a/n: bc i realize regency au will never become a full fledge fic like it deserves (there's like 5% it might if i change my mind later) since im super lazy and have like a hundred of other projects that need my attention :((((. so yeaaaaa here is another piece of it which may be 99% confusing for everyone who hasn't read my running commentary of regency au on my tumblr but uh sorry, sorry. if it help there's a previous 'fic' to it, here.

contains: ptsd, assault (?? sort of)

Donghae slips into the bedchamber with the all the poise and grace reserved for thieves and philistines. His steps are careful and soft as he navigates his way around the dimly lit bedchamber with the chamberlight clutched in his right hand, lighting his path.

If his mother can see him now, sneaking around in his own home like some sort of wanton criminal, she would have a conniption at such an indecent act but unluckily for her and Donghae, she’s not there to reign in his more impulsive actions.  

Donghae finally reaches the foot end of the bed, tiptoeing that last few steps toward the headboard, wary of disturbing the other occupant of the room. As he makes his way forward, he is seized by the sudden feeling that he’s maybe doing something wrong. Terribly wrong, like a highway robbery wrong.

Though robbing a stagecoach may be easier than this, Donghae assumes a little wistfully, and perhaps even less nerve wreaking.  

But, in the half year since they were married, Donghae had been in Hyukjae’s bedchamber only a handful of times and four of those times were permissive intrusion, with one of them being on their marriage night, which spoke a hell lot more about their marriage then any idle gossips that often surround them.

He knows that Hyukjae puts a lot of value on his privacy and guard his secrets like a dragon hoarding his treasure.  It’ll be a hundred years before Hyukjae would even consider the thought of letting Donghae in to his fortress of solitude but Donghae never been one to twiddle his thumbs and wait around.

He rather knock it down with brute force of will, so here he is trying to slink his way into his own husband’s bed it is, like a two-bit tramp with very little shame.

Admittedly, it’s not one of his more dignifying moments but Hyukjae somehow always manage to make Donghae scrap whatever self-respect he has in the hope for something more.

Donghae inches closer, setting the chamberstick on the bedside table alongside the candlestick burning still into the night, with the twin flames flickering bright and casting bleak shadows against the wall now. It’s strangely eerie and quiet in the bedchamber, not even a peep from Hyukjae, except for the loud thumping in Donghae’s chest as he draws closer to the bed and the person occupying it.

He perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress giving in under his weight and peers over Hyukjae’s prone body. What he see after that gives his heart a tight squeeze and sends further forward till his head is hovering over Hyukjae’s sleeping form.

Hyukjae once said to Donghae that he’s not a quiet sleeper in lieu of Donghae’s demand why they have to continue to sleep in separate bedchambers despite Hyukjae moving back into their Injou Manor in Gangnam-gu this past month, but—

Hyukjae has the sheets bunch up in his hands, clasped so tight in his grip that Donghae can see the strain of his muscles holding it in place like he is clinging to a life preserver, the only thing that can keep him from drowning. The rest of him lay motionless on the bed as still as any funeral. He holds himself so rigid and tightly wound up that Donghae can’t help thinking that Hyukjae must have purposely force his body to stay immobile like that, but why.

The answer to that couldn’t come soon enough as he gazes upon Hyukjae’s face and the painful expression written all over it.

Hyukjae’s face is a contortion of agony and pain as sweat bead at his brows. He looks like he’s suffering, tormented by entities that Donghae can’t see nor touch, one that exist only in Hyukjae’s sleep. With such a troubled expression, seemingly absorbed in discomfort, it doesn’t take much for Donghae to guess of the phantoms that visit Hyukjae’s dreams nightly because even when Hyukjae had left the battlefield behind the war continues to follow Hyukjae home and into his sleep.

Formally, it’s known as “battle fatigue” but behind closed doors everyone call it being “haunted”, and Donghae can understand why, because for these soldiers and Hyukjae the memories and traumas of the past refuse to die and has attach themselves to them like ghosts, continue to trouble the living long aftermath.  

