#which is a shame because they would've loved to face the final boss

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, the Ladies say their farewells. But--

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,764. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 44: Not Over Yet

The Ladies rose before the sun.

Despite their late night, they were duty-bound to wake early. Lady Samient was to leave before dawn came. They all had to be there to see her off.

They gathered in the courtyard, the first rays of light creeping over the mountains. It would be that light which would guide her retinue—no more than a dozen troops, for small was discreet—to the Free Marches.

“Do you think Vichy will be glad to see me, looking like this?” Samient asked, of the Inquisition armour she wore—identical to that of the soldiers who lingered nearby.

“I think it shan’t matter what you wear,” said Trevelyan, “he will simply be happy to see you.”

“And at least you shall be matching,” Lady Erridge teased.

Samient laughed, the joke causing her to settle somewhat. “That is true.”

Trevelyan had never seen her Ladyship quite so nervous as this. It was a shame she would miss the reunion. She so wished to know what Samient was like in the presence of her lover. What a happy, silly mess she might be!

“Do not worry about your father,” the Baroness reassured her. “Lady Montilyet and I shall deal with all that. You focus upon the journey home.”

“Thank you,” said Samient.

She glanced back to the retinue, all in rows, receiving orders from their Captain. The time was nigh. Lady Samient brought her hair up, and tied it into a bun atop her head. Her ears entirely exposed, she ran a finger over the very tips—pointed and proud.

“Shame they’ll have to go straight back under a helm,” she muttered.

Trevelyan smiled. “Though not for much longer.”

“And never again after that.”

Her ritual of readiness must not have gone unnoticed, for her Dalish liaison—a young Elven man called Loranil—took the opportunity to run up, and report in:

“Your Ladyship, we’re ready to march.”

She thanked him, and away he went. Now was the time to follow. Reluctant, she took a step back.

“Well… I suppose I should make my way, then,” she mumbled. “I, um, well—”

“Oh, come here!” Lady Erridge cried, rushing forward. She threw her arms around Samient—soon followed by both Trevelyan and the Baroness. Tangled together, warmth shared. One last time.

“We love you, you know,” said Lady Erridge.

“I know,” Samient replied, sniffling back tears. “I love you too.”

“Have a safe journey,” Trevelyan wished her.

“And write as soon as you can,” the Baroness added. “Tell us everything of your Clan.”

Samient nodded. “I will. I will.”

Each woman held on tight, unflinching in her devotion. It was the sort of embrace that could anchor a ship in a storm. The sort of embrace that could melt the deepest winter. The sort of embrace that could outshine the very sun, and sear even a dragon’s tongue.

Yet, like all good things, it would have to come to an end. One last squeeze, and they parted. Taking a deep breath, Lady Samient took another step back.

“Farewell. All of you. And be happy. Please.”

Though holding tight onto one another, the Ladies began to wave. And they would not stop until Lady Samient was truly gone.

No, Giles. She wished to be remembered as Giles.

Giles found her place within the regiment. A few words were said between her and the soldiers, which seemed to make her smile. She placed her helm upon her head—at least it concealed the tears—and, with one final look back, marched out of Skyhold.

May Ghila’nain guide her home.

***

No sooner than the remaining Ladies had recovered from this, than it was Lady Erridge’s turn.

Her carriage had arrived. They all had gathered. Her things were packed. Orroat’s horse was hitched. It was time.

Naturally, Lady Erridge was inconsolable. Whimpering, tear-stained, and red, she threw herself into Orroat’s arms, and begged: “Can’t we stay just one week more?”

But Lady Orroat shook her head. “I would agree to your every request, my love, but I am afraid if I say yes, you shall never leave.” She tapped Erridge lovingly upon the nose. “And I do not know how the Bann will continue to survive without you. Your poor mother had to sew a dozen more handkerchiefs for him, last time I visited.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t worry”—Orroat dabbed her eyes, ineffective as it was—“we managed to see each other as children, so this will be done as well—and we’ll pass through here plenty, I imagine.” She turned to Trevelyan and Touledy. “You are always welcome in Coldon, of course.”

“I would be glad to visit,” said the Baroness.

“As would I,” Trevelyan agreed.

Lady Erridge whirled, and took hold of their hands. “Oh, please do! I do not wish this to be our last meeting!”

Trevelyan feigned shock. “Why, are we uninvited from your wedding!?”

“Oh, no, no! Of course you are invited. What a wonderful day that shall be. No—a week! It shall be an entire week of festivities! I promise you.” She looked to Orroat. “Don’t you think?”

