that was calculated to rile her up. “Pet, I see that you are very passionate about this-”
“Don’t you ‘pet’ me, Somerled,” Adelaide demanded, lifting her index finger at him in warning, “If you would take just one moment to open yourself to the possibility that, maybe, insects are not simply a pain in your royal arse but an incredibly important part of the ecos-”
“San!” Seonghwa interrupted, pointedly cheerfully, “I’m so glad you made it.” They made a pleading face at him. “Can you get me out of here?” Instead of hugging him to greet him, or shaking his hand, or any other normal way, they latched onto him, clinging to his arm, muttering ‘They’ve been going at it for hours now’ to him as they turned him around and brought him back to the horses.
“So, why exactly did I come?” he asked, irritated, as he was manhandled through the branches, “If you’re just going to drag me off again.”
“Well,” they began, but didn’t get any further.
“I really just wanted to read, y’know,” San continued, “Then I wouldn’t’ve had to see him earlier than absolutely necessary. It’s bad enough that ran into him in the barn and when I rode here.”
“Is this about Wooyoung again?” Seonghwa asked sympathetically, tightening their horse’s saddle girth, “Don’t worry, you won’t see that twat again today. Wouldn’t want to get himself dirty, now, would he?”
He sighed, putting his helmet back on, untying Athena to lead her to the thick trunk behind his best friend’s night black stallion, pointedly bringing more space between the animals when Nova Princeps’ ears perked and he turned ever so slightly. His mare didn’t seem to care one bit, though, and when he’d mounted her, he led her back around to his friend. “Are we just going to go back now, or…?”
Seonghwa swung themselves into the saddle, long black hair sliding over their shoulders in sloping silk strands. “No, silly, of course not,” they replied, tossing their hair back with a graceful flick of their wrist, “We’re riding to the moor.” They straightened themselves, picked up the reins, turned to the willow. “Adelaide, darling, would you quit letting him rile you up? You know he’s only doing this to make you mad, don’t you?”
Through the branches of the willow, San saw her raise her fist at Arthur in anger, saw Arthur snicker as he pushed himself off the trunk, and then Adelaide ran a hand through her outgrown bangs, plucking at the shorter strands at her nape, before she turned on her heels and approached. Her furious frown washed off her face the moment her hand touched her mare’s mother-of-pearl neck.
“Hey,” San greeted her, reaching a hand down to dap her up, “Did you get that with the uniform sorted? How was the talk?”
She made a disapproving sound, taking her helmet off the sand-brown saddle. “She kept thinking I was asking for my sister. ‘Adelaide Lambton? Oh I’m afraid I can’t find that, is she perhaps in another house?’” She sighed. “I tried to explain that I requested a new uniform, that I filled out all the forms last year, that everything has already been discussed, that my uniform should, by all means, be there for me, but it wouldn’t get in her head. Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn this.” She plucked at her loose, almost medieval linen blouse. “Always makes me look so manly.”
“I’ll go with you later,” Seonghwa offered, “I’ve got to show you something, anyway.”
“Thank you, love.” She held onto the saddle, mounted Nazira. “You know, I’ve been getting really into crocheting lately.” Then she led her gorgeous mare towards the drag path, shortly followed by their friend, and the two of them fell into an amicable conversation as San waited for his best friend to finish getting his lanky twig of a body into the saddle, choosing to ignore that he didn’t have a helmet with him.
They talked as they rode, a short distance behind the girls, who were a funny picture; Adelaide in her soft, fairytale blouse, her beautiful, beautiful – but not particularly tall – horse glowing in the sunlight like silver pearls, Seonghwa in their black, rather snugly fitted sports shirt, their mud-brown, tall gelding taking big, lazy strides that the pretty mare had trouble matching. It was a free summer afternoon like any other, really.
He had to admit that he’d missed it, over the summer. Especially stuck in the heat of that horrible, horrible restaurant on main street, smell of the fish market wafting in every time the door opened, slowly wasting away waiting on tables full of tourists and serving mediocre food. God, how he’d wished himself into the clear, cool air of the countryside. One of the countless perks of Salisbury Riding School.
And, he supposed, it wasn’t all that bad to see his friends again, too. Actually, when he thought about that… “So,” he said to his best friend, “How was Italy?”