Donghae bites down on his lower lip, hard enough to break skin and taste iron on his tongue. A helpless grunt of frustration is stuck in his throat. The things he doesn’t know about his own husband, the things that aren’t said between them, and the things he is unable to do for Hyukjae are the same things that has him crawling to Hyukjae’s bed in the middle of night to find resolution to it.

An abrupt wounded whine coming from Hyukjae has Donghae reaching down and brushes the sweaty bangs clinging to Hyukjae’s forehead. Then, he lightly touches the tenseness between the brows of Hyukjae’s face, evening out the hard lines and makes a small gentle noise to hopefully soothe some of Hyukjae’s troubles away. It’s the least he can do for Hyukjae.

It’s quiet and almost too peaceful as he tentatively trails his hand down from Hyukjae’s forehead to his cheek, a too shy kiss that he wouldn’t dare deliver in the light of day, and watches Hyukjae’s face softens up and leans into his touch.

The corners of his lip start tugging upward and he could feel the bubbling delight starting to stir within him and it’s—Hyukjae’s eyes fly open and his hands shot out as quick as a bullet, catching both of Donghae’s wrists in his stronger grip.

He twists Donghae around with enough force that slams his back against the mattress and knocks the air right out of Donghae’s lungs.

It’s a swift second but that’s all it takes for Donghae to find their position had switched and he’s pinned to the bed like an insect behind glass, with his wrists held over the top of his head in an awkward angle.  

Donghae stares up at Hyukjae’s darken face, eyes stunned and with blood rushing to his head in dizzying fever at the turn of event. He’s trapped under Hyukjae and there’s very little he can do about it.

Hyukjae’s hands are no larger than Donghae’s; they’re similar in height and stature, if Donghae wasn’t broader in the shoulders and chest area but the way Hyukjae’s has his grip on Donghae is like steel cuff on his wrists, immovable and unbreakable; Donghae can’t budge it with all his might.

That strength tells of an experience and an ease with aggression that makes Donghae a little uncomfortable, but most of all it speaks of a history of brutality that Hyukjae had once tread on and of wars that had played out on printed text that Donghae had only read in the Sunday’s morning paper. They weren’t his concern, his war, and most certainly not his problem but Hyukjae is a living and breathing example of it right here and it has never been more real than now.  

But even so Hyukjae keep his ghosts to himself. He doesn’t speak of it, doesn’t acknowledge it in the light of day and no matter how much Donghae had tried to care for his open wound, Hyukjae prefers to bleed out than ask for help.

If only Hyukjae would let him in, doesn’t carry his nightmares like they were his burden to bare.  What a selfless bastard, Donghae thinks bitterly.  

He looks into the pair of dark and hooded eyes, murky in its sleep still that they don’t seem to be all there or aware of the situation around them. Hyukjae’s breathing is heavy above him, his breath drawn out in long laborious gush like his lungs are going to collapse any moment if he doesn’t get enough air into it. His grip on Donghae’s wrists is tight, pinching the blood vessels underneath, that Donghae would feel the bruises for days afterward. With shoulders taut, his entire body is one large tense line than threatens to spring forward and lash out if Donghae isn’t careful.  

So Donghae doesn’t fight it.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s alright, Hyukjae, I’m here,” he says, adopting a softer tone in his voice. “You’re safe with me.”

Hyukjae blinks slowly, apparently still in the clutch of his nightmare and then the dawning realization must have hit him because, his eyes seem to light up in recognition. “What, Donghae is that--?” confusion wring all over his face, “what are you—?” He shakes his head. “What are you doing here?” he demands, sudden and severe, his voice pitched deep like the sound had just clawed its way out of his mouth.  

Despite the light coming back into his eyes, the tension however doesn’t leave Hyukjae’s body as though he’s still in a fight mode and can’t turn it off yet and the hold on Donghae’s wrists only tightens further, squeezing the circulation from his wrist and has Donghae slightly wincing in pain.

