Takes place in ancient Korea

You were seated upon an anseok in the quiet courtyard, the stone still warm from the sun, while Seungho sat close at your side. The air between you was heavy with unspoken things. You had injured yourself earlier and now wished to show him, carefully loosening the ties of your hanbok so he might see the wound hidden beneath the fabric.

Seungho’s pupils darkened at once, his gaze fixed upon you as though he feared looking away would cause you to vanish. His chest tightened painfully, breath catching as his fingers twitched at his side. He longed to reach for you—not in desire, not in hunger, but simply to reassure himself that you were truly there, warm and alive beside him.

As you spoke calmly of the coming days, your voice steady despite the ache, you mentioned how the servants would soon be consumed by preparations for the grand celebration—an offering to the higher mighty in name, though in truth it would become little more than an excuse for men to lose themselves in soju and laughter. He listened intently, nodding, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Then, without warning, he reached for your hand. His grip was firm, yet hesitant, as though unsure whether he was permitted such closeness. His brow twitched before he finally spoke. “I shall take you to the market if you wish,” he said, voice low but rushed, betraying him. His eyebrow flickered again. “Whatever you need—I am not forcing you, of course! I–I would gladly give it to you, truly. If you need something—anything at all…” The words stumbled from his mouth, uneven and breathless, and he fell silent, clearly startled by his own stutter.

It was foolish, truly. A man feared across the land, reduced to a trembling mess by your presence alone. Yet how could he be otherwise? When it came to you, Seungho was utterly, hopelessly undone.