“If you so wish, my love.”

“Thank you, my love.”

Their saccharine nature was the only thing, at that moment, keeping Trevelyan from crying. Although, she had to admit, a tear did well upon her eye.

“I’m afraid the carriage is ready, Tam,” said Orroat, solemnly. “We’ll need to clear the mountain range before sundown, so we’ll have to be gone soon.”

“Oh, dear!” cried Erridge.

She looked to the Ladies, frozen in place. Hesitation held her back, the knowledge that the next moments with them would be her last—at least for now.

Yet those moments were not to be squandered. Lady Erridge surged forward, swaddling both Trevelyan and Touledy within her embrace. The loveliest, warmest, kindest hug yet.

Trevelyan savoured the feeling.

“You know,” murmured Erridge, “were it not for you, I would have never known myself in love with dear Hul. It was only in befriending you that I realised my feelings for her were different.” She snuggled in closer. “Though just as precious.”

“We love you,” whispered Trevelyan.

“We do,” agreed Touledy.

“I love you both,” said Erridge.

It was this sentiment that seemed to provide her the strength to step away, for nothing could be so enduring. But even as her fingers slipped from Trevelyan’s arm, she whispered to her:

“I’ll miss you terribly, Wicky.”

Trevelyan smiled. “And I you.”

But missing her would have to do—the carriage was loaded, the drivers seated. Lady Orroat opened the door.

“Are you ready, my love?”

“I think so,” Erridge replied.

She offered her hand. Lady Orroat took it, and kissed it, and guided Lady Erridge into the carriage—but did not follow. Not yet. Instead, she looked to the Ladies.

“Thank you for caring for my dear Tam so well,” she told them. “I cannot express how much it means, to know she is loved. I hope to make her even half as happy as you have.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Good. For if you break her heart, we shall kill you.”

“Painfully,” the Baroness added.

Lady Orroat smiled. “I would expect no more and deserve no less.”

She clambered into the carriage, setting beside her dear Lady. Trevelyan watched, quite satisfied that their message had been heard, and that Lady Erridge was in good hands.

And those good hands kept her stable, as Erridge fumbled over Orroat’s lap, to poke her head out of the window.

“Farewell!” she called. “We shall meet again! I love you!”

The signal was given, the reins taken up. The carriage began to trundle away.

“We shall meet again!” repeated Erridge, as it slipped into the gatehouse. Her voice echoed off the stone. “Farewell!”

“Farewell!” the Ladies cried. “Safe journey! Farewell!”

And then it was off, the carriage rumbling over the old stone bridge. Trevelyan imagined that, within it, at that very moment, Lady Orroat had taken Lady Erridge’s hand, and held it tight. It was not so hard to believe.

Good. The sooner they were married, the sooner they would all see each other again.

For now, though, sadness remained a most stalwart companion.

Trevelyan pulled her napkin from a pocket—the poor little cloth only just having dried from its use earlier in the morning—and dabbed at her eyes. It was a wonder she had any tears left. The Baroness, similarly, dried her own. She looked to Lady Trevelyan, and, wordlessly, linked their arms together. Just two Ladies left.

“Come,” she said, “my carriage will not be ready for another hour. Let us pass the time. May I see your new quarters, before I go?”

A good distraction. Trevelyan nodded.

Together, they wandered, back towards the keep. Up, into the Great Hall. Calmer now, than yesterday. The normal sort of hubbub and ambience.

They turned not towards the rotunda door and its guest corridor above, but towards the door to Montilyet’s parlour. Tucked within, they knew well enough, was the little landing that preceded her lounge. And off this landing, were two sets of stairs.

They took the ascending route, to an entirely new corridor. Stretching out above the parlour, snaking into the Inquisitor’s tower, this corridor housed the rooms of some of the Inquisition’s innermost circle.

“I couldn’t quite believe it, when she told me where it was,” Trevelyan admitted.

“It is a privilege to be amongst them,” mused Touledy.

They turned into the tower, ascended a little way up… and soon enough, came across a door.

“This is it,” Trevelyan said, turning the key. “Though I warn you—it’s not mightily impressive.”

She opened up, and wandered in. The Baroness followed, and put on a good show of admiration—but Trevelyan knew it was merely politeness.

This room she’d been given was a touch smaller than that of her guest room. Understandable—guests were to be impressed with comfort; residents simply needed somewhere to sleep. The furnishings were more basic, too—but better than the ones she’d had in the Circle, by far.

The bed, though not four-poster, was of a sufficient size. “Though you’ll not test this one,” she teased the Baroness.

