Chapter Text
A young boy who seems to be still clinging on to the comfortable arms of sleep slowly drags himself through the unoccupied halls of his home. The loud, heavy stomping of his feet follows his trail as the faint chirps of birds from the outside can be heard.
Not fully aware and prepared for what's to come to his line of vision, he gathers up the strength to leave his sleeping state.
Fighting off a yawn, choruses of whispered hisses echoed through the hall as the young boy adjusted his sensitive eyes from the overly ecstatic beams of the vivacious sun.
Covering his eyes with the back of his hand, he tried to protect himself from the brightness that was coming from their open wide floor-to-ceiling windows.
The young boy frowns after seeing the ruby red curtains draped pleasantly on the sides, giving the sunlight great freedom to enter and spread inside the palace halls.
Oh, Father Sun, why must you be so harsh early in the morning?
Regaining his posture, the young boy resumes walking. Unaware of the absence of everybody, he yawns as he takes a turn to the right, taking in the empty staircase that leads down to the royal kitchen.
And as if muscle memory, he starts counting the stairway steps as he steps down—which came to be a habit of him ever since he can remember.
He halts at the middle of the staircase to ponder on what time it is already and why is there no loud shouts of reminders and demands coming from the head chef. Not to mention the almost annoying clattering of china plates and tinkering of crystal clear glasses, which never ceases to happen every hour of the day?
Bizzare, the young boy thinks as he continues walking down, unbothered by the heavy silence. He almost cracked his spine from straightening up after taking a faint whiff of sweet treats permitting behind the huge wooden doors of the kitchen.
Suddenly, his stomach grumbles.
And whoever is baking behind those giant doors and whatever it is they are baking, the young boy is for sure now very hungry because of them.
Determined, he hastes in his way. Once in a while halting on his steps to take a greedy fraction of breath of the sweet treat-scented air as the thought of how is he going to open the large and heavy wooden doors ever so slowly without making any unwanted noise fades far away behind his head—or maybe not.
Because as soon as he opened the kitchen doors, rattling sounds of utensils falling down the floor joined the creaking of the doors as well.
Someone is here! The young boy brightens up, but not long after taking in the sight of a younger-looking boy covered in old shrugged clothing.
To say that the sight of the first person the young boy got to behold early in the morning a grubby boy—did not puzzle the young boy's pretty little head, is an understatement.
Well, it is not an everyday occurrence that someone stranger—someone with history from outside the walls and gates of the palace comes here to eat delicious desserts, who—to boot up, comes unnoticed.
Unnoticed by the royal guards.
Oh.
Everybody's nowhere to be found, that explains why—“What are you doing?" comes the young boy's question, voice filled with surprise and curiosity.
He asked not because of the grubby boy's presence, and also not because of the latter gobbling dozen of tarts in every one go as if he was afraid it would get taken away from, but because of the grubby boy shyly offering the young boy a piece of strawberry tart.
Yet silence is what the young boy received, but it gave him the luxury of time to study the grubby boy's appearance.
This boy looks younger than me, he thinks.
The young boy delightfully takes in how this boy—how this grubby-looking boy's cheeks puff up so big he reminds him of a bunny, but his big and dewy almond eyes remind him of a newborn deer.
He takes in the small crumbs of the sweet treats that have already gathered in the corners of this grubby boy's pinkish puckered lips, and how it made the boy look so endearing; innocent.
He's cute, the young boy thinks as he shies away a smile.
But after seeing and realizing that the grubby boy still had his arms stretched out, he accepts the tart that is being handed to him.
"Are strawberry tarts your favorite?" the young boy probed after taking a small bite from the sweet treat but was yet again met with silence as curious feline-like eyes stared up at him, unblinking.
The young boy smiles, "I'm Jeongguk." he muses. Proudly. Chest puffed up as he holds out his right hand forward to gesture an awaiting handshake, he then continues, “and you are…?”
“Your Hi—!”