A few hours into the night, Min-jun found himself being led away from the crowd in the tavern and into the streets. He was pushed into a little alleyway that smelled a bit like stale wine and vomit, where the both of them could barely fit. Ha-jun spoke, but Min-jun could hardly make out his words through the pounding in his head. People passed them, many of them drunk themselves, unaware, brushing them off as a pair of lovers who were caught in the snares of desire.
Min-jun felt nothing so potent for the man before him. Scholar Ha-jun stood a head taller than him, waxing lyrical about something or another, his arms on either side of Min-jun. Inside, Min-jun’s stomach rolled, his throat closing as nausea seized him. He pushed it down in an attempt to save himself from the humiliation.
What was he doing here? Ah, yes, the night out. Where was his guard anyhow? The King would be angry if he found out Min-jun had snuck away.
The crags of the stone wall behind him dug into Min-jun’s back, and, deciding he’d had enough of the discomfort, he attempted to leave. Before he could wriggle free of his grip, Ha-jun seized him again, grip tighter. No other words were exchanged between them as Ha-jun began to lean in, and through his haze, Min-jun noted with some familiarity that he was likely going to kiss him.
Instinctively, he froze, as if he were still the kisaeng being pulled into dimly lit rooms by men with too much money to spare. Before the scholar could even press their lips together, a part of him rose up in protest. No. Something akin to anger rose inside of him. I am not a kisaeng anymore.
As if on cue, the King’s lessons flooded his mind. Four hours of physical exhaustion certainly carved itself into one’s memory. ‘Keep your thumb on the outside of your wrist, use your knuckles, keep your wrist straight . . .’ Min-jun swung his fist into Ha-jun’s face, breaking his nose in a satisfying snap. Ha-jun brought his own hands up to shield his face, groaning. That opening was all it took for Min-jun to escape. He burst out of the alley and into the crooked street, stumbling a bit in his drunken stupor. The fresh air calmed him down long enough to consider his situation. He needed to get back to his guard.
Unfortunately, in his drunkenness, he’d also managed to lose his sense of direction. Not knowing if he should turn left or right, Min-jun ran, intent only on getting away from the scholar.
Min-jun made it down the street until his nausea got the better of him, then he slunk back into the shadows of another alley and tried to catch his breath. In his frenzied state, he did not notice the man crouching further down the alleyway. A man of lean and muscular physique, wearing what appeared to be rather drab commoner’s clothing. Before his mind could even begin to register the presence of the other man, Min-jun was pinned against yet another wall, a hand clamped down over his mouth. Violet eyes glowered down at him. They opened wide in recognition.
“Min-jun?”
Impossible.
“Hajun-a?”
But not the scholar Ha-jun. The resemblance was undeniable. This was his Ha-jun. Older, certainly, his features having become more defined, sharper, but it was him nevertheless. In his disbelief, Min-jun let his hands rest on Ha-jun’s face. Ha-jun’s lips pursed together, his eyes softening as Min-jun’s fingers played with a stray strand of hair near his ear. Min-jun’s hand moved to cup his cheek, feeling the smooth skin beneath his palms. Ha-jun had long since removed his own hand from Min-jun’s mouth.
As his thumb glided over Ha-jun’s lips, a hand came up to stop him.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“Tbe’gf vgecx jujlc,” Lj-pec rjlv. “Qts tjnf sbe cba gfaegcfv ab atf Ujijmf?”
Llr nblmf rbecvfv ojwliljg, ufcaif jcv rkffa. Zlc-pec rkjsfv j yla, yfobgf rafqqlcu obgkjgv lcab Lj-pec’r fwygjmf. C rfcrf bo rjofas rkfqa bnfg tlw jr, ribkis, Lj-pec’r jgwr mjwf eq ab kgjq jgbecv tlw.
“Ha-jun,” Min-jun mumbled.
“It’s Cheol, actually,” Ha-jun replied, sheepish. Tch, how annoying. How adorable.
A bit of bitterness built up in Min-jun’s chest. “Figures.” He buried his face in Cheol’s shoulder, his throat closing up as if he were to cry. He felt as if he were the boy who’d been left behind again, who had thought no heartache could be more painful than the one left behind by the petty thief he’d grown to care for. “You never told me anything.”
“Are you still angry?” Ha-ju . . . no, Cheol said. The name rolled off his tongue easily, as if he’d known it all along. His intoxicated mind did not want to think of that lingering familiarity. Min-jun tightened his arms around Cheol, sighing.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ll never stop being angry,” Min-jun replied. He dug his nails into Cheol’s back, as if to prove he was angry. Ah, his head was spinning. “I –” He swallowed the nausea. “You should’ve come sooner.”
Cheol did not respond at first, choosing only to hold Min-jun, as if he were someone so precious that he was afraid to let go. “You think things would’ve been different had I done so?”
He didn’t know. They would have both been boys then, hardly older than sixteen. What could they have done in the face of such injustice? No, that wasn’t quite it. Perhaps, all it would’ve taken was one person with the right words to bring Min-jun back from the path Mother wanted him to walk. One person to share his anguish with, and perhaps he would’ve turned her away at the door.
