Almost immediately, Taesu understood that what Seojin had said about the chefs was most likely to be a joke, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to smile, let alone give him a pity laugh. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about being here, although he’d already accepted the offer of this palace being his new home so it wasn’t like he had much of a choice to change his mind. Plus the papers of his adoption had gone through, or well, were going through the channels of being official, so legally he was home.
Taesu found himself numbly nodding that he had met Abeoji. He remembered the first time he saw him – standing near a booth at the market, tossing an apple from one hand to another as sunlight slanted across his shoulder. The man had looked perfectly at ease, the way people do when they belonged everywhere. His voice had been calm, his smile faint but certain when he’d finally approached, but before that he had glanced at Taesu like one might look at a painting: patient, assessing, already convinced of its worth.
That look had terrified him then, but not in a way he wanted to escape. It felt like the opposite of being invisible. You have something rare in you, Abeoji had said, as if it were a fact. Something this world won’t understand unless it’s protected. The memory was still fresh, and made him feel warm inside. It wasn’t exactly the words themselves that had warmed his insides, but the certainty of them. No one had ever spoken to him as though he mattered by simply existing. And now he was here, in this house, sitting beside someone who he might call brother. Abeoji had given him a family. Taesu would give him anything in return so he wouldn’t take that away from him.
He wanted so badly to believe Abeoji’s promises. That this was where his life began properly. That all the loneliness behind him was a test, not a curse.
Taesu would argue that he hadn’t met Eun-ho, although that was beside the point. This third name, Ahn-Bo-ah, he didn’t recognize. The pause before SeoJin said it, and the strained way brother slipped out, made Taesu’s fingers still against the table’s edge. He almost missed it, the small careless way that the other said it, but his ear caught on the ah at the end, that unmistakable slip of tone. His gaze lifted slightly, more reflex than curiosity, and he watched SeoJin’s face as if the expression might confirm what the sound already implied, although before something came of it, and before he could ask why one might be brooding in a beautiful home like this, the other was standing up and walking to collect the food.
He told himself to breathe. He told himself he was lucky.
Taesu glanced around again. All of this felt like a fever dream, like he’d stepped into a life someone else had owned and he was an imposter taking over their space. A family, he reminded himself. He gave you a family. Taesu was frightened to imagine what that might look like in practice. Seojin seemed easy enough to like, even if he joked like he was afraid of silence. And Ahn-Bo, whoever he was, already sounded like trouble, if the tension in Seojin’s voice was any measure. But that was fine. Families were supposed to be complicated. Real families argued, and laughed, and shut doors a little too loudly. That was normal.
He’d take it until they realized he was a monster. Then they’d just leave him, too.
Taesu stared down at his hands that had dropped into his lap. He didn’t look up when Seojin returned with the soup, although Taesu straightened instinctively, his expression smoothing into something neutral. “It smells good,” he said, voice quiet but sincere. He hesitated, then added, “I wasn’t sure what to expect here.”
His eyes flicked up, searching Seojin’s face for a moment, although Taesu quickly lowered his gaze back to the bowl. He didn’t pick up the spoon.“I used to imagine something like this,” he said finally, eyes still on his soup. “A family.” He’d had one years ago, but the memory was so foggy that he couldn’t even recall what his mother or father had looked like. “It feels strange to be sitting here. Like I’ll wake up, and find this is just a dream.”
Taesu found himself numbly nodding that he had met Abeoji. He remembered the first time he saw him – standing near a booth at the market, tossing an apple from one hand to another as sunlight slanted across his shoulder. The man had looked perfectly at ease, the way people do when they belonged everywhere. His voice had been calm, his smile faint but certain when he’d finally approached, but before that he had glanced at Taesu like one might look at a painting: patient, assessing, already convinced of its worth.
That look had terrified him then, but not in a way he wanted to escape. It felt like the opposite of being invisible. You have something rare in you, Abeoji had said, as if it were a fact. Something this world won’t understand unless it’s protected. The memory was still fresh, and made him feel warm inside. It wasn’t exactly the words themselves that had warmed his insides, but the certainty of them. No one had ever spoken to him as though he mattered by simply existing. And now he was here, in this house, sitting beside someone who he might call brother. Abeoji had given him a family. Taesu would give him anything in return so he wouldn’t take that away from him.
He wanted so badly to believe Abeoji’s promises. That this was where his life began properly. That all the loneliness behind him was a test, not a curse.
Taesu would argue that he hadn’t met Eun-ho, although that was beside the point. This third name, Ahn-Bo-ah, he didn’t recognize. The pause before SeoJin said it, and the strained way brother slipped out, made Taesu’s fingers still against the table’s edge. He almost missed it, the small careless way that the other said it, but his ear caught on the ah at the end, that unmistakable slip of tone. His gaze lifted slightly, more reflex than curiosity, and he watched SeoJin’s face as if the expression might confirm what the sound already implied, although before something came of it, and before he could ask why one might be brooding in a beautiful home like this, the other was standing up and walking to collect the food.
He told himself to breathe. He told himself he was lucky.
Taesu glanced around again. All of this felt like a fever dream, like he’d stepped into a life someone else had owned and he was an imposter taking over their space. A family, he reminded himself. He gave you a family. Taesu was frightened to imagine what that might look like in practice. Seojin seemed easy enough to like, even if he joked like he was afraid of silence. And Ahn-Bo, whoever he was, already sounded like trouble, if the tension in Seojin’s voice was any measure. But that was fine. Families were supposed to be complicated. Real families argued, and laughed, and shut doors a little too loudly. That was normal.
He’d take it until they realized he was a monster. Then they’d just leave him, too.
Taesu stared down at his hands that had dropped into his lap. He didn’t look up when Seojin returned with the soup, although Taesu straightened instinctively, his expression smoothing into something neutral. “It smells good,” he said, voice quiet but sincere. He hesitated, then added, “I wasn’t sure what to expect here.”
His eyes flicked up, searching Seojin’s face for a moment, although Taesu quickly lowered his gaze back to the bowl. He didn’t pick up the spoon.“I used to imagine something like this,” he said finally, eyes still on his soup. “A family.” He’d had one years ago, but the memory was so foggy that he couldn’t even recall what his mother or father had looked like. “It feels strange to be sitting here. Like I’ll wake up, and find this is just a dream.”
![[Image: JJUdkv9.png]](https://file.garden/aN0lvmYmaWI-Onw7/Charming/JJUdkv9.png)
Credit to Fox for this beautiful set!<3