*SHK’s POV*

“But Appa, you do know that I don’t like having any company during my quiet time right?” I say, not believing this moment. ‘Quiet time’ is what I like to call the time when I want to be alone with my thoughts and express them through painting. And despite our falling out through the years, he of all people should know that I don’t like it when someone else distracts me while I paint.

“I know, sweetheart. But you know how dangerous it is these days. You have to be with your bodyguards at all times. That way, I can be sure that you are safe,” he says calmly. I don’t want to be stubborn and I get where he’s coming from, but I really need this time for myself. Everything that’s happening is stressing me and I need to vent it out on something.

“But Appa, I can’t concentrate with them around! I can’t paint properly when…”

“Why don’t you just paint here?”

“I don’t like it here. It’s too noisy. I want to go somewhere else. Somewhere quiet and peaceful.”

“Fine. Then at least take Agent Song with you,” he says, surprising me.

“What?” I ask. “Him?” I turn to Agent Song who’s standing a few feet away, clearly hearing our conversation. He, too, looks surprised at what my father said and I avert my gaze. I’m still a bit embarrassed that I almost poured my heart at him last night. I don’t know what got into me.

“Yes. He’s the best one we’ve got and I’ll feel calm if it’s him you’re with. He’ll keep you safe, isn’t that right, Agent Song?”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t make a sound, Miss.”

“See? It would be like he’s invisible. You wouldn’t even think he’s there.”

“Appa…”

“It’s either he goes with you or you stay at home. You choose,” my father says, unrelenting and I cross my arms over my chest, annoyed. “You know I’m only doing this for your safety, Hye Kyo.”

---

We finally arrive at the nearby park, which I chose since it’s peaceful and usually not crowded. Agent Song gathers my equipment from the back of the car then follows me as I lead the way towards the pond that I frequent whenever I want to paint.

He then carefully places my things over a picnic blanket as I take in the serenity of the place and smile. One of the things I like best about this place aside from it being not crowded, is its calm ambiance and beautiful scenery.

After appreciating the view, I then proceed to setting up my equipment and eventually start thinking what to paint while Agent Song, true to his words, quietly sit beside a nearby tree, not making a single sound. Contented with how peaceful things are, I take a deep breath then start painting.

I paint and I paint, expressing myself through each of the brush, pouring my feelings with my choice of shades and colors and starting to get lost in my rhythm as my brush starts drawing swirls and patterns. This is always what happens when I paint, I forget everything around me and I start to get engrossed in my own little world. I tend to shut my surroundings out and the only things that matter are myself and my brush.

I’m so immersed with what I’m doing that I don’t even realized how much time has passed until my stomach starts to growl and I feel a pang of hunger hit me. But since I’m still not done, I ignore it and continue with what I’m doing. A few minutes later, I find myself admiring my masterpiece – a painting of the pond in autumn colors.

“It’s beautiful,” a voice says behind me, startling me.

“Oh my God!” I say, my hand flying to my chest as my heart beats wildly. “Do you always have to do that?! Don’t you know it’s rude to startle people?!” I accuse, annoyed but he doesn’t respond. And don’t you know it’s rude not to answer back when someone’s talking to you? I want to add.

I then turn to look at him, prepared to tell him off when what I see surprises me. He’s leaning close, looking at my painting, seemingly engrossed at what he’s seeing. I, too, start to feel engrossed watching his mesmerized expression when I remember that I’m supposed to be annoyed at him for startling me.

“Ya! Agent Song, what are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be pretending that you’re invisible?!” I ask and as if I slapped him awake, he immediately stands straight.

“I.. Sorry Miss. It’s just that it’s past lunch time. I thought you might be hungry,” he says sheepishly.

“Who cares if it’s past lunch time? I told you I don’t want to be disturbed. And besides I’m not hungr….” I’m about to finish my sentence when my stomach betrays me, growling loudly and I turn to look at it, wanting to scold it for not playing along.

Agent Song then starts to laugh and I glare at him, silencing him.

“Sorry, Miss. Were you going to say that you’re not hungry? Your stomach seems to say otherwise” he says, teasing me and I scowl at him more, causing him to grin.

“And so? What are you laughing at? It’s not as if you have food!” I say, wanting him to go away and just when I’m starting to think that he’s about to do so, he reaches inside his jacket, getting something.

“Here, Miss,” he says, handing me something square shaped.

“What’s that?” I ask, staring at it, actually aware that it’s a sandwich that he’s handing me, but am more curious as to why he’s giving it to me.

“A sandwich,” he says as if I should know by now.

“I know. But why are you giving it to me?”

“Because you’re hungry,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry. It’s poison free,” he adds when I still don’t make any motion to get it. My stomach grumbles again and this time, I reach out for the sandwich he’s offering.

“Fine. Thanks,” I say and he smiles. I then move my other hand to open it when I notice that both of my hands are dirty and covered in paint, not actually sanitary when it comes to opening food.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, seeming to be confused as to why I’m still not eating and I look up at him.

“My hands are dirty,” I mutter and seeming to get what I mean, he wordlessly reaches out for the sandwich, our hands brushing against each other slightly and I feel a small spark of electricity travel up my arm. Weird.