“I believe that is someone else’s duty.”

Trevelyan laughed. “And here is my desk!” she quickly continued, proudly showing the little bureau. “I’m truly glad to have this. I’ll be able to work here, should the Undercroft be too busy. Oh, and look!”

She pointed to the window just above it, that allowed the morning’s light into the room. The Baroness peered out, and gasped at what she saw.

“Oh! Are these not the same mountains we saw from your stargazing spot?”

Trevelyan nodded. “Yes! I can sit here, on a night, and look out—without having to get so cold!”

Touledy grinned. “But how then will you secretly rendezvous with the Commander, hm?”

“I believe you’ve already suggested a method!”

They laughed, and Touledy regarded the room once more. There was little else of note—a trunk and drawers, for storage, and a pair of chairs—but she nodded approvingly nevertheless.

“It may not be much, but I think it is lovely.”

Trevelyan smiled. “I know. So do I. And—”

There was a rapid knock at the door. Trevelyan perked. The Baroness’ carriage could not have been ready so soon? She rushed over, and opened up. A scout stood on the other side.

“Morning, your Ladyship. This just arrived for you—urgent.”

They handed over a small piece of vellum. She could tell by the writing it was a bird-message, transcribed.

“Thank you,” she said, letting them hurry on their way. She shut the door, and wandered back toward Touledy.

“Who is it from?” her Ladyship asked.

Trevelyan steeled herself. “I think I know.”

Though her soul screamed not to, her eyes began to scan the words:

Daughter,

If there is no engagment, there is no reason for you to stay. We shall be travelling to Val Royeaux. Meet us there, or we shall have you fetched.

Bann Trevelyan

Trevelyan’s lungs stopped. The paper fell from her hand, spinning to the ground. They couldn’t—she gasped—they couldn’t just come for her? They couldn’t take her away. No, no—

Touledy, leaning hard on her cane, managed to collect the message from the floor, and read it for herself. Her eyes widened.

“Stay calm, Lady Trevelyan. Everything will be all right.”

Trevelyan shook her head. “But they—but they… I didn’t think they would come get me! I thought they would just leave me be. Why won’t they leave me be?”

Shaking, she found the arm of a chair. The Baroness guided her into it.

“Shh, stay calm. It is all right. You are of the Inquisition now. You have protection. They cannot simply pluck you from Skyhold. We should tell Lady Montilyet of this. She still owes you a debt.”

The Baroness rose, and hurried to the door, sticking her head out. Grunting, she rushed back.

“The scout is gone,” she explained, “so I shall find Montilyet myself. You remain here. Stay calm, all right? Breathe. All right? Breathe.”

Trevelyan did as instructed, taking breaths in, and pushing them forcefully back out.

“Good,” cooed Touledy, stroking her arm, “very good. I will be a moment. Just a moment. We will have this sorted, I promise you.”

Trevelyan nodded. Seeing that permission, Touledy gathered herself, and left the room. Her cane tapped away with a heightened rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

But when it vanished, Trevelyan was left with only the sound of her own breathing. She clasped her hands together, till her knuckles turned white, and held them against her chest. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

A knock at the door. Touledy was faster than promised.

“Come in!” she cried.

“Arcanist?” came the reply.

Trevelyan turned. The Commander stood in her door. She lost her breath again.

“Are you all right?” he said, abandoning what he carried upon her dresser, and pulling a chair up beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to say it without crying. “My parents…”

No use. She passed him the message, instead. He read it. His face fell. His head shook.

“No,” he breathed. “They cannot take you from Skyhold.”

“They’ll try.”

“Then what if…” He tried to catch her eye. “What if you told them we were engaged? Would that settle them?”

“No!” Trevelyan stood, tears falling anew. “I don’t want to do what they want! I want to do what I want! I wanted to be done with them! I just…” She bowed her head, and wept. “I wanted to be free.”

She felt her body buckle—but no sooner than it had, than it was held upright. The Commander enveloped her in his arms, held her tight against his chest. She clung to him in turn, buried her head within the fur of his mantle. It was all him, keeping her together.

“No one can take you from Skyhold without your consent,” he murmured. “I promised to you. You are safe within these walls. They could send an army. They will not take you from—here.”

Trevelyan nodded. Her breathing slowed. She believed him. She believed him.

Footsteps—hurried, heeled footsteps—neared.

“Lady Trevelyan!” came Montilyet’s voice, as she rounded into the room. “The Baroness has just told me! Are you well?”

Trevelyan shook her head. The Commander, slowly, gently released her into Lady Montilyet’s arms.

