Chapter Text
i. hair
There were three universal truths known to every disciple in Mount Hua: one, never leave the sect without permission; two, hide your alcohol well—because Chung Myung would find it; and three, Kim Aeri was untouchable.
Literally.
Chung Myung himself had only touched Kim Aeri a handful of times, even less on bare skin. Nothing too major—just palms brushing as he helped her down from a carriage, or that one time she socked him in the face. Both were very memorable experiences, though he’d loathe to admit it in front of anyone.
But what he did have—what he could freely admit—was a strange obsession with her hair.
It was long. Longer than even his—and that was saying something. When she let it loose, usually at bedtime or in the early mornings, it would spill down her shoulders and past her hips like a blanket of silk. The kind his sahyung would say bankrupted sects. The kind where they only made five bolts a year.
For the longest time, Chung Myung had hated the way she wore it: twisted up in those tight, restrictive styles that looked suffocating, heavy, and painful. He’d even complained about it once, only to be immediately scolded by everyone in the room... except Aeri herself.
Then one day, purely by chance, he happened to be standing behind her as she walked past—her hair pinned into a neat bun, not a strand out of place.
And he caught a glimpse of her nape.
His face turned red on the spot.
The only person to notice was Chung Jin.
That stupid sajae of his had stared at Chung Myung’s flaming face for a long, judgmental moment before very deliberately turning a blind eye—like he didn’t get paid enough to deal with this .
When Chung Myung’s fumbling got bad enough to start complicating the trade deal Aeri was negotiating, that unfilial bastard of a sajae had finally sighed, dragged him off to the side, and—without a word—sprinkled water on his face like he was warding off a particularly stubborn demon.
Maybe it was a demon, Chung Myung thought hotly, glaring daggers at the back of Aeri’s head . But that isn’t me.
So obviously, in defiance of that demon’s agenda, he made it a point to touch her hair at every opportunity.
To her credit, Aeri never seemed to mind his strange fixation. Not that he ever voiced it aloud, or flaunted it as shamelessly as that Zhuge bastard did with his ridiculous feather fan—strutting around like a peacock trying to court her.
Instead, on lazy days like these—when neither of them had duties to tend to, and Chung Myung lay sprawled across her floor like a cat basking in the sun while Kim Aeri sat beside him, quietly absorbed in her books or embroidery—he’d let himself go a little.
His fingers would reach out, absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair between them.
Just a little, at the very ends. Never invasive, always tentative.
Aeri never pulled away.
He found it helped him think. It even helped him calm down when he was irritated. The first few times he reached out unconsciously—only to realize Aeri was wearing her hair up that day—he felt a flicker of embarrassment.
But then, when he and only he was visiting, Aeri began wearing her hair down.
A silent permission.
Neither of them acknowledged it, even once.
Chung Myung and the demon learned to coexist for a while. It was for the greater good; the world (read: he) couldn’t handle Kim Aeri in her full glory right now.
Just sitting there, watching sunlight flitter through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over her delicate features. Feeling the breeze against his skin, the sweet taste of mooncakes still lingering in his mouth. Sometimes, Aeri would absentmindedly hum a low tune under her breath as she worked on her embroidery.
She was shit at it, but it was the thought that counted.
Sometimes, his sahyung and Chung Jin would visit. On those days, Chung Myung wouldn’t twirl her hair, even if she wore it down. It felt private—something just between them.
Instead, he’d elbow and argue with his sect brothers over the last of the sweets, while Aeri smiled and brewed more tea. Sometimes his sahyung would sigh, but still reach over to pinch his cheeks affectionately. Sometimes Chung Jin would bring over poetry he’d written and recite it. He was shit at it, though, and the thought behind it did not count.
And once, just once, Chung Myung would think, like a fool.
I wish these days would never end.
He tried getting it out of his system once.
Frustrated after an earlier run-in with Southern Edge, and feeling more deprived of Aeri than he cared to admit—Chung Myung reached over and yanked Tang Bo’s hair.
Both of them froze instantly.
The look of sheer incredulity the leech shot him nearly made Chung Myung want to beat him up again.
Then the bastard held up his hands, scooting as far as he could to the other end of the gazebo.
“Listen, Taoist-hyung. I like you, but keep that stuff between you and your lady—ack!”
Chung Myung whacked him hard—mostly to cover up his own embarrassment. Not that the dumbass didn’t deserve it; he kept running his mouth like an idiot the entire time.
“Eek! You’re like this without even confessing—ow! Damn, you can’t even admit it, can you?!”
It quickly devolved into roughhousing that ended up bringing the gazebo down on their heads. When Kim Aeri did finally turn up, a tray of refreshments in hand, she just sighed, shook her head, and walked right back the way she came—both of them scrambling after her like madmen.
“Samae, wait!”
“Aeri-ssi, look how mean your sahyung is being! You have to scold him!”
