The winter had been surprisingly serene for the past two days – the foretold whiteout was nowhere to be expected. Apart from a thick blanket of snow that was now covering the bridleway which may pull few impatient hustlers down with its icy surface, the weekend itself had been moderately pleasant.

Conversely, the same couldn’t be said with what was unfolding in the Lee residence.

In contrast to the winter wonderland outside, the small room was anything but composed. It was indeed a spectacle mainly with the splash of random colours here and there. Yet judging by the crinkles on Seokmin’s undeniably tensed face, said boy didn’t appreciate the building mess on the floor.

There were a mix of blue and red, several fluorescents peeking out in between. A ghastly black however still dominated, giving the room a hint of darkness, which all the same reflected on Jihoon’s face.

On one hand, Jihoon was on the verge of losing his mind. While Seokmin? The boy of course was laughing behind his fisted hands instead.

If it weren’t for the state of distress Jihoon was in, Lee Seokmin would have been long gone. He had other things to think of and somehow, it had Seokmin’s patience running thin.

Why? Because the scene spread­out before Seokmin was too abnormal to fathom all at once.

On the floor, there was his supposedly 19­-year-­old brother in the mound of clothing, sprouting jabbers ­ one of them being “does this match?”. Questions which, at this very moment, Seokmin had entertained for as long as he could.

He didn’t even bother to hide the surprise on his face when the still peach­haired Indigent suddenly spun away from the mirror, asking that one question he had learned to dread, “Does this white shirt make me look fat? Or worst, short?”

Aghast, Seokmin unconsciously moved his head to the notion of yes and instantly a jacket flew to his face, both his nose and pride wounded.

And that wasn’t the end of it.

An hour passed and there weren’t signs that Jihoon would cease anytime soon. In fact, the anxiety itself doubled, correspondingly affecting Seokmin as a whole. He knew how conscious his brother was of his own appearance. Everything ­ from his face to his height ­ was regarded as ‘defective’ to Jihoon. Truthfully, it hurt Seokmin each time when the male kept accentuating the delusional theory that he’d be among the rejected ones if he were to be an android.

Even with the constant reassurance from both Seokmin and his friends, Jihoon still believed that he was the least attractive in the group. With Mingyu’s ridiculous stature, and Jun’s sculpture­like physique, he felt as if he was at the bottom of the food chain. Lower than Seungkwan, Minghao, Soonyoung even Seokmin who were far more appealing than he was. He who was slowly eaten by the doubtful voices in his head.

His level of confidence had always been dangerously low.

Noticing how Jihoon's eyes lingered a little too long on his own reflection in the mirror, Seokmin sighed. “Hyung,” he carefully called for Jihoon, hands halfway up to protect himself from the immediate glare he was greeted with. “Relax, you look just fine.”

Thankfully, the previously overwrought features of his brother softened.

However, the uneasiness could still be seen with the rhythmic tap of his foot, lower lips tucked in between his teeth, “But what if they don’t like how I look?”

And Seokmin couldn’t help but to frown for he had heard the slight tremble coming from Jihoon himself, “Do I have to remind you each time how attractive you are?”

“Not from you, that’s for sure.”

That evoked a short scoff from the younger sibling of the two.

“Whatever. I stand my ground. You do look amazing,” Seokmin smiled and Jihoon caught the fixated, yet sincere feelings conveyed behind his brother’s gaze with his own skeptical ones as they slowly thawed, lengthways with the snow outside.

Due to the lack of response from the elder, Seokmin pushed himself from the bed, making his way to Jihoon, whose hands were seen struggling with a tie all entangled around his neck. He then took over, his brother just let the ironically taller boy work his magic, one step at a time. “You know. Someone once told me that there’s more than one’s appearance.”

“I was the one who told you that,” Jihoon eventually spoke as he rolled his eyes, muttering a short thanks when the final loop ultimately tightened and in its place. He then tore his eyes from the now perfect knot, eventually coming eye­to­eye with Seokmin, who in return was staring straight into his set of orbs.

Giving Jihoon’s still tensed shoulders a slight squeeze, the auburn grinned.

“Exactly.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

­­­­­­­

Unlike Cinderella, as soon as the clock struck 5, Jihoon was greeted with a red convertible instead of a pumpkin­made carriage. Inside, was a young handsome driver who for some reason insisted on opening his door for him, all cladded in leather jacket.

Looking at himself, Jihoon let out an exasperated groan.

For he was in an all black suit, a hand me down from his father, obviously overdressed in comparison to a rather casual Seungcheol.

Yet Jihoon had no chance to escape since he was immediately shoved him into the car, his door shut close. So he tugged at his previously black tie instead, unmistakably defeated as he sluggishly ripped it away, the first button of his shirt became undone. All in all, exposing his collarbones, all too prominent with the lack of coverage.

But Seungcheol chose not to let his eyes linger.