“It’s all right, Lady Trevelyan,” she told her. “I will go to Val Royeaux myself if I have to! You are an Arcanist of the Inquisition, and you belong here.”

Trevelyan sighed. “I want to stay.”

“I know. You will.”

Further footsteps. Trevelyan glanced toward the door, and saw the Baroness had arrived as well. But—the Commander was gone.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“He slipped away,” the Baroness revealed. She wandered over to the dresser, and admired the bouquet of flowers that had appeared upon it. “But it seems he left you a gift... I shall find someone who can fetch a vase of water.”

The Baroness withdrew. Lady Montilyet sat Trevelyan down, and brought the flowers to her. Trevelyan accepted the arrangement, gladly. Such a beautiful little bouquet. Poppies, and spinwort, crystal grace and daisies. Put together by one with no knowledge of flowers. Ever more beautiful for it.

“Trust me,” said Lady Montilyet, sitting beside her. “I can deal with the Bann and Lady Trevelyan. Easily.”

But Trevelyan shook her head. “No,” she said. “I want to deal with them. Myself.”

[meredoubt]

I've been thinking about my paladin Dirge's adoption, and brood parasitism.

I'm pretty unfamiliar with the lore, so, grain of salt. But ever since i read that, traditionally, if there is a third son in a Drow family (or one of a pair of twins) he is usually sacrificed to Lolth, I've been unable to put that info aside. It's just been rattling around in my head, maybe because of my own culture's interpretations of our own myths surrounding child sacrifice (namely, that it was pointedly not to be done ever again, in comparison with neighbors, ostensibly). The binding of Isaac has been one of my favourite demonstrative stories for some time, and so this part of Drow culture is fascinating in a horrifying way, if you will.

It does give the Dark Urge origin an interesting set of seemingly competing circumstances, if you're playing a male Drow.

On the one hand, we know that the Dark Urge is adopted very young by a couple (how the Cult of Bhaal accomplishes this exchange of child for goods, who can say). The Drow parents seemingly give him a happy childhood, in their culture, until he murders them, thus starting his illustrious career and seemingly returning to the Cult of Bhaal, to be his father's prodigal son and head priest.

Given the xenophobia in Menzoberranzan, and the distaste for men in general, whatever compels this Drow couple (specifically the matron, to be clear) to seemingly adopt my boy Dirge must be significant. I was puzzling over what could convince these parents to adopt a mysterious boy, which societally, would be dead weight. Fodder for a useful marriage, maybe, at best, given they have two other sons and (hopefully) daughters. They would've just gotten rid of one son-

Ah. But what if we change the timing?

It was would-be-grief. It was shame-based, private grief for a natural son who they should've known better than to let themselves love. It was pre-grief, spiteful, for what was oathed to Lolth, by right. It was panic. It was attempting to cheat.

They wanted a sacrificial lamb.

That's what the Cult of Bhaal preyed on. I bet Dirge's adoptive parents reached out first, looking anywhere they could so they could try to spare their third, inconvenient but loved son. Every nasty contact they had, outside "proper" Underdark society. They had to keep it quiet among the houses. Thank goodness their youngest had always been so sickly that few knew him. They knew-the matron especially-that he made them weak. But even the Drow can have weaknesses like love. Doting on a boy who hadn't yet been honed to sharpness by Drow culture. Who never would be, for it would crush him.

The cult of Bhaal, well. They must come across orphans all the time, the matron thinks. Hell, they make them. She didn't ask enough questions, when whatever Bhaalspawn handler finally got back to them.

We've got a scrap of a boy, looks near enough to your sickly little thing, but he's a bit weird. You'll owe us, for "boarding" this "ward." A simple trade, once he's under their roof. He won't have to be there long, just long enough for appearances. And then they adopt the "ward." Kill any servant or lesser members who could talk. Easy enough. Price paid, son saved.

So, the matron agrees.

She installs the boy in her son's suite when he arrives, in a small sideroom, as would be proper, to instill friendship between the two boys. She wouldn't choose to, but it is expected, and it will make the switch easier. To make the boy from nothing disappear.

Dirge is a quiet Drow child, with unusually dark eyes, and he's scrawny. A little human in the face, she thinks, but then her son is pale from his illness, and the two boys get along immediately, like a house on fire. Her youngest child has never had a boy his age around regularly before, who'd laugh at him and boss him around and play with him.

For the first time, the family and servants have to make sure the third son goes to bed on time, instead of his usual habit of falling asleep right at the table. They have to remind the boys of their studies, chase the boys to their separate rooms every night. There is laughter in the afternoons, and whispers in the dark.