Donghae can barely shake Hyukjae’s off and the strength he exudes over Donghae makes his heart thrums against his ribcage, rattling loudly and rapidly but fear isn’t what he feeling, fear would be easier to explain then the slow crawl of heat sinking under his skin and rushing to his head, making him all warm and fuzzy and hums with an unspoken desire.  

Hyukjae’s bare chest is sweaty and heaving, almost glistening with sweat and Donghae can see each distinct muscle working his arms and his chest, holding this small compact person up and making him more dangerous than anything Donghae could even fathom, yet—Donghae chews on his lower lip as a plan set in motion.

Trapped under Hyukjae and with his wrists held in Hyukjae’s grip, Donghae squirms, legs rubbing up against Hyukjae’s inner thighs causing his nightshirt to ride up, revealing long creamy bare skin underneath that touches Hyukjae.  The split second contact is all it takes to send electricity up his spine and has him tingling with heat.

Hyukjae abruptly lets go of him as though he was burn in the heat of their contact and Donghae almost miss the loss of it but that doesn’t stop his wiggling.

Face taut and seemingly in pain, Hyukjae pinches Donghae’s side. “Stop that,” he hisses, sounding hoarse and just on the edge of desperation.

Donghae doesn’t smile but it’s a near thing.

Hyukjae pushes himself away, rolling to the other side and putting enough distance between them that they could fill an entire ocean in the space that divide them. He sits with one knee up, looking distraught and worn out and hair in disarray but he looks just as hauntingly beautiful against light of the candles just as he would in the day. Actually he might be even more so, Donghae thinks feeling the violent thumping of his heart still, because stripped of all his barriers and pretenses and looking more vulnerable then Donghae had ever seen him, somehow he makes Donghae weak.

Donghae’s lower his gaze from Hyukjae’s face to his chest and with the candle light hitting Hyukjae’s at the perfect angle, Donghae can finally the fine scars plotted out all over his body, some clearly from bullet wounds and other continues to be a mystery but all are stories that Hyukjae had yet to tell Donghae. Hyukjae’s life a map of violence drawn all over his skin and Donghae hurts all over to see it.

Hyukjae tiredly pinches the bridge of his nose before turning toward Donghae and lets out a deep profound sigh. “Why are you here, Donghae?”

Donghae takes one long breath to compose himself, calming down his heart before he sits up, drawing up on his elbows and raises a brow.  “Sleeping,” he replies as though it wasn’t obvious enough.

Hyukjae’s jaw ticks. “You can’t sleep here, you know that,” he says, almost accusatory. “You have your own bed.”  

Donghae frowns. “I’m sorry that you’re too focus on your job to see what is right in front of you,” he snaps. “The servants are getting suspicious and has been sending surreptitious glance my way because you refuse to attend to my bed or let me in yours.”

“Let them talk, it’s none of their damn business,” Hyukjae says roughly.

Donghae narrow his eyes as a twinge of annoyance settle in his chest. “You may not care about what other say or think but I refuse to be made a laughingstock,” he huffs, crossed. “It’s bad enough that the moment I leave the manor, all eyes are drawn to me and I have to deal with being the subject of their asinine chatters but now I have to endure the pitying looks in my own home too? Do you know how humiliating that is?” he says with slow deliberation, voice purposely dropping an octave and there’s a hitch of hurt in his voice that leaves very little room to the imagination.

Hyukjae looks away, face strained and shoulders drawn tight. “I didn’t mean—“ he begins but Donghae refuses to let him have his turn. “You never mean anything,” Donghae cuts him off, lips pursing. “I get it, this High Society stuff seems silly and annoys you because we’re all snobbish elite who puts too much focus on appearance and wealth and on material things that are meaningless to you but for me it’s important. This is what I grew on, this my world and I can’t discard it just because you don’t care. My reputation is all in tattered as it is, I’m all but gold digging hussy from a fallen noble family who managed to dig my claws into you to the public and now if the fact got out that you can barely stand to sleep in the same room as me, do you know what they would say to that? I’ll never be able to leave this manor without the endless mockery because you can’t even put in a little effort and cooperate with me so I can mitigate the damage a little.”

