Chapter Text
He can feel the curl of warmth around the crook of his elbow, his heart is clasped in a halo'd orb of joy. Seonghwa can barely keep the smile from touching his temples from the tidal wave of emotion. So great it is, that he feels like calling, bellowing from the top of his lungs that he has found it, and he has it, the most precious thing, and she is right here, she is real, she is right beside him, a flurry of soft sweet skirts, fiery almost-glares, and wry, musing smiles.
Her gaze meets his briefly, questioning, but it seems as though his face is an open book to her, his pages well-worn by her firm thumbs. He pretends he doesn't see her reading him, opting instead to pull her closer and then revelling when the act meets no resistance. She is maybe even pleased by this; he notes the corners of her eyes crinkling even as she turns her attention to the streets ahead.
They walk in very companionable silence, Seonghwa holding this beautiful, marvelous woman as close as he can without both of them tripping over the cobblestones or her skirts, with her sight-seeing and him heart-beating.
It's a wonder he is managing such a stoic facade when it feels like there are firecrackers going off in his stomach.
Their next stop is the Choi household, and San greets him at the door, looking a little harried and dark around the eyes. Hongjoong pretends she isn't listening as San palms him a small note and Seonghwa passes along his own findings on the Whitechapel fiend, but San doesn't mind her presence. He sends them off soon enough, and Seonghwa can see a slight glimmer of disappointment in Hongjoong's eye, even as she takes his arm again. She must've hoped to catch a glimpse of Wooyoung, perhaps even exchange greetings. It damn near makes him turn back, pound on the Chois' door. He must be crazy, he would be half-mad to break out of character like that — yet he'd do anything to bring her a smile.
A slight drizzle has begun, and Seonghwa steers them to one of the inner shops, just off the high street. As he steals a glance at her in the bookstore, he finds himself holding still at the sight of Hongjoong. Her head is gently tipped towards the books before her, expression neutral but eyes brilliant and shining as she scans the text.
He'd never thought he would ever lose himself in a woman like this. No, it went beyond that, Hongjoong went beyond the impression of her gender — never did he ever expect to lose himself in another being, another person, never like this. The stir of butterflies had grown, from the night at the party, and then exploded in a flurry during the his exchange with her twin brother, when he looked into the man's face but all he could think about was Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong that he gladly took the chastisement for his previous behaviour.
Hongjoong, as a person, is ravishing. As smart as a whip, as bright as a star, as unpredictable and startling as an open flame. If Hongjoong wished for the moon, he'd build a ladder and carve it out of the sky.
"Are you going to pick out a quill, or are you going to spend all of our time here gawking at me like a fish." her lilting voice teases him out of his impassioned inner monologue. A flush works its way up his neck as he diverts his wandering eyes back to the inks and pens before him. Still, he can feel her amused stare upon him, and he can't help but preen a little.
He purchases a new novel for her, along with a fine bottle of ink for himself. He nearly swoons when she suggests the florist she'd spotted down the road as their next stop, and his barely contained excitement clearly entertains her as they make their way down the street.
A bag of larkspur seeds later (Hongjoong attempts to wheedle the meaning of these specific flower from him, but he tells her not yet, as he blushes and she chortles), they continue down the shops under the pitter-patter of the rainfall. Hongjoong has slowed slightly, likely due to the rain and her heeled shoes.
“Where do you want to go next? Anyplace that interests you?” Overhead, the thunder rumbles like a rolling drum, combining with slushing carriages as they hobble by them in the crowded streets. He tucks their goods securely under his arm and switches his umbrella to the right so he can hold her as close as possible, shielding her from the push and pull of the people that rush by.
“I don’t know my way around, so I can’t tell you what possibilities are in my interest, earl,” a playful answer comes, as Hongjoong huffs out a laugh. He responds with a low sound in his throat, and feels her press closer to his hum as he surveys their options.
With the sky darkened by the London gloom, the shopfronts have begun to light up, their warm, paned faces showing the way down the winding alley. Now that he can see the seasonal displays more clearly, it makes it feel like Christmas was almost here.
“Then how about candies?” Seonghwa follows Hongjoong's gloved hand, which is pointing to a shop just across the road, decked in many coloured lights.
“Do you like those?” he asks, looking at his partner's expression as she shrugs.
"I like chocolates." she murmurs, "Candies aren’t in the budget for most people in my area.”
Seonghwa can't help but smile. He repositions himself as he replies her, only to get cut off by a clash of thunder. When it passes, he repeats himself with a chuckle.
“Then let’s get you chocolates and perhaps you'll find a liking in something else.”
Seonghwa is careful in leading them across; they narrowly avoid the trampling hooves of a carriage horse before they get onto the pavement. The people bustling through, all on their ways about their own crowded lives. Even though the sun has not yet set, rain darkens the skies so, and it feels like it is close to nighttime. The street lamps have been lit in advance, in lieu of this. A small blessing, on such uneven, unchartered streets.
