The countryside is beautiful. As long he ignores the dreary haze of gray emanating from the city, that is. Polluted air covers the sprawling landscape in a thick pall of poverty and misery, slowly poisoning its residents. Andy leans back against the plush velvet cushion of his carriage and sends a prayer to his parents in Heaven that he was born rich. Being poor in such a filthy city seems like living Hell.

Not that it matters to Andy, of course. He closes his eyes as the carriage bumps along the rough dirt path. Living way out in the countryside has its perks, but the only problem is that each mansion is miles and miles away from one another, which means Andy has to travel an entire half a day just to see his friends. He doesn’t really mind; he would readily do that every single day than to live - God forbid - in the city.

The carriage stops, the door opens, and Andy steps out. The footman bows, but Andy doesn’t spare him even a glance. His attention is drawn entirely to the magnificent building in front of him, glowing with warm firelight. Torches line every single window, giving off the illusion of a mansion standing in flames. He really isn’t joking this time, is he?

“Andy!” A man at the top of the marble steps waves. Andy grins, waving back, and bounds up to greet his friend. “You were nearly late!”

“Oh, come on.” Andy laughs and pretends to hit the taller man. “Look at all these people coming after me. I’m early, .”

Together, they watch the long line of carriages make its way to the mansion. The night sets slowly, and with the dying sun, the faraway city springs to life. It never fails to amaze Andy how much of a difference a few miles can make. The city, with its advanced technology. The village, with its medieval living conditions. The countryside, with its mansions combining both. Sometimes it seems like too much of a paradox, the ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor, but Andy had been taught that only the strong survive, and if the poor are strong, then they will find some way to live on.

“Eric, Andy!” A well-built man around Andy’s height bounces up the steps, dyed brown hair flopping over his eyes. He swishes the hair away and throws his arms around his friends. “Am I late yet?”

“No way, idiot.” Eric straightens his cravat. “I hope you brought the mask, Minwoo. I went through pains to get that for you.”

With a flourish and a waggle of his eyebrows, Minwoo brings out a dazzling masquerade mask. It’s pure gold, adorned with rubies, and matches perfectly with Minwoo’s blazing red suit jacket.

“I would never lose something that my best friend gave me!” he declares, placing his hand upon his heart. “Don’t worry, I’ll return it once the party’s over, and thanks for letting me use it in the first place.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Your country wouldn’t have known what a masquerade mask looked like anyway.”

They play-argue, but Andy’s mind blanks out. He doesn’t even know what he’s thinking about. Is he even thinking about anything? What images flash through his mind? Andy doesn’t know. But then, a sudden hand on his shoulder jerks him back to reality, and Andy turns to see deep laugh lines and premature wrinkles.

“God, Dongwan,” he pretends to complain, passing a hand over his face. “You need to stop scaring people! You’re like a ghost, here one second, gone the next.”

Dongwan laughs, his voice echoing across the lawn, as Minwoo and Eric pounce upon him. They skip the customary where-have-you-beens and how-was-the-trips; Dongwan’s always been the kind of person to disappear on some foreign excursion whenever he feels like it, and afterwards, he’ll return like nothing’s happened.

“No, but did I tell you guys about Sweden?” Dongwan grabs Andy’s arm and ushers him inside, the others following close behind. “It is so beautiful, Andy, you need to go sometime.”

Andy answers nonchalantly as his friend babbles on about the European beauties, although he himself could care less. What really grabs his attention is the lavish decorations inside Eric’s house. The foyer twinkles bright and clean, and party guests mill around, skirts swishing and coattails flying. Andy marvels at the magnificence of it all, from the real torches that light up the space to the elaborate ballgowns that the women wear, and especially the ornate metal masks that cover everyone’s faces. Only Eric, he supposes, could have pulled off a Victorian Era masquerade party.

“Where’s your mask?” Dongwan suddenly asks, and Andy finds with a start that Dongwan already has his mask tied to his face. The amethysts and gold offset each other, giving Dongwan the illusion of an ethereal glow. Quickly, Andy reaches into his pocket and pulls out his own mask, a gold one embedded with emeralds.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Lee!” he hears a woman whisper, her grass-green gown rustling as she turns to her partner. “And Mr. Kim! Are the Elite Five all here?”

“Of course,” the man answers, a bit condescendingly. “I just saw Mr. Minwoo. Do you really think Mr. Eric wouldn’t have invited his best friends?”

Andy smiles to himself. The mask only hides the top part of his face, leaving his nose and mouth exposed. Anyone with a brain would be able to recognize him. There’s just one thing nagging at him, though, something that no one has mentioned so far. It bothers him, the unsettling feeling of emptiness, of a presence missing that should not be.

“Where’s Junjin?” he asks Dongwan, who’s too busy staring at the food to pay attention to much else. “He’s late.”

Dongwan snorts, dragging Andy over to the huge table of hors d’oeuvres. “Chill.” He stuffs a couple of crackers into his mouth, evidently giving no thoughts to his image. “He’ll be here. Plus, weren’t we early?”

Andy rolls his eyes, accepting the cheese plate that Dongwan s at him. “I’ll kill him if he doesn’t show.”

“ing chill, alright?” Bits of ham and cracker fly out from Dongwan’s mouth, and he quickly slaps a napkin over his face. “You still have the rest of us, and you love us, right?”

“Sure, sure.” At the rate Dongwan’s jaws are working, all the food will be gone in about two hours. “Okay, let’s-- no, we’re leaving.”

“But, but, fooood!” Dongwan whines childishly as Andy forces him away, making grabby hands towards the tables. “Andy, food!”

Andy ignores all the odd stares from the other partygoers. “No more food until dinner,” he admonishes in a stern voice. It strikes him funny, how he’s the youngest in the friend group and yet acts the most mature. Is he a mom-friend? Since when had he become one?

brb sobbing over kid!Dongwan and mom!Andy LMFAOOO i love my men :"DD