Hyukjae is quiet, lips pressed down in a grim line and the silent that stretch between them is heavy and thick enough that Donghae feels suffocate by it.

Donghae scoots up and closer to the headboard, back pressed up against the wooden material as he waits for Hyukjae’s respond to Donghae’s plead.

His reasons are exaggerated and deliberately made to pick at Hyukjae’s open and always giving heart, but—he digs his nail into his palm—it’s also the truth though he woefully hates to admit it. His pride wouldn’t let him but that means very little in face of Hyukjae it seems, he thinks, embittered by that thought.

Hyukjae’s irritated grunt finally break the silent as he cards a hand through his hair in frustration and Donghae can feel his heart deflating and hope dashing but Hyukjae repositions himself until he sitting on his calves and facing Donghae. He suddenly lowers his head enough to touch the mattress, hands bracketing the side of his head.  “I’m sorry,” he says vehemently, the words are loud and clear despite him the muffled sound coming out of him.

Donghae feel a rush of happiness staining his cheeks but that’s not enough, it’s not a guarantee of anything. “You can either choose to share your bed with me or sleep the floor instead I don’t care what you do but I’m not leaving here,” he says pointedly.

Hyukjae raises his head up and looks at Donghae for a brief and tense second before he reluctantly nod his head, finally acquiescing to Donghae’s demand.

Donghae exhales a long sigh of relieve as he gets himself settle back into the bed, head dropping on a pillow and sheets pull up to his chest as Hyukjae mumbles another apology and settling down on the other side of the bed, far from Donghae because he’s Hyukjae.

Donghae doesn’t roll his eyes but it was very, very hard not to.

Just as he resolves himself to another lonely night, Hyukjae is closer but just as far as always, he hears a distinct, “If I—“ Hyukjae starts and bites off before he could finish it. Donghae turns toward him and sees the torn expression on his face against the light of the candles.

“I’ll kick you out of the bed,” Donghae promises and holds his breath as his hand carefully searches for Hyukjae’s own somewhere under the comforter and when Donghae lay contacts to it and Hyukjae doesn’t jerk from of his touch, Donghae could breathe again like he’s afraid Hyukjae would bolt if he’s not careful.  

“Then please do your best to,” Hyukjae says, the words sound light but there’s still a dark lines that marred his face and he doesn’t seem to quite believe in Donghae’s words or his own.

“It’ll be fine,” Donghae pauses and then adds in almost belatedly, “I’ll be fine. I’m like an ox.”

Hyukjae’s dreams are often terrifying and intense that he often explode in flurry of violence and all those that are close to him are caught up in it, but he knows that the only one who is more scare of Hyukjae is Hyukjae himself and the one who is hurt the most by it is Hyukjae. The bruises on Donghae are temporary but the guilt of hurting him will remain with Hyukjae even long after the bruises had fade from Donghae’s body.

Physical injuries tend to be shallow and short live but emotional scars goes much deeper, under the skin and imbedded deep in the heart. That is something no doctor and medicine can cure, and even Donghae can’t fix on sheer will alone.

Hyukjae smiles at that, a little crookedly and worn out but it’s there and genuine and Donghae would fiercely protect it as thought it was the last bastion of hope and love in the world. He could feel an answering smile about to break free but Hyukjae lets go of Donghae’s hand almost hesitantly, Donghae likes to imagine, and rolls away, turning his back to Donghae.

And just like that the moment is broken.

Donghae stares at expanse of Hyukjae’s back, which had always seem so much bigger and stronger than his own, but this close he seems small and fragile and closed off to the world.