When they arrive, Seonghwa falls behind to shake out the umbrella and leave it out to dry, ushering his companion inwards, where her eyes are being drawn. He steps through the doors moments later and finds her immediately, a picture of absolute grace and innocence as she takes in the sweets laid out in front of her. He could almost see her eyes drinking in the sights and smells, getting brighter and brighter with all the colours and candied air.
He places a hand on the small of her back, directing her this way and that to some of his own favourite delicacies. They share a common agreement that peppermint sticks were fine as a seasonal treat, but chocolate is far more more delightful and should be universally preferred above the sticks. He mentions that San enjoys stirring his minty sticks into hot chocolate and drinking it — the way her dainty nose crinkles in offense at the thought of those two flavours mixing makes him rejoice internally, both because he shares her disgust for it and because the sheer character in her expressions is intoxicating.
“We could get various chocolate snacks for you to taste. I am a huge advocate of dried fruit encased in chocolate. Or nuts,” he suggests as he watches the fireflies dance in her large, doll-like eyes.
They round the entire shop leisurely. He points out some piped chocolate kisses that look nearly identical to the ruffles on Hongjoong's dress, and she is filled with mirth when he suggests they should buy them to try, on that fact alone.
"Personally, I like these.” Seonghwa waves his hand over a box of oval almond bonbons. She peers at them curiously, but can't seem to figure out what they are supposed to be.
When they are finally ready, a clerk over to fill a bag with the choices and weigh them. Seeing they'd chosen a variety of nuts, he shows them a tray of sugary almonds that have been cooling on the counter.
“Ever tasted candied almonds, ma’am?” The seller asks kindly, and places one into her gloved palm when she shakes her head.
“They are very popular in Germany and France right now. Try it.”
For some reason, she seems a bit uncertain. There is a twinge in his heart —perhaps some of her hesitance comes from the fact that those who lived as she did in the impoverished slums of society were rarely offered treats or rewards from their peers without having to pay some sort of price for it. If that was true then it has to be reflexive then, the wariness towards kindness.
The taste of the candy seem to spark a little bubble of happiness in her, as she hums in surprise at the taste and almost vibrates on the spot as she nods in approval. Her simple fascination brought a smile to him so easily.
“Give me a second bag of them,” Seonghwa asks immediately, and once payment was settled, they made off with more loot, tucked safely under Seonghwa's arm. He passes the lighter package of the book and ink to Hongjoong, and she clutches it to her bosom like a comforting blanket.
They duck back under the umbrella, which no one had taken, thank goodness, but the storm has since returned to a drizzle. As they sample more of the almonds on the pavement, watching people pass.
“I can imagine candied almonds would be an easy concept for the slums to make use of, as well. They aren’t hard to make and even if nobody has the money to buy sweets, perhaps people could make them by themselves,” he muses, as they begin walking again. Hongjoong nods immediately, reaching for another snack from the open bag in his hand.
“I’m sure they would like it. The brats on the streets delight in any sweets they get awarded with during begging trips.”
Seonghwa takes another almond as he scans the street for other things they could possibly. In all honesty, the rain and crowds have tired him a little —a lit fireplace and cup of tea sounded quite good righg now.
“Shall we return home soon, so we can have dinner and go to rest as it gets dark?” Hongjoong seems to have read his mind. Seonghwa nods in agreement, handing her one more treat before packing the rest into his pouch.
“I look forward to being dry again, yes. Perhaps you wish to help me plant my new flowers in the garden tomorrow?”
She pauses momentarily in her step, and he halts with her. Hongjoong's eyes have now narrowed and she searches his face.
“This isn’t a euphemism, is it?”
The astonishment of her thoughts, coupled with their almost accusatory tone amuses him. Seonghwa laughs, leading them down a smaller alley that would lead them out of the hustle of the city centre and to their coach. The drizzle is light and almost negligble here, so he shuts the umbrella as they walk.
“Do you wish it to be?” he grins as he replies her question belatedly. Her face flushes quickly, to her ears, turning them a pretty pink, but she pretends to be unfazed by his teasing.
“How audacious of you to assume I would allow you that so soon in our relationship,” Hongjoong bit back, her tone detached, as if he couldn't see her physical reaction to his flirting.
“Didn’t we agree that the idea of waiting past marriage with these things are nonsense? From how willingly you pushed your chest into my face last time, I would suspect you aren’t outraged by taking a step further.” Mischief turns into triumph as a million emotions flit across Hongjoong's face. Seonghwa adores how much he can see by just looking at her. Her candidness is very attractive.