Chung Myung would freeze in his tracks at Tang Bo’s words, genuine disbelief flashing through his features.
“ Aeri-ssi —yah, you bastard, are you crazy? ” He breathed out, taking a threatening step forward. Forget Chung Myung, if his sahyung found out, he’d butcher this idiot! “How dare you call her by her name—”
“Hah!” Tang Bo shot back, grinning wildly. “At least I’ve got the guts to say how I feel—”
Chung Myung lunged forward like his life depended on it, face flaming red.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
These were feelings he didn’t understand.
A strange sort of impatience always urged him to go seek out something—someone. It consumed his waking moments, tormented him at night. It was frankly getting more and more annoying. He'd loved before—he loved his sect, he loved alcohol, and despite all his nagging, he loved his sahyung too. Chung Jin too, even if it was a bit of stretch. The leech? Most definitely not.
That bastard was the reason why Chung Myung was like this.
Love, my ass.
After that day, Chung Myung found himself laying on the wooden floors, sulking up at the ceiling. Somewhere above him, he could hear some disciples from the finance hall prattling on about the price of fabric for their uniforms and yada yada. He didn't care, he had bigger fish to fry or rather—stew darkly about.
Eventually, a weight settled on the ground, the scent of spring rain invading his senses. Aeri.
Despite himself, his body relaxed.
She was dressed in white for once, none of her colorful plume to be seen. No jewelry or accessories, which made sense. She hated wearing heavy things while working—preferring a neat, practical appearance on such days—and she'd been having meetings all day for sect matters. Still, the plain clothing did nothing to hide her beauty. Rather, it made her look holy, like a being out of this world. If he wasn't embarrassed enough, Chung Myung might have admitted she looked like an angel.
She might be one, Chung Myung thought idly.
His eyes traced the delicate line of her back like a man possessed. Maybe he was.
A fool. An idiot.
Aeri didn’t speak for a long time, but when she did, her voice was amused. “Is something bothering you, Sahyung?”
Yeah, you.
Chung Myung glowered at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. The paint was chipping a bit—he'd have to go snitch to Sahyung about it. When he didn’t answer immediately, Aeri lifted her head and signaled for the maids to give them some privacy.
It was only once the door clicked shut that the stubborn curl of Chung Myung’s lips lessened a little.
Still, he refused to speak.
Aeri didn’t push—she knew better than to—merely turning her back to him and working on her needlepoint in the meantime. She would wait until he was in the mood to answer. Patient as ever. Calm as a lake.
After a moment, Chung Myung reluctantly dragged his gaze towards her.
The light filtering through the plum trees outside cast dappled shadows over her delicate features, a quiet smile playing at her lips. She had not put up her hair today either, he noted, as if aware of his terrible mood already.
Thin, deft fingers carefully worked thread through the fabric, patiently carving out the faintest beginnings of a plum blossom crest. It was a uniform, Chung Myung realized with vague irritation. Hah, so what if she was getting better at it? It still looked shitty!
He’d told her so many times to not do such useless, menial labor. It was below her—they had people for this for a reason! Was his Sahyung pinching so many pennies that they had to have someone like her prick her fingers?!
Chung Myung rolled over to the side, raising his head and glaring at her back with half a mind to scold her.
But he didn’t.
Instead he reached out as if possessed, absently twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers. It was soft, softer than anything he’d ever touched before. That wasn't a new observation, just one that awed him every time. He tugged lightly, pointedly—suddenly feeling impatient.
Aeri only hummed in acknowledgment, her needle not faltering for a moment. She still didn't look at him.
“Samae.”
He tried not to preen under her silverly gaze. She looked relaxed like this, somehow. Homely, but not in a bad way. “Yes, Sahyung?”
Content.
Chung Myung just stared at her for a long moment—the meticulous needlework, the undone hair, the gentle smile. She looked pretty. Really pretty.
Tang Bo’s words hung at the back of his mind.
“Taoist-hyung, do you still not know? How can you be this dense?! This is lov—“
He didn’t understand, he just didn’t know.
But, Chung Myung hesitated. He wanted to know.
So he asked.
“Have you ever fallen in love?”
I want to know. Is this love?
Her needle paused for a split second, for a mere moment before continuing its journey. Aeri did not speak for a long time, letting the silence stretch long enough to make Chung Myung begin to regret asking the question in the first place.
But then Aeri turned her head, and Chung Myung let the lock of hair slip through his fingers as if it was never there. As if it were never his.
She smiled, faint but fond. And Chung Myung knew right there and then.
“Of course.”
Oh.
He memorized her answer—memorized every square inch of her face, of this moment, of the precious words that spilled from her lips. Her eyes, twinkling faintly in the shadows cast by the sunlight.
“I fear I have never not been in love.”
Oh.
Something finally clicked.
Ah, I see.
Chung Myung stared at the woman in front of him. His samae. His friend. His confidante.
This is what love looks like.
And now, dare he say it.
The woman he loved.