He lifts his hand out from the comforter and stares at it. Just seconds ago he had Hyukjae’s hand and now he only has empty air. It is defeating in a way, Donghae thinks, almost like Donghae had imagine the entire thing.

He sighs and turns his head to the ceiling, looking for answer where none can be found.

It’s a long time before he hear anything again, long after Donghae thought their conversation was over now and Hyukjae was asleep but, “thank you,” Hyukjae says quietly. It was barely above a whisper, but it’s as clear as anything to Donghae’s ears.

The words were brief but the sincere gratitude coming from Hyukjae lingers in the air, heavy and warm pressed up against him till it consumes him completely.

Finally for the first time that night, Donghae lets himself smile.

Donghae may not be a soldier or knows anything about war, but Donghae is prepare to fight, to battle Hyukjae’s demons for him because sometimes in life there is something is worth fighting for and Donghae spent his whole life never knowing that feeling until now.

a/n 2: who need TWO Author notes on a single page?? ME THAT'S WHO.

I mention off handed once or twice i think, that regency!hyukjae is a former soldier. the backstory behind it is kinda long and complicated but it’s basically that hyukjae was a slum kid who enter the military at 15/16 bc the military cover your housing/food/clothes etc as they send you off to war so for hyukjae who no money in his pocket and a sister to take care of it, he faked his age (which no one really care or check for bc hey more soldier for the empire!) and enlisted so he can send w/e money back to her and she will have one less mouth to feed. spent like nearly a decade fighting wars for korea until he got honorably discharged and went home with nightmares and haunted by the things he saw and did over there. 

so bc hyukjae went all over the places when he was in the military he has an extensive networks of friends and acquaintances and got very good at investing in new and risky businesses on foreign soils bc of them. so when he came back he make a lucrative business bringing stuff from the west to the east from his own supplier/friends that personally sell to him so that’s kind of how he built his legitimate ‘merchant’ empire (there’s also other stuff like investment, shipping, etc), his underworld empire… is another story entirely which i prob get around to to talking about it eventually when i write more of hyukaje’s more seedy business. 

ANYWAY, back to the point he got ptsd from the war  make it multiple wars) and bc he’s hyukjae he refuse to talk about it and seek help bc he think he can handle it :////. hyukjae didn’t choose to sleep by himself just bc he is considerate of their situation (marriage of convenience//not out of love etc) and doesn’t want to pressure donghae into something he doesn’t want but also bc his ptsd makes his sleeping habit quite violent and he worries he might hurt donghae one day so separate bed and all. the ironic thing is that while the wars did quite a bit on hyukjae, he’s an adrenaline junkie who can’t stop himself from getting involve in the action so he traded one battlefield for the next, instead of hunting down enemy soldiers now he’s hunting down criminals/traitors/spies/etc for the empire as the emperor’s hound. it’s also extra, extra ironic that hyukjae is running places such a gambling den in seoul underbelly but at the same time stopping serial killers, human smuggling, etc in seoul. there’s a story behind that too *___* hyukjae is a complicated individual w/ multi facet char to him that donghae is only scratching the surface of. i think that’s what make hyukjae so fascinating to donghae who lives a pamper shelter existence. 

one of the highlights of this scene to me is that while regency!donghae isn’t honest with his feelings like putting up a fuss that it’s his reputation on the line that’s forcing him to climb into hyukjae’s bed when really he’s just want to offer comfort to hyukjae. so a lot of his posturing and saving face is all just for show even though hyukjae can easily see through him. he’s not doing it bc he doesn’t accept or refuse to acknowledge his feelings but it’s matter of pride i guess?? xDDD like donghae is used to ppl clamoring for his attention, he got a long line of suitors yet… his own husband refuse to even look at his way twice let alone share the same bed so lol it hurt his pride that he’s the one begging for the attention and doing the chasing for once.  ISN’T HE JUST THE CUTEST??? :DD anyway hyukjae is totally affected it’s just he’s really good at hiding it or at least when donghae isn’t going full frontal assault on his senses haha.