He bows his head slightly and I watch him as he patiently uncovers the sandwich from the napkin, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks while his lips are slightly open. He looks too focused on what he’s doing that he actually looks cute concentrating like that. Wait, what, Hye Kyo? What exactly are you thinking?

Before I could scold myself further, he finally looks up and hands me my sandwich.

“Here,” he says and I silently take it, feeling a bit self-conscious. I really hope I’m not blushing right now or else… “Wait, what about you?” I ask, noticing that it’s only me who has a sandwich.

“Don’t worry about me, Miss. I already ate,” he says.

“Are you sure? We can share,” I offer. I actually feel really hungry now, but it’s his sandwich and I at least have to share half of it with him. I don’t want to seem rude or anything.

“Yes, Miss. Just finish it all,” he says, sitting beside the blanket. “Granny made the spread, so it’s really yummy. You should try it.” He proudly says.

“Really?” I raise a brow at him, challenging him.

“Really. She makes the best chicken sandwich spread in town. Go on, try it,” he urges and seeing that he really wants me to try it, I give in. I take a bite, a bit doubtful of what he said when different favors explode in my mouth. A bit salty, a little tangy and really savory. He indeed is telling the truth, it’s delicious.

With tiny bits of chicken in it, I find myself enjoying each bite and within a few minutes, I finish the sandwich.

“So?” he asks out of the blue and I almost forgot that he’s here with me.

“You’re right, it really is delicious,” I say and he smiles at me, making my heart beat faster than usual. I then proceed to folding the sandwich napkin to avoid staring into his face. “I think it’s part of my list of favorites from now on,” I add to get rid of the awkwardness I’m currently feeling.

“List of favorites, Miss?” he asks, clueless.

“List of favorites. You know, favorite food like Soft Tofu Stew, Fish cakes, Bibimbap, Hoeddeok and most of all, Seasoned fried chicken! It tops the list” I say, raising my hands for emphasis.

“That’s all?” he asks.

“Yup, why?”

“Your top 1 is Seasoned fried chicken?” he asks and I frown. Is he somehow mocking my taste?

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?” I ask, my brows still furrowed and he smiles then looks down. “Wait, are you mocking me?” He then looks up, still smiling. It’s starting to make me feel annoyed.

“Sorry, Miss. I’m not. It’s just that…”

“Ya! What are you trying to say?”

“Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you should try Granny’s chicken porridge. You might change your mind,” he says with a proud smile.

“I won’t. Never. What’s so special about chicken porridge? It’s just a thick stew anyway…” I answer.

“It’s not just that. It’s… I don’t know how to explain it, but Granny makes the best chicken porridge there is. It’s savory, not too salty and a little bit spicy. People even flock her store just for that. She’s famous for her Dakjuk,” he says proudly, trying to prove his point and I raise a brow at him.

“You sound so proud of this ‘Granny’ of yours,” I say, raising a brow at him, challenging him. He’s not so bad after all and I’m actually liking his company as of the moment.

“I am,” he answers determinedly. “She’s the best,” he adds then casually leans back but then ends up spilling some of the paint. He immediately reacts and frantically tries to get the stain off of the blanket. At other times, I might have gotten angry for having someone mess my things, but this time it’s different. He actually looks adorable trying so hard to get rid of the stain, though it’s quite obvious that it won’t go away. The scene makes me smile.

“What?” he asks, frowning as he looks up. ”Do I have something on my face?” he asks and his hand automatically flies up to touch his cheek, smudging a bit of blue paint there, which makes me laugh.

“Now you do have,” I say and upon hearing that, he tries to blindly wipe it off only to cause more smudges on his face, which makes me laugh even harder. His frown deepens and after a few moments, I finally feel calm enough to intervene.

“Stop doing that,” I say as I reach for his hand and pry it away from his face. I then reach for a piece of wet wipe then dab it on his face. “You’ll only get more paint on your face,” I add as I carefully wipe the smudges off one by one, starting off from the one near his lips. Paint isn’t exactly edible, thus, I find the need to wipe it off first.

About a minute has passed and just when I’m about to wipe the paint at the middle of his cheek, he suddenly takes the wipe away from my hand and pull away. I look at him questioningly as he starts to get up, as if in a hurry.

“I… I think we need to go back, Miss,” he says, avoiding my gaze. He looks a bit red, but it might just be because my eyes are playing tricks on me. “We’ve been gone long. They might be looking for us,” he adds and I look at the clock. Well, he has a point. We’ve been here for hours already. “Let’s go, Miss.”

“What about my things?” I ask as I start to get up, sensing the urgency in his voice.

“I’ll take care of them,” he answers and I watch him as he starts gathering my things quickly yet carefully.

“Okay, but your face….” I want to tell him that he still has some paint left on him but he stops me.

“I’ll clean it, Miss,” he turns to me, trying to wipe his face clean. I want to point out that he’s not doing a good job doing so, but sensing that he doesn’t want any help, I keep quiet. He then goes back to gathering my art equipment.

“Do you need any help?” I ask as he gathers my brushes one by one.

“No. I can manage,” he says then resume what he’s doing. Why is he su