Chapter Text
He is a son of flower. Royal blood runs through his veins; a lineage of hundred years of sin.
He lets out a chuckle, laughing at the irony of his life.
If he were to be born just two generations ahead, he would be in a completely different situation. He will be living in the castle up the hill, served by tons of servant, the whole town abiding his desire. Sure, it may have made him a little crazy in the head just like all of his predecessors; consumed by flaming greed, heart burned by viciousness, dark as charcoal. A life of luxury, however, is a guarantee.
If he were to be born one generation ahead though, he would be just dead; like his parents.
To live in the present means a life of hide and seek, of a race against time until the tattoo on his wrist become fully visible. After that point, no one knows what will happen. No one has made it far enough-at least not to Jaebum's knowing. The thing is that the only flower child he knows is Jinyoung, and it is only because they are brothers-at least by blood relation. Now though, he is an Im, and his brother is a Park, because no one should know who they really are in the first place.
All the remaining flower children, those too small to be killed in the massacre sixteen years ago, are now scattered in hiding. The 'parents,' the loyal aids of the former royalty or anyone noble enough to take in the offspring of their tyrant, each tries the hardest to conceal the truth about their identity, to erase the reality of the blood.
But hundred years of sin leaves out a burning red mark; the flower on his wrist a tell sign.
"Does it hurt?" Jinyoung eyes the pattern curiously, finger tracing the faint lines on Jaebum's wrist. Jaebum has sneaked into the younger's house first thing in the morning, anxious to share his newfound mark.
"No."
"Is this a rose?"
Jaebum pulls his hand to inspect more closely. It does look like a rose, the flower of passion-and with that of lust, greed-how fitting, Jaebum thinks. "I think it is a rose."
They are now lying on Jinyoung's bed, far bigger and comfortable than Jaebum's-given the younger's luck on the whole parents 'lottery.' While Jaebum is stuck with a couple of school teachers with a low-paying job, Jinyoung is blessed with a big merchant family. Despite that, Jaebum still loves his parents nonetheless.
Jaebum looks over to Jinyoung and remembers the first time he found his brother. It was when they were in the fourth grade, he recalls.
Jinyoung was a goody-two-shoes (he still is), a quiet kid whose friends come mainly from the fancy part of the village. It is not that they did not get along well, it was only that they did not really care about each other's presence. For Jaebum, Jinyoung was merely another snobby rich kid. Jaebum had his own circle of friends that he was content with, so to make any effort in befriending the younger boy had never really crossed his mind. Not until one eventful history lesson.
Jaebum recollects how he himself had squirmed uncomfortably in his seat while trying to maintain a straight face at the same time. The day's topic was on the royal family and the following coup that turns his life upside down. It was not beautiful; to listen to how much of an asshole your ancestor was, how much damage and suffering they had created for the people. It made you feel ugly. It twisted Jaebum's inside, and he felt like throwing up. He held it in, but not Jinyoung.
The usually calm kid was bawling his eyes out, throwing up all over the floor. His small body shivered violently. The rest of the school thought that he was too weak to look at the gore images and was simply traumatized by that. Jaebum, though, he knew better back then; because that eyes-the eyes that looked at the screen-held the same emotion as him; of disgust. The disgust of oneself, like when you glance upon a mirror and can finally see the wretched face you never knew you possess.
So, at lunch break that day he visited Jinyoung in the infirmary.
"Are you a flower child?" Straightforward; it was, and is, Jaebum's style. And without even a hello he had thrown the forbidden question out in the open.
Jinyoung's face went pale, and he looked as if he was ready to flee, so Jaebum hastily added. "Me too. I am a flower child."
They stuck to each other since.