“Oh, it was dreadful, really.” Arthur sighed. “I mean, I’ve told you all about it, haven’t I? Better than the Caribbean with mum, I suppose, but you know how my father gets when he’s under the impression that I’m having fun.” He ran a hand through his blond curls, gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Cut my frivolous summer romance with the burly stable boy rather short.” He made a regretful nod of his head. “Pity. I barely understood him, you know, but he knew how to flirt, and he had these thick muscles, beautiful black curls, amazing hips and a massive c-”
“Alright, I think I get it.” Heat creeping up his neck, he averted his gaze to Athena’s bobbing white mane. He did not want those pictures in his head. “I don’t need to know all that.”
“You asked.”
“I don’t remember saying ‘Please, Arthur, tell me all about how your stable hand shagged you in the hayloft.’”
Arthur gasped in offence. “The hayloft?! Do you take me for some kind of desperate whore?!”
San gave him a dead serious look. “Yes.”
His best friend dropped his offended act with a sigh. “You’re not wrong. But you would’ve understood if you’d seen him.”
He dragged air through his teeth. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You know I’m more into the lean, pretty kind.” A glance ahead revealed a particular field road that could serve only one purpose; he nudged Athena into a trot. “Anyway; last one at the hunting pulpit pays for the wine!”
Adelaide was on his heels in seconds. Of course she was; she rode Nazira. Following proper etiquette, they trotted to the turn-off of the field road, but the moment the hooves met grass, they dug their heels into their mares’ sides and raced off. This was proper canter now; wide leaps, stretching body, standing in the stirrups as that powerful body shot forward beneath him, hooves thundering on the grassy soil, heart thudding in his chest, wind rushing in his ears, the thrill of chasing that pearl and silk dream of speed across the land.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a brown fleck slowly approaching from his left, and then he tugged Athena left and cut Seonghwa off, forcing them to slow, pushed his horse to pick up speed, cresting the slight hill just after Nazira. The pulpit approached quickly, the distance between him and Adelaide widening easily as the beautiful Akhal-Teke broke into the final sprint, and then Seonghwa inched closer beside him and Athena picked up all on her own, only releasing tension when she’d shot past the pulpit.
They slowed, then, falling into a trot, then a walk, and San scratched Athena’s withers and pet along the crown of her mane and said ‘Good girl, you did so good’ with a babying voice as Arthur caught up to them. San loosened the reins, smiled down at his horse as she shook her head and neck once, snorting, and then he turned to Arthur and grinned at him. “Your turn,” he teased, and then he giggled and headed on to Adelaide.
The fields stretched south, embraced by the dark reaches of forest, and the wind picked up, pushing a gray mass of clouds over the sky, and when they finally arrived at the wet reaches of the moor, the afternoon had turned gloomy. His friends groaned and complained that, if he’d just hurried up, they might have been able to catch a glimpse or two of the wild herd, and that they really could’ve made use of the sunlight while it was there, and he rolled his eyes and agreed that they would gather in his room in the evening, instead of Adelaide’s.
But, until then, he still had quite a lot to do, so he parted ways with his friends by the old border stone and headed for the school. He had to read another two or three chapters of his book, for one, and call his mother, prepare his planner for the year, all that good stuff. But for now, he let go of the reins and rested his hands on his thighs, watching Athena stretch and lower her pretty grey-freckled neck, mind wandering off as he rode home.
He gave her a treat or two before he released her into the stall, hooves scraped out, bit cleaned and everything returned to its proper place, then he lingered at the paddock fence for a while, watching Diogenes doze in the grey afternoon light, before he eventually headed back to Berkeley house. In his room, free of all his riding clothes and instead comfortable in a pair of slacks and an old, washed out purple shirt he only ever wore in his room, he climbed back into the nook of the bay window, crossing his legs on one of the pillows, and called his mum.
In the evening, his friends would be gathered in the spacious confines of his room, one or two bottles of whatever wine Arthur picked, board games and crisps and their voices, and he would go to sleep tipsy and filled with the warm joy of their company and pleasantly heated from a hot shower. But now, after a nice call with his mother, he opened his book, put his legs up, and dove back into the sickeningly sweet world of romance.