It’s cold.

Sunggyu walked through the park in inappropriate attire considering the temperature, but he didn’t care. His feet were slightly numb, but not enough for him to completely lose control over them. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders was the same one that was draped on his head to cover his face many years ago. The only light sources were the flickering lamp posts and the moonlight.

His speed quickened as he neared the spot he memorized, at some point he was already sprinting. But then he abruptly stopped.

In front of him sat a statue of some old man that wasn’t even alive anymore. He was forgotten by most people, so Sunggyu doesn’t know why they erected a statue of him.  Maybe it was because of what happened.

Joffrey Lannister, the man who justified our ancestors and their suffering.

Sunggyu’s blood boiled every time he saw it. The face he remembered and despised. He was the man who had ordered the townspeople to gather around at that exact spot, who ordered a bulky servant with a black hood to swing the axe, and ordered the head of his lover be hung in the palace for everyone to see.

Beyond all the hatred for the old man was hatred for himself, because it was all his fault that Woohyun was in that situation in the first place. He was the one who sold information to the neighboring kingdom for his own selfish reasons. He was the one who opened the door to the war that killed thousands, left many more wounded and orphans, and had killed their king. He was the one who was supposed to be executed, not Woohyun who had so much more to live for. But Woohyun loved him too much, and he sacrificed himself.

Sunggyu thought he and Woohyun were never pretty. It was like they weren’t lovers at all, but they would occasionally kiss and go to the market together, and also (rarely) cuddle together under the sheets by the fire. He knew he still loved the younger man.

But that was centuries ago, and Sunggyu thinks a lot has changed since that faithful day in the winter of 1689. Their political views were abolished and a new system was created. They no longer had kingdoms, they had one president ruling it all. The park was not originally a park as well. It was the place were criminals were usually punished, right outside the castle walls that stood tall and proud amongst all the small houses and tents.

Sunggyu had always wondered how Woohyun was killed, considering he said he was immortal like himself. He thinks Woohyun was lying, trying to pretend that he knew the feeling, to comfort him. That would definitely explain the very slight wrinkles that appeared on Woohyun’s face when he finally turned 40. While Sunggyu did not age, no wrinkles or bald spots or white hair. He had flawless skin and a youth-like glow to him, which usually attracted attention from ogling passersby.

He sniffed, his nose becoming runny from the cold he had caught earlier this week from his brother, Myungsoo, who was the same as him. Although immortals can’t die from losing a vital body part or losing too much blood, they could still catch common diseases that made them blend in well with society. He coughed also, the sound vibrating through his vocal chords and travelling along the soundwaves in the still atmosphere. The place was completely empty because it was two-thirty in the morning.

Two and a half hours past midnight was the time the brunette was killed. The reason the townspeople could still crowd and watch the scene unravel was because a grand party was held on that very day for the kingdom’s victory in the war, and people didn’t want to miss this opportunity so they continued the banquet all through the night.

Sunggyu couldn’t eat anything at all knowing that he had done nothing to prevent Woohyun’s early death. He had to keep his face hidden to avoid any suspicion because people would easily notice his tear stained face and quiet sobbing. Some actually did, and they whispered to themselves but at the time Sunggyu only focused on Woohyun’s last words.

It’s cold right now, why don’t we all share a cup of tea?

Sunggyu turns around and walks away, done reminiscing with the past. He’ll come back in a month, just like what he did for the past four centuries.