A few months after the confrontation, through constant probing that annoyed both their family, they found out that they are brothers. It was a surreal experience. Jinyoung is still the same Jinyoung, and Jaebum is also the same Jaebum, yet something has shifted, an invisible string pulling them both like a flimsy leaf exposed against gravity. They never say it out loud, but there is a promise of forever etched in their intertwined fingers. (Jaebum also discovered he is technically the Crown Prince, the next in line in the royal family if the coup never happens. That, however, is no longer important)
"What are you going to do?" Jinyoung's concerned voice pulls him away from the recollection. He smiles weakly at his younger brother. The day Jaebum learns of their real relationship, he swore to himself to protect the younger boy with all his life, and that will never change.
He is the only one Jaebum has.
"What are we going to do, that's the question. It's possible yours will start to appear soon."
"I know."
Silence settles uncomfortably between them; they stare at the ornated ceiling as if it bears an answer.
"Is it really impossible for them to accept us?" Jaebum ruefully asks.
"Who knows, maybe you should try testing the water. If you get killed at least, I'll have the chance to run away." Jinyoung jokes with a bitter laugh that echoes in the still room. They can faintly hear footsteps outside the door; his parents have probably wake up.
"I might really do that."
Jinyoung shifts to prop himself on one of his elbow and hold his gaze against his brother. Jaebum knows what is coming. "You know what our family had done. Even the death of our whole kin is never going to atone for the sin. Maybe our death will pay some overdue bill."
Jinyoung, probably more than anyone in the world, despises their family line. He is a righteous boy; he has something that Jaebum and his own bitterness tremendously lacks; a sense of moral and justice. Jaebum thinks Jinyoung will make a great king. That force, however, is now directed to the blood that runs in his own body. Jaebum reaches to trace the vein on his brother's skin, coming to caress the faint blue lines on his wrist. Self-hate is poisonous; Jaebum, unfortunately, has not found its cure.
"Yet it will never be enough, JInyoung-ah. What's the point?" The question hangs in the air, suffocating the two lost boys with unspoken answers both already knew too well.
Jaebum strolls down the main road, expertly maneuvering between people crowding the market. It's Sunday morning, and people are out, and about the village, a merry atmosphere rises with the voluminous laugh and chatters. Here and there he will greet his parents' acquaintance with a smile; the flower on his wrist begins to sting. There is no telling how long until these people would stop smiling back at him.
His mother is fixing breakfast when he arrives at the house, the smell of chicken soup welcoming his heavy steps. He stops for a minute to ponder on his decision before approaching and giving her a back hug.
"Good morning, mom."
"Aish, you startle me." She slaps his hands but chuckles nonetheless.
Jaebum loves his mother. She is the embodiment of warmth and humor, the sunshine of his life.
"Did you go to Jinyoung's? Why don't you stay there for breakfast?"
"I miss you too much, so I come home."
"Stop. You are embarrassing me!" His mother plays struggle for a while before admitting defeat. Letting his only son clings to her shorter stature as she moves around the kitchen and they settle into a comfortable silence. Something is up, but she is not going to force out an answer. She knows his son too well.
Jaebum feels like his day has been filled with too many silences, and it's not even nine in the morning. As if the black lines on his skin suck up all the noises and he is left in a deafening void, all his senses befuddled and disoriented. The ticking of the clock on the wall is mocking him. His time is running-or maybe it's up already. His world is now a thin glass dome on the verge of crumbling.
"Mom?"
"Hmm." He says nothing, the lump in his throat too heavy to push. Instead, he brings up his hand closer to her face and rolls up his sleeve.
She violently shakes in his embrace. Her sobs are ferocious. The last bit of Jaebum's ground falls down with her tears.
His father had found them huddled in the kitchen, chicken soup burnt and abandoned, crying their hearts out. Jaebum was not necessarily heartbroken-he honestly still does not quite know what to feel about this at all-but seeing his mother breaks down in tears pains him. Her weep splashes dark, dark blue all across his glass chamber; he can see nothing pasts it.
"Why it's so soon. Ho-" Her mother wails into his father's embrace. He has not said anything since he saw the faint trace of flower on his skin. Jaebum wants to hear his calm voice, reassuring him that everything's going to be okay-just like when he failed at math in school, or when he fell down the first time he taught him to ride his bicycle-but Jaebum knows he can't. Jaebum knows he can't. The very first stroke of the flower is the start of his decay.
