“Is it still painful?” The family doctor pressed his hips and from the corner of my eyes, I saw Jongin’s expression turned from sour to bitter. Clearly it was still painful. I picked up the shirt he threw off on the ground and put it in the basket.

“Not really,” He clenched his fists together and replied stubbornly.

I rolled my eyes at his reply and came closer to the bed. In this room, there were only Sehun, Jongin, the doctor and me. Sehun, much to my own amusement, sort of enjoyed the pain Jongin was in, though he was clearly unhappy that he had to assist Jongin almost anywhere he went since the latter was still limping.

“Dr. Jung,” I took a good look at his nametag and interrupted, “Please don’t listen to Jongin. He is just too stubborn for his own good.”

“Pfft, wouldn’t you know?” Jongin snickered and lifted his legs onto the bed stand. His waist might still hurt, but his feet were fine, just a bit limp and weak. He wore a loose faded blue pajama pants that covered third quarter of his long, skinny feet. It was only when I looked closer that I noticed that his toes were imperfect.

“I…” I was about to retort, but Dr. Jung Yunho cut our argument with his hearty laughter. He was a man in his late twenty – if not early thirty at most – with kindly shaped almond eyes that reflected nothing but the goodness in his heart. When he stood up from his metal chair, he was significantly taller than all of us, until I noticed that one of his legs wasn’t real. It was artificial.

“Ah, it’s been so long since I heard a protector who could talk back to his own leader,” Yunho grinned brightly at Jongin and gave him a hard squeeze on the shoulder, “Young man, you shouldn’t be so hard on your Lady. She is just worried about your condition, that’s all.”

“Are you?” Instead of beating around the bush, Jongin directed his unusual grey eyes to me. Such was the clarity in those dark orbs; without its usual darkness and mocking stare. I only realised then that Jongin’s gaze could be so melancholic and deep, still bearing the same intensity they possessed.  

“Why are you asking such an inappropriate question? It isn’t strange that our Lady cares for you, Jongin,” Sehun appeared behind me and grabbed onto my shoulders protectively. My back was touching his chest and I could hear his steady heartbeat pounding against his chest, “Dr. Jung, please do your best to heal this child. He’s been babied enough for the last couple of days.”

“Yeah, keep talking bull while I’m still healing, Oh Sehun. You can be sure to get back twice in return when I’m all well and recovered,” Jongin waved him away lazily, and Sehun chuckled. “You’ll be the witness, Princess.”     

“Get well first, you big talker,” I hit his thigh and he winced. It was strange how my feelings could change so drastically in just six months. When summer came, I was wondering how to trust him. The autumn wind signaled the start of his betrayal and our broken trust. In rainy days, he saved my life and now that the cold winter had started in Seoul, I worried and prayed for his quick recovery.

“Give me two weeks and this body will be good as new,” Yunho courteously bowed at me. “It’s a miracle that his wounds could heal so fast. I dare suggest that it might have something to do with the rare and complex amount of Genbu and Seiryuu’s blood in his body.”

I glanced at the bland expression on Jongin’s face as he leaned sideways and looked out the window. There was nothing but dark, deep water outside, but he looked rather distracted by it. He seemed to be quite sensitive over the subject of his parents, though he might appear casual and avoid the topic sensibly.

“Two weeks, Dr. Jung. I’m relying on you, then. Hopefully you can talk some sense into Jongin as he recovers,” I smiled a bit when Jongin threw a sarcastic stare at me. “Oh, and make him rest plenty, as well. You can lie on the bed all day while we train with the Genbu families, Jongin.”

I pulled Sehun away as I heard Jongin muttered a curse in a not-so-subtle voice. He never failed to make my day.

***

“Minseok,” I greeted.

“Minseok-oppa,” He corrected and insisted with a lecherous grin on his face. Of the three Genbu siblings, I was never close to him. Though Minseok was the oldest and his deceased father was very fond of him, I never quite liked his flattery and flamboyant personality.

“Kim Minseok,” I repeated with acid laced on my words. I might not be as skilled in fighting as Jongin or Luhan, but I was at least better than Minseok, and he knew it. Joonmyun came back from the restroom and held onto my hand tightly, refusing to let go. It was only after Minseok stared at it for a while that he finally backed off.

The three of us walked together to the main hall, and turned left to a private room. It was located in the eastern wing, and the walls were replaced with glass windows, so the view of the water was not obstructed. According to the family’s belief, it was only appropriate that the funeral’s altar was held in this very room. 

“Mother is resting after her night shift,” Minseok explained at the absence of people in the room. There was only one guard and one maid at the moment, and none looked too pleased after experiencing sleepless nights guarding the coffin and the corpse.

