Plump lips, in an unfairly pleasant shade of just barely red, wet themselves. The clink of a single glass sliding against a table, far too early for anyone to be even thinking about drinking, echoes through the room –as all unwanted noises do.

Just like all unwanted thoughts do.

Sungjong lifts the unwanted alcohol to his perfect lips. Ignoring the chiming of the glass tapping against his table, his fingertips, his lips. Ignoring the thoughts haunting his mind.

But he knows, it was foolish to think it would last forever.

He stares at the alcohol in the glass. The first sip was just that, a wetting of the lips. But somehow, he feels dizzy already. He doesn’t want to blame his thoughts, but they’re quite dizzying in their own right. So he makes a toast.

“So here’s to our –my –once upon a time.”

Handsome eyes are framed by furrowed eyebrows. Low grunts are released as the trained hands speedily move from one position to another, kicking one turnstile before ducking below another, punching the last, and finally jumping above the wooden contraption as his final punch causes the training device to spin continuously.

“Not bad for a six year old.”

Myungsoo bows, low and slowly. His eyes never leave the ground, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t know what his father looks like, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t enjoy this life, but he doesn’t mind.

In his mind, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

In his mind, all he is, is this: the bastard child of a man unlucky enough to get caught with the lowest ranking of all his mistresses.

The first time Sungjong sneaks into the royal garden is on accident, but it’s thrilling nonetheless. He doesn’t quite know where he is, but he gets the sneaking suspicion that he shouldn’t be here.

Of course that only makes him giggle as he dives further and further into uncharted territory.

That day, Sungjong’s fingers just barely find his toy, a ball coated with a cheap layer of thin gold paint, before his eyes find his boy. The boy Sungjong just knew he was fated for.

The next time Sungjong sneaks into the royal garden is no accident.

Myungsoo could easily kick that cheap plastic ball from one end of his ridiculously large garden to the other with the rage currently building up inside him. But of course, he is Myungsoo, and Myungsoo doesn’t rage.

Myungsoo also doesn’t put up with trespassers.

“Who do you think you are, and what are you doing here?”

He expects a tiny squeak from the tiny boy before him, whose eyes are probably the largest part of his entire body. He expects the tiny frame to shiver with fear. He expects complete timidness. He expects anything except what actually happens.

Because when Sungjong reaches out for the tiny plastic ball, that still somehow manages to be larger than his hand, with a slight smirk to his smile, Myungsoo’s perfectly composed countenance falters –just a little.

But when Sungjong speaks, with bubbles of happiness erupting from his voice and sparkles flying with every bat of his eyelashes, Myungsoo completely loses it –and with good reason.

“I threw this in here so I would have an excuse to meet you. My name is Sungjong.”

His eyes darken before the sky does, and he hurries to hide the half finished bottle of wine before others enter the room. He stiffens when a tall, and still extremely handsome male steps into the room, his head bashfully tilted towards the ground.

“I was wondering if you were doing well.”

Myungsoo voice is every bit as melodic as Sungjong remembers it, and he can’t help but wish his childhood self had been smart enough to take that plastic ball and use it to smash that perfect face in. It would have saved him a lot of trouble –and hours of staring at it, in desperate hope of finding some imperfection.

He finds himself swiveling around, a flourish in his step and smile on his face. He somehow manages to very gracefully grab another champagne flute in the process, and he cheerfully presents the incriminating evidence to Myungsoo.

“I’m doing great! Come join me!”

They say misery loves company.

But Sungjong wanted this company before he was miserable.

So why did it hurt so much when those beautiful eyes darkened, and that beautiful man sat down by his side, throwing back that entire flute in one beautiful movement?

“I came by so I’d have an excuse to see you.”