“I- This is not the time to be discussing this, earl!” as she continues her protests, she attempts to untangle their linked arms, but to no avail. In the spur of the moment, Seonghwa blocks her way and pulls her close with the hand that he has his umbrella in, tightening his hold around her waist. She squeaks as her arms are trapped between their bodies, and he can feel the groves of her corset against the skin of his wrist. Oh, how he wishes he could run his fingertips along them. And then under them.
“Seonghwa—“ when a bark of laughter and a surge of energy, he tugs her under the canopy of a nearby house, and they thump on the closed door as one. She is really glaring at him now, and the heat warms him like no fire ever could, so he does the most sensible thing next. Breathing in through his nose, Seonghwa bows his head and lets her rosy scent take him into a kiss.
Her lips are soft and pliant, tasting sugar-sweet with the hot press of her startled exhale. He clutches her close, his arm locking round her waist and his lips chasing the flavour of her, like a moth to light. Nothing in the world could stop him from savouring this moment. It is like he's being set aflame, kissing and tasting her like this, with such reckless abandon, and he loves her all the more for it.
Distantly, he can feel her body relaxing, softening as he ventures to caress her delicious lips with his tongue. Wonderful. This is everything he'd ever dreamed of, perhaps even far better.
A sudden elbow to his ribs makes him pull away, smirking at her reddened cheeks and the simmering surprise that is belatedly mixing with annoyance. Her feverish eyes give her private arousal away. He cocks his head playfully, his tongue wandering over his lips to sample the residual taste of her lips.
She seems to pick up on the lack on mortification on Seonghwa's part, and scowls immediately. Before he can stop her, Hongjoong turns on her heel and stalks off, disregarding his calls.
“Oh, don’t pretend, my sweet lady. Or are you afraid anyone but me could see your adventurous side?”
Oh, even the way she stomps and rounds down an alley was adorable. Is this what it feels like to be absolutely and entirely besotted? It makes his head spin, it really did.
"Hongjoong!" he sing-songs, hearing his voice ping off the brick walls. He side-steps a half-drunk man slumped in the alley, and turns the same corner. Seonghwa laughs as he saw the corner of Hongjoong's flurry of skirts vanish down the left fork of the junction up ahead. She is quite quick, faster than any other females he's seen in skirts and heeled shoes, but Hongjoong really defies everything he knew about about the female species. She is a whole category of her own.
At the next turn, things get a bit trickier — there are three off-shoots from the street he is on... no, four. It is quite dark now, with evening having fully descended on the town. Now, which of these did his enchanting little spitfire vanish down?
He turns off the second one to another confusing web of roads.
“What an unfortunate area to hide in, milady. You are aware that in these shadows, nobody will see what I might do to you? Your game entices me." his steps echo like rockfalls in the damp evening. His heart flutters like a robin's wings against his ribcage. He can't think of what he should do when he gets to her — should he embrace her and sweep her feet, or kiss her soundly as a punishment?
He passes a few alleys, peering down them briefly but seeing nothing reminscent of the crisp caramel dress that Hongjoong had been in for the day. There are a few movements in the next street he looks down, but a disappearing skinless tail tells him that it is likely just some street vermin. He takes the right fork into the next street, which seems sufficiently well-lit and navigable.
"Lady Hongjoong! My dear, where have you gone? Your carriage awaits," he calls again, but only silence greets him. Out of nowhere, a strange chill seizes him. Perhaps he is tiring of the game. He is not afraid to admit that he misses her warmth already. The bags feel a bit heavier and his arm strangely cold without her hand clasped around it.
His next call is louder, and firm, "Alright! I give up. You've done a great job in hiding, I really cannot fathom where you've gone."
He goes back down the way he came, calling her name still. The quiet that he encounters is unsettling.
"Hongjoong? Are you still there, darling?" he almost expects her to spring out from one of the shadowed roads, a musical chortle on her lips and a spark of mischief in her eyes, but nothing close to his imagination comes. Now he can feel his heart beating faster, but it is not due to excitement anymore.
"Hongjoong! Hongjoong?" his voice echoes forlornly. Where is his fiancée? The road he's on leads him into a turn by a closed shopfront, and suddenly he was out in front of the Thames, off the side of a footbridge. Its swollen waters roar underfoot, ignorant of the mounting fear that was gathering in Seonghwa's belly.
He almost slips on something when he returns the way he came, and it's a small blessing that he actually bends to take a look at what it is. The sight of the item he has stumbled across sets a loud ringing upon his eardrums, and he feels so cold that he can hardly breathe.
Hongjoong. Her gloves lie, thrust into the sodden pavement, like they'd been cast aside in a rush. She never takes off her gloves, not even in the house. It's only with her recent closeness with Seonghwa that she'd been more comfortable in letting him see her hands and the many scars they bear.
She'd never get rid of them, unless...
In a distance, the concussive thrum of the Thames mimics the pumping of his frantic heart.
San. He needs to find San.