“Let her rest,” I smiled sarcastically. Let her rest if that meant that I would not see her for the next few days. Joonmyun and I walked onto the altar and knelt down as a sign of respect. There were no incense sticks or fruits offering, just a black nameplate with Kim Yong Ha’s name on it.

“Father, Sena is here,” Joonmyun whispered with a monotonous voice that bore no affection. When he stood up, I followed and we both went to the coffin’s side. I counted the shots on his body and concluded that the sniper shot him in the forehead, and fourteen other shots came from Baekhyun’s personal armies.

“Sad?” I coldheartedly asked him. Minseok let out an awkward cough and mumbled nonsense in response. “My bad, of course Joonmyun is sad. You can go now, Minseok. Both of us will guard the altar for tonight. And that goes for the two of you, too,” I pointed at the maid and the guard who immediately stood up in alarm.

“Sena, you can’t order me in my own house!” He let out a cry of protest, but Joonmyun icily cut him off, none too gently and kindly, “This is my house and she is my fiancée and our honored guest. You will speak to her in respect, Brother, or our father won’t rest in peace seeing that his dearest son offends the Seiryuu lady in front of his altar.”

“How dare you!” Minseok’s face turned green and he stomped out of the room angrily. That man had always had a petty mind and quick mouth. He might be twenty-three, but his brain was no better than an impatient twelve years old teenager. The maid and the guard bowed down and quickly left the room.

“Sad?” I asked again when Joonmyun’s hard gaze was planted very firmly on his father’s face.

“Regretful,” He corrected me after a long pause. As far as I knew, Joonmyun hadn’t shed a single tear over his father’s death. He was just going with the flow; attending what he had to and following the usual custom of the deceased. It was also the first time I’d seen him wore a head-to-toe black.

“Because of your relationships?”

“Because he’s ruined everything I have wanted with his death,” He bitterly made a cold remark. His heart was hardened since he was a mere child, living in a house of a biased father and an ignorant mother. Jongdae was even worse. He was sent away for ten years in America and only came back when he turned seventeen.

“Is that the only reason?” I inquired and found two chairs for us. He was still standing by the coffin, his face blank and dazed, while I sat not far away from him. Joonmyun did not answer this question. He just stood and clenched and unclenched his fists.

“He was never a good father to me,” Joonmyun calmly recalled and finally walked over to the seat beside mine. The light reflected on his twinkly dark orbs, but at the moment, the shine had reduced to dullness. He wasn’t happy, nor was he sad. I couldn’t quite grasp what he was feeling right now, because I had never really lost anyone important to me.

“Don’t you have any good memory with him? When you were younger, when the three of you weren’t implicated in the fight for the throne?” I continued on with the softest, dreamiest voice I could muster. I did not mean to flesh out those painful memories, but I wanted him to talk to me. Just so he could let it all out. I couldn’t bear to see his soulless smile and listen to his bland, tasteless jokes in this kind of condition.

He snorted and looked at his own hands. The palms were full of blue-ish purple veins. His hands, too, had been wounded so many times. I took it into my own and wrapped my smaller hands around his. Kim Joonmyun needed comfort, but not one person understood how.

“There was this one time,” I heard a small sniff from him. His eyes were glistening with tears. Those were the feelings he had restrained for so long, the ones he couldn’t cry out. “Just that one time, though, and I remember it very vividly, because sometimes, it feels more like a dream than reality, so I force myself to remember it.”

“Tell me about that dream,” I whispered softly and he suddenly clutched onto me tightly. “Tell me, Joonmyun. I promise I will listen.”

“As a child, I had to give up to Minseok whenever he wants something. When I was ten years old, I wanted to show off to my father because I was ranked first in my class. He had no time to come and visit me, so I ran home excitedly to tell him, but in the end, I got into a fight with Minseok.” He gulped down and continued, “My father was so angry he beat me with a whip and I was left with a huge, gashing wound that ran all the way on my back. I was so, so angry at him I even threw a tantrum and threatened to leave the clan on that day.”

I flinched. Clearly it wasn’t a happy memory.

“I lied motionless on the hospital bed for one week and the scar still remains.” He paused, “But one night, he came to visit me alone and asked me why I had to fight with my brother. So I told him. Do you know what he told me?”

I shook my head and stared into his glassy eyes. He’d let no tears dropped onto his face, but it couldn’t hide the sorrow and pain in his heart.

“He nodded, brushed my hair and left.”

Joonmyun said no more and hugged me closely. He buried his head onto the nape of my neck and cried silently. I didn’t have the heart to face him like this, so I leaned my head onto his shoulder and let him held me for as long as he wanted.

For Joonmyun, that memory with his father was probably the only good thing he had of him. The rest was nothing but sadness, hatred and most of all… disappointment.