It had become habit of some sort. Every afternoon, just after his lessons and before dinner time, Seungcheol would walk through the winding paths of their vast garden and come sit by the peach trees, usually with a book in hand. He’d leisurely read whilst listening to the melodious music, quite content with keeping to himself. The young lord would pause every after a paragraph or two, just wanting to take a glimpse of his friend’s improvements. ‘Friend’ was such a weird endearment, he mused. The little dancer was honestly far from being his friend or an acquaintance. Seungcheol hardly knew the other. He doesn’t even know his name even after all the days he’d watched over his practice. He wanted to – both to know his name and be friends – yet the young lord also knew his title could get a bit intimidating. He was, after all, the heir to his father’s position.

So Seungcheol just sat, quiet and content, with his book and watched him from afar.

**

One afternoon, the little dancer was nowhere to be seen. Feeling a tad disappointed, the young lord daintily sat down beneath his - yes, his since he had claimed the spot from that fateful day - peach tree and opened his book with a sigh. He had decided to