A/N: Warning - This chapter has mild, indirect mentions of . If you are sensitive to this kind of topic, I advise you not to read any further. For others, enjoy!

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 Seulgi sits down cross-legged on the king-sized bed situated in her room . She watches Irene who is still standing, looking uneasy. “Uhm, you can sit down on that chair,” she says, smiling sheepishly. Seulgi continues smiling as she watches Irene hesitantly sit down on one of the many chairs in the large room. Clearing , Seulgi rubs the back of her neck before she speaks. “So, how long have you been working for the king?” She steadily meets Irene’s gaze and flashes a smile - although her heart was thumping a bit too fast for comfort -  when the girl looks up at her with her soft brown eyes.

    “I’ve been under his care since I was sixteen.” Seulgi raises her brows tilting her head.

    “How old are you now?”

    “Twenty-four.” Seulgi is honestly baffled at the new information. Irene looks young enough to be an adolescent.

    “Wow, so eight years?” Seulgi can’t help but smile when Irene nods like a little kid. “Well, I’m going to wash up now -” Seulgi pauses when she realizes that she has been talking informally to Irene. “I’m sorry about that - using informal language. Actually, are you okay with that? It looks like we’re going to be seeing quite a lot of each other, so I wouldn’t mind if we use informal language. You can call me Seulong instead. I don’t really like formal terms.” Irene’s expression is close to shock, and Seulgi throws out both hands, taking back her words. “I-I mean if you would like. Please do not think that I am rude or anything like that -”

    “No, it’s alright. I would - I would like that. Seulong.” And Seulgi literally feels her breath leave her when she sees Irene’s gentle smile aimed at her. She feels heat begin to color her cheeks, and she looks away quickly, facing the opposite direction.

    “O-Okay, then that’s that. We’re friends now. I’m - I’m going to wash up now. Don’t leave. Just stay here.” Seulgi curses at herself under her breath and hisses as quietly as she can when she lands roughly on her right leg.

    “Are you okay?” Irene’s soft voice says, concern lining her tone. Seulgi slightly panics, but she quickly turns around and forces a smile.

    “Yeah, I’m fine. Just . . . landed awkwardly, that’s all.” And Seulgi quickly walks towards her luggage, gritting her teeth as she forces herself to walk normally. She can’t let Irene know. She can’t let anyone know. Not about this. Not about anything. She quickly opens her bags and grabs the first items of clothes that she sees before quickly and painfully making her way to the washroom. She flashes one last smile at Irene who still has a concerned look on her face before closing the door. She clenches her fists, hating the vulnerability that she has just shown Irene. She hates that pity-filled expression that Irene has given her. She hates it. It reminds her too much of past events, reminds her too much of past pains. Seulgi shakes her head, calming herself down and stares into the mirror. The mirror reflects herself, and she hates it. She turns on the tap and splashes water onto her face before looking back up into the mirror.

“Get a hold of yourself. You’re Kang Seulong. Kang Seulgi is dead. You’re Kang Seulong.”

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    Irene stares at the closed bathroom door. It’s undeniable. Kang Seulong definitely has something wrong with his leg. Of course, it can be a small injury created not too long ago, but the way the young musician had reacted said otherwise. She had seen the fleeting panic in the young man’s eyes when he had turned around with that fake smile on his face. She had seen the barely prominent muscles in his jaw flex as he gritted his teeth when he had walked. She had seen, once again, the fake smile just before he had walked into the bathroom. Irene bites her lip. What could it be? And why was the musician trying to hide it? Then, Irene berates herself. Those questions were of no business to her. If Seulong was trying to hide it, Irene wasn’t going to try to pry into it.

Then, Irene smiles. She remembers how they had agreed to talk informally to each other, how Seulong had told her to call him by his name instead. Seulong is definitely different. He isn’t like the other men. Most men would have taken her by now - taken advantage of her. She had seen the way Seulong had looked at her. He hadn’t looked at her with lustful eyes that all the men that she had ever met looked at her with - eyes that seemed to be trying to undress her mentally. Seulong had looked at her with eyes with awe, his dark, almost black eyes only staring at her face instead of her body. Seulong is a true gentlemen unlike the other men who call themselves nobles. Irene knows that, and she’s grateful for it. Irene has only heard about men like Seulong in stories, fairytales. He’s handsome, charming, and to top it all off, gentle and good-natured. He even seems innocent.

“I’m done, can I go down now? I’m sort of hungry.” Irene jerks up, startled, only to feel her heartbeat speed up when she lays her eyes on Seulong. Seulong has changed into silvery blue clothing, his hair, that has been in a bun before, is now in a ponytail, and he looks every bit a noble. Absolutely breathtaking. Seulong almost looks like a woman. “What’s wrong? Is this not fit for dinner?” Seulong sounds uncertain as he fingers the silky material. Irene snaps out of her stupor and quickly shakes her head.

“N-No. You look very handsome.” Irene has gotten up, and she feels her legs go weak when Seulong sends a true smile instead of the fake ones that she has seen earlier.

“Thank you. Now, does the king want me to take my own instruments, or does he have his own?”

“The king has instruments ready for you at the dining room, sir.”

“Seulong.” Irene, surprised, looks up to see a soft smile on the musician’s face. “Remember? We agreed on that. Didn’t we?” Irene blinks a few times before she looks down again, finding it impossible to hold the young man’s gentle and steady gaze.

“S-Seulong.” Irene is embarrassed to hear a soft chuckle come from Seulong before she slightly flinches and widens her eyes when she feels a soft pat on her head. Irene dares to look up and feels her cheeks color when she sees a gentle smile that she has never seen aimed at her before. Especially not from a man.

“Good. Now, let’s go. I’m starving.”

Irene walks beside the musician this time, due to the musician’s request, of course. She can’t help but try to catch any signs of discomfort while Seulong is walking. But if Seulong is feeling uncomfortable, he doesn't show it. He only smiles as he walks and talks to Irene about trivial things. But Irene likes it. Almost loves it. She loves how Seulong is so different from the others. Seulong treats her like a person. Like a friend. And Irene has never been treated that way before.

“Are you usually this quiet?” Irene looks towards Seulong, confused, wondering if she had heard him correctly. “I guess you are. You do look like the quiet type.” Seulong’s smiling his crooked smile again, slightly mischievous, but warm all the same. Irene thinks about his question seriously for a few minutes. Is she naturally quiet? Or is her silence another trait that’s been forced on her since her stay here? So, she answers truthfully.

“I don’t know.” She can almost feel Seulong’s confused gaze on her, but she chooses to ignore it. She isn’t ready to answer that question, she doesn’t know the answer to it. And she hopes that Seulong is as sharp as he seems, and drops the topic. Thankfully, it seems that he is, as he suddenly goes into a strange rant about lamps.

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