The raven instead focused on the seemingly rigid body, smaller in stature. A hint of tautness was in the air, with most coming from the Indigent. Trying to diffuse the tension, Seungcheol wordlessly tapped against his newly installed radio twice, a long list of his favorite songs appeared. He randomly gave one of the songs another tap until a familiar beat took up the entire car. And it did seemed to be doing the trick; seeing Jihoon’s fists slowly uncurl, revealing a rather familiar band perfectly resting on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Seungcheol could feel his lips curve upwards, the butterflies in his stomach were out of control. Because Jihoon was wearing his ring and it fit perfectly, just like how he had expected it to be.

Jihoon on the other hand was too caught up with the current jam as he casted a meaningful glance at Seungcheol, “Dynamic Duo’s Guilty?”

“I see that you do know good music,” Seungcheol grinned, winking at Jihoon afore focusing on the road. The frown now prominent on the other's face went completely unnoticed.

Jihoon didn’t reply. In fact, his face contorted and lips felt parched. Truth to be told, he was more than capable to discern good music from the rest. Dynamic Duo specifically. He grew up with his passion for music and composing, even lyric writing. Yet Jihoon stayed muted and thankfully, the completely oblivious Opulent didn’t navigate the conversation further.

It wasn’t the time for Seungcheol to know; that Jihoon played piano, that he was very much interested. That he would’ve enroll in the music department, if not for Seokmin.

For few unknown reasons, Jihoon still yearned for a little privacy in his life; untouched and away from Seungcheol’s knowledge. So he swallowed back every unnecessary information that was creeping up his throat and instead, he shrugged.

“I guess I do.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

­­­­­­­

Ten minutes into dinner, Jihoon could already feel the thin layer of sweat forming on the back of his neck. Despite the constant butterflies in both his chest and stomach, the dinner was surprisingly nice. A still steaming medium rare steak (that’s what Seungcheol whispered to him when he flashed a questionable stare at the smiling male) with several plates of western dishes Jihoon wouldn’t have even dreamed to have eaten were laid out in front of him, in all gloriousness. He had never tasted such delicacies in front of him, but the steak at least managed to tone down the flutters occupying his gut, the rich sauce swirling around his tongue and down his throat.

It was out of this world, yet Jihoon had to admit; that by at the end of the day, he would rather eat ramen with his brother back in his raggedy old room. Rather than in front of Seungcheol’s parents, both of their eyes locked on him.

He didn’t have to look up to know since he felt the weight of their stares.

However, those eyes, scarily resembling Seungcheol’s weren’t in any way judging him. Let alone nitpicking his physical appearances, neither his status as an Indegent. Honestly, it was far from that.

It was in fact, truly the opposite.

With Mrs. Choi’s consistent squeals and the delicate smile on Mr. Choi himself, Jihoon came to learn that it was adoration he received. When he nodded, evidently flushed under the hard stares, Seungcheol’s mother would repeat the same word again and again, stressing how cute he was (Jihoon didn’t like it, but it didn’t feel that bad). She even went as far as hugging him the first time he walked through the mahogany door, obviously delighted at her soon­-to-­be son-­in-­law.

When greeting the male standing beside her next, Jihoon did manage to see Mr. Choi’s smile falter a little, only to quirk his lips again when Jihoon bent forward for a bow. The boy didn’t dare to question as it could’ve been his eyes playing trick on him.

Still, the limelight did prolong until then.

Throughout his 19 years of living, it was the first time Jihoon had received such bounteous treatment. And truthfully, it was taxing on him for he felt anxious, worrying for possible things that he might mess up. He could have chosen the wrong spoon to eat soup with for all he knew.

And even if he did, the prestigious family didn’t say a word.

Seungcheol’s presence by his side though gave the assurance he needed. A little reminder that he somehow managed himself well enough; and playing with the ring on his finger was surprisingly soothing to Jihoon. So he kept his thumb on his ring finger for the rest of the night, twirling it whenever he felt a possible incoming wave of anxiety. Little by little, Jihoon felt the strenuous muscles uncoil and eventually, he smiled.

Because he came to a conclusion that the Choi household was nowhere hypercritical, neither pejorative. Which could have explained why Seungcheol had grew up to be such young respectable man.

“Jihoonie, you need more of that steak? I can ask the chef to cook up some more.”

Wiping his stained­free lips clean – he just thought he should, even though he was being extra cautious with his table manners that night – Jihoon shook his head, “you don’t have to Mrs. Choi.”

“Mom,” came a reply from the gleaming female, her tone soft, reminding Jihoon of his own mother’s velvet­like voice. He almost thought it was a dream, if not for the heat radiating from Seungcheol who was beside him.

“Pardon?”

“Call me, mom,” she repeated. Her infamous giggles absent, only fondness was what left on her striking features. Looking at Seungcheol who nodded along to the expectant woman, Jihoon let a section of his four walls crumble down, a smile mirrored to the other three.

“Yes... mom.” ­­­­­­­

- - - - - - - - - - -

Seungcheol leaned against the arched doorway of pristine white to the hall, legs crossed as he looked at a rather bashful Jihoon, who however, still able to carry the conversation with his mother. Both were discussing about the possible marriage date and henceforth. Jihoon did appear to be overwhelmed at first, but the boy was pretty much a charmer and Seungcheol knew he had been gnawing upon needless worries. His mother, in particular was excited and he was genuinely glad.

That was until Seungcheol felt a strong grip on his shoulder.