No, the fact remained that he had needed the money for Su-jin’s medicine. He’d have been thrown in the kisaeng house regardless. But this mission, which seemed impossible to complete under the King’s watchful gaze, might’ve been left to some other man or woman.
Min-jun’s hands trembled, as his feverish mind raced. He . . . and then what, would he have lived the rest of his life in ignorance of the fact that his parents had been murdered in cold blood by the very man who had sworn to protect them?
“Cheol.” His voice was weak and wispy as he called his name. “I feel sick.”
“You’ve drunk too much,” Cheol replied, releasing him. “We need to get you to the Palace.”
“I don’t want to go to the Palace,” Min-jun mumbled. His heart hurt, and his throat burned with something he hadn’t felt since the death of his parents. Tears. He would not let them fall. With a gentle grip on Min-jun’s arms, Cheol helped him sink to the floor, rubbing his back all the while.
“And why do you not want to go to the Palace?”
Min-jun drew in a shuddering breath. This time, he embraced himself, as if to keep himself from falling apart. “The King is there.”
“You hate the King.” Cheol spoke as if it were a statement, a fact, though Min-jun did not know how he could say it with such certainty.
“I –” No, he couldn’t tell him he wanted the King dead. They hadn’t spoken in years, and no amount of alcohol or old flames could undo Mother’s teachings: Tell no one. “I don’t know.”
Cheol’s fingers brushed against his cheek. It was strange how he didn’t seem to miss a beat. As if they’d never broken up at all. In the back of his mind, Min-jun noted that the King and Cheol were startlingly similar. The way they spoke, the attentiveness in their touch, their violet eyes. His mind pushed the thought away as soon as it came, for he could not have been in love with the King. First love was too easy to rekindle, and Min-jun’s heart was already being pulled into a million different directions. So, for now, this was Cheol, whom he’d loved, and that was the King, and the two of them would remain separate until Min-jun could deny it no longer.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you,” Cheol whispered.
“We were only together for a few months. It would be foolish of me to expect you to leave everything for me.” Everything being? Min-jun never did find out why Cheol had to leave back then.
“I will make it up to you,” Cheol said. “In due time. But now, you need to return.”
“But I want to stay with you!” Min-jun was whining, he knew very well, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop the words from spilling out. The alcohol must be to blame. Don’t leave me. Not again.
Cheol glanced toward the streets, caught in a debate with himself if the look on his face was anything to go by. He put his hands on Min-jun’s shoulders. “Love, I promise I’ll return to you, but I’m in the middle of a highly sensitive mission right now.”
“I can help,” Min-jun said. “I’m great at missions.”
“Yes,” Cheol replied. “When you’re sober, but you can hardly stand upright now.”
Min-jun stood, and only stumbled a little bit. “Can, too.”
Cheol gazed up at him, mouth ajar. His surprise did not last long, as he pursed his lips to keep from laughing. “Alright, alright. Your posture is very much that of a sober man’s. But your mind is not –”
“Oh please, I used to solve cases while I was intoxicated. Come on, Cheol, it’ll be like the good ol’ days!” Min-jun took his hands, trying his best to be as adorable as possible.
“You solved cases . . . while you were intoxicated?” Cheol raised a brow, and not in an impressed way, but more in a look of concern.
“I could solve cases in my sleep.” Min-jun placed his hands on his hips. “Why, just during the course of our conversation, I’ve already deduced that you are probably here on a stake-out. Not only that but you’re clearly in disguise, going by the way your clothes have been stained. Furthermore, you’re likely going after members of the cartel that has recently set up shop in Hanseong.”
“How –”
“It was obvious,” Min-jun said. “They’re the ones causing the King the most trouble these days. Nothing else would warrant such a ‘highly sensitive mission’. They attacked me a couple days ago, too, so the King probably wants all their heads.” And Cheol . . . Cheol was a government official because Min-jun refused to entertain those cursed thoughts from before.
Cheol cracked a smile, and Min-jun smugly noted that the man was definitely still smitten with him. “You seem quite confident in that.”
“Like I said, even in my sleep, I could solve a case.” The nausea rolled over him again, and he slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’m fine.”
“Somehow, I do not believe you.”
A/N: Min-jun, no. But you gotta admit, he really was going through it. First he broke up with his boyfriend, then his parents died, and then he was roped into a scheme to assassinate the King and was thrown into a brothel for a couple of years. All the while, his best friend was constantly on her death bed. This man can’t catch a break.
Anywho, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please leave a comment down below. Just a reminder, I will be going on hiatus from now until March 12th. Next chapter will be on the night of the 12th. I hope you all can still look forward to it, despite the wait.
😭😭😭😭 my poor min-juuuun!! And there’s no way cheol had it easy too 🥺🤧
Yeah I hadn’t even thought about how painful it would be for the first love to meld into the current one with all its torment.
Enjoy your hiatus!
While drunk Min Jun separates the King and Cheol and admits his affection for Cheol. What will he do when sober?
Aw such a relief to escape Mr. Molester and run straight to your protector. And then maybe puke on his shoes. Happy Stakeout, boys!
Thanks for the chapter ♥️♥️