"Son," Jaebum can hear the tremble in his voice. Jaebum wishes him to stop. He can't bear to see his lifeline collapse.
"We… we never thought it would appear this early. We thought you would at least turn twenty… the mark usually comes later, some not even until thirty. We…" His father's voice trembles into a stop. Jaebum just turned eighteen last month. "We, we are sorry. We'll think of something. We'll talk with Jinyoung's parents…. maybe they can help. For now," His father takes Jaebum hands in his own, holding it like a delicate glass, "please don't worry too much. We will find a way."
Jaebum wants to believe in him; he has to believe in him; there is no other choice. So, he tells himself to do so. To believe in the man whose eyes are filled with despair.
Jaebum stays cooped at home for the next few days. The school is currently closed for the holiday, and he is thankful for the extra days he is given before he has to face his reality. The possibility of him ever returning though is minute at this point. Her mother had forbidden him to even go a meter out of the house. 'Wait until your father comes up with something' she pleaded with trembling lips, and Jaebum does not have the heart to say no.
He had known all along that it would come down to this. He remembers he was just seven when his parents took the time to tell him all about his past. Of course, he could not understand it the first time; his small brain refused to take all the information in. So, they do it again and again. Instilling the knowledge-his 'history' as his father had said-bits by bits; slowly but with intent, with a promise of keeping everything a secret from Jaebum's end. By the age of ten Jaebum finally understood it all.
It came unhurriedly, not like a storm but more of a slow rise of tide-a shiver traveled up, and he felt himself suddenly suffocated, drowned in a nightmare, both his feet chained by ghostly hands gripping, pulling him down and down into the dark.
He got sick and stayed home for a week.
He afterward realizes that, at the end of the day, the future is just a bizarre concept; the road he travels every day a wobbly bridge builds on uncertainty. He goes by his days leisurely, without much hope while also refuses to succumb to despair (his parents would not like that, and he loves them too much to subject them to such torture.) He takes what he can take, does what he can do; while the world is still on his side. But he makes sure never to get too close to anyone-his parents and Jinyoung an exception-attachment long considered fruitless and more of a burden. So, he had known all along that his life would at some point stop being ordinary.
Yet, now, sprawling on his bed, wrist throbbing with invisible pain, he knows even a lifetime preparation will not be enough.
He wonders what will happen to his family. He does not really care if he were to be shunned, but he will not be able to handle people ostracizing his family. The villagers love his parents, who are gentle teachers that they look up to. He will never forgive himself if he were to be the one taking that love from them. His parents are just kind folks whose door one night knocked by a palace servant holding one-year-old Jaebum. Compassionate people who fall in love with a baby drenched in filthy blood. They were lucky, his father once said, that the town was in an enormous chaos at the time. No one questions why the next day their parents suddenly move to another part of the town, assuming they are fleeing the instability of the area near the palace. That's how they start their life anew with little Jaebum. That's how his parents build him a humble palace he calls home.
The last thing Jaebum wants is to commit the sin of robbing the little happiness they have now just by simply existing.
Should he run away?
Where?
Anywhere, he answers himself.
Anywhere, as long as his family will be safe.
How about Jinyoung then?
What will happen to his brother if he leaves him alone?
Jaebum feels his head starts pounding. The house is too quiet these days, and he can hear the echo of his own thought, loud, anxious, and pressing. He needs to get out. The air in his room has become too stifling. He pushes himself out of bed. Once again sleep has failed him; he guesses it's a little before dawn by the look outside-a sliver of yellow washing down the blue at the bottom of the skyline. His parents have not wake up yet, and this may be his only chance. He won't go too far, he promises himself. And he won't go where there are too many people. He will also wear a long sleeve and a jacket, and people will not be suspicious because the morning is cold. He writes all that down and put it on top of the kitchen table in case his parents start looking for him in a frenzied paranoia.