“Son, can I talk to you for a second?” casting a glance at Jihoon, Seungcheol nodded at his father, whose glasses perched low on his nose.

Abandoning the living room, Seungcheol trailed behind the elder male.

There were millions of questions going through Seungcheol’s head. It was a rare occurrence for the father and son to have such a private talk. If he had counted correctly, there were only two occasions – first being the time he threw his first punch when he was 16 and another when he decided to pursue music instead of medic.

So when his father, who never raised his voice at him had a questionable frown on his face the moment they reached his study room, Seungcheol couldn’t help but to think of the worst.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol dove first into the conversation, trying to pop the bubble as the air was getting too thick to his liking, stifling him almost. Both his and his father’s breathing were alarmingly loud. Although Seungcheol was never claustrophobic (if he did, he didn’t see any on his record the last time he scanned his barcode), he swore he saw the four walls of shelves of books closing in on him.

And it was not helping that the respectable man before him was delaying whatever he intended to say.

But then Seungcheol wished his father didn’t say anything, for what came next tightened the knots in his stomach, “Tell me, what is Jihoon’s full name again?” with fingers interlocked one another, elbows on the expensive wooden table, the elder mumbled. If not for the downcasted eyes, Seungcheol would have been able to read his father through the thick lens.

“Lee Jihoon,” Seungcheol answered, hands respectfully clasped behind him.

“Indigent?”

Seungcheol gave him a nod.

“If I remember correctly, you even said he has a younger brother named Seokmin?”

And another nod.

Seungcheol was clueless to what direction the conversation was headed, but seeing how his father ended up taking his glasses, hands then raised to his temple, seemingly massaging them, Seungcheol felt his throat went dry. Something was wrong, incredibly wrong ­ yet he was too scared to ask.

But he knew he had to.

Therefore, his cracked his heavy lips open and called upon the other, “Dad? What is wrong?”

Sadly, all Seungcheol got out of his father was a reluctant “Nothing” as he wore his glasses again, clasped hands covering his lips with elbows on the polished mahogany study desk. “Seungcheol, I want you to be as honest as possible.”

Seungcheol hummed, lips too chapped to speak.

“Are you sure you can keep him safe?” instantly, Seungcheol’s heart plummeted, various scenarios, most of them being the foulest came flooding his mind. He was utterly confused, angry even. What did his father mean by so? Did his father know something which he didn’t? Was there a possibility that he knew about the recent incidents involving Jihoon?

Seungcheol wanted to ask the elder everything, but instead he nodded, eyes firm.

“You know I never go against my words,” Seungcheol did promise he would do anything for Jihoon, and protect Jihoon he would – if that was the last thing he could do. Seeing his adamant son, the man with the glasses finally nodded, the chair long deserted as he’s making his way to Seungcheol.

“Then promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Placing a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, Mr. Choi whispered, “Be careful. The both of you.” Then he left, leaving a very puzzled Seungcheol behind, watchful than he had ever been.

- - - - - - - - - - -

­­­­­

Half past nine, yet Jihoon was already awake and clearheaded, much to the amusement of his friends even Seokmin himself. It was one of the many rare sights where he was nowhere near the borderline of being grumpy. Instead he looked radiant and glowing, nevertheless a little skittish.

Jihoon was taken back to the day when he first met Seungcheol’s parents and the heaps of mess he created just to find the perfect ‘outfit’. Except now there were only evidence of ample white and overjoyed smiles, wishes of “congratulations” pleasing his ears.

From his spot in front of the mirror, Jihoon could make out the reflection of his brother who was talking with Soonyoung, both in a similar get up of white button up shirt and a cream dress vest, matched with the same toned tie [A/N: it looks something like this]. Seokmin was occasionally fixing Soonyoung’s dusty miller boutonniere pinned to his vest, meanwhile Mingyu was nearby, grumbling about the menu provided outside.

Seungkwan on the other hand was nowhere to be found, though he did hear the boy having a heated discussion with someone (was it that Hansol kid who Seungcheol had introduced him to a couple weeks ago?) outside of the room, resolved that the vocalist of the band should be him.

Jihoon was about to drift into a land of second thoughts when he heard a knock to the door, Seokmin already on his feet as he cheerfully greeted whoever the visitor was.

“He's okay?”

It was Seungcheol.

“Jitters,” Jihoon then heard Seokmin’s answer and he scoffed because he knew that he wasn’t nervous. Well, he was, but he would never admit that. Not when he overheard a bet between Junhui and Minghao, talking about how even the almighty Jihoon would not be able to beat the wedding nerves.

However, despite the front he struggled to keep up, all of it vanished once Seungcheol came closer, standing merely inches behind him. The suffocating sensation washed upon him again as he kept his eyes on the mirror, too restless to face the obviously groomed Choi Seungcheol, who then rested a hand on his shoulder. He could see Seungcheol’s ring finger bared just like his, their rings tucked safely in the possession of one the groomsmen.

“Ready?” Seungcheol smiled at Jihoon, or particularly his reflection in the mirror, their difference of height made it all too easy for the taller to assess the shorter’s expression.

“Let’s get this over with.”