But it's not all playing, and the matron begins to dread the upcoming sacrifice, which will be presided over by the order of Lolth's priestesses publicly. She is not a stranger to guilt for her actions, to get where she is, but it shouldn't rear so ugly or painful now. Experience should have filed it down to dull.

He doesn't know. The boy doesn't know. He's happy.

Dirge watches the family carefully, until he can mimic the right etiquette and speech patterns. He is polite, smart, and quiet, except for his laughter with her son, and his fondness for music. When he hesitantly asks to join her son at music lessons, she notes his baited breath, and relents.

The boy lights up, and promises her he won't disappoint her. And despite herself...she starts to love the useless, pathetic thing. He clearly wants to be loved so badly. He's so disgustingly eager, so earnest. The houses would've eaten him alive, just as they'll do to her son if she doesn't set him up with protection.

But three, you see, is a significant number. There is a reason it is chosen, even by deities. Beginning, middle, end. It is a completion. It is a peace and agreement. Do not break the bindings of magic that simple, for the simplest magic is the oldest.

The matron should have known better, but her ward did.

And he listened. He listened more carefully than anyone, with the sharp critical ears of a child who loves music and abhors mistakes. He'd begun to hear whispers, of the role of a third son, and his large dark eyes took in clearly all around him. Other whispers, too, of a father he couldn't remember fully, crawled through his head, like fond fingertips carding his hair.

She must pay. He must die. You must thrive.

He knew he'd had been sent there to receive instruction on how to be Drow, and to do so quietly and competently. But he was studious. He was earnest. And in the way of all princes and priests, he was convinced he was righteous. Someday, he would be a perfect paladin, and some murky part of him held doggedly to the sanctity of temples, rituals and rites.

He knew temples and stories, knew he had the words to make everyone listen. And he was about to have the ear of every priestess of Lolth, including his benefactor's eldest daughter, in a public stage. The self-assuredness, the certainty, his heritage left in him left no room for nerves. What other boy could do what he was about to do? None. None were comparable.

The third son was dead already, his corpse already cold in Dirge's thoughts.

The houses would tear his adoptive parents to shreds for the chance to do so. Maybe Lolth would do it Herself for the sacrilege.

Maybe She'd let him.

And his would be older sister...she would be grateful, for his help rising. As long as he spoke up at the right time. Public scrutiny would ensure she felt compelled to raise him. She's a powerful priestess, diligent to Lolth, raising a boy who clearly knew their society better than those who'd taken him in. The rest of the family would be nothing, quickly, an afterthought. But he needed her, an adult with the position to keep him alive as he very publicly declared himself, just as she'd need him in the wake of the scandal.

And maybe, even better, in one fell swoop, she would fear him.

"What are you smiling at?" his first victim asks him now, dragging Dirge from his thoughts.

He turnes to the third boy, and impulsively hugs him. "Nothing," he sighs giddily into his friend's hair.

His father will be so proud of him.

[beomglocks]

colors ; k.th

part of the badlands series!

colors: “you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece.”

based off halsey’s badlands album.

warnings and other: museum curator!taehyun, old money!y/n, mentions of depression and grass smoking, little bit of angst i guess??

taehyun sighed as he took down the 11th painting this week. the museum hadn't been very busy in the past couple of weeks, maybe because the weather was getting colder. one part of him figured that many people just wanted to be bundled up at home watching holiday themed movies and drinking warm drinks rather than appreciating enchanting artworks.

he couldn't fool himself though, he knew the truth. today's generation didn't care about the fine arts anymore. a shame, seeing as everything around them seemed to be inspired by it.

kang taehyun worked at his local museum. he had been offered the position by the owner one night while roaming the place. this should've been a red flag looking back. the owner seemed desperate for someone to fill in the position since the previous employee had left without notice. nonetheless, taehyun took the job and didn't regret it one bit.

open 24/7, the red haired boy was always working on the clock. not that there was much to do seeing as most of the people his age or even a bit older didn't hang around museums purely for the joy of it. actually, his only job was to exhibit the newly arrived collections, clean and dust them off, and conduct regular tours and workshops for the public. due to this and the fact that not many people even came by he would take regular breaks.

once in a while you'd see the occasional old person or art expertee roaming around the small museum. if you were lucky, you'd see the local edgy teens posing next to a piece they didn't understand just to get an aesthetic picture. taehyun would also have the unfortunate job of shooing them away or scolding them for getting just a bit too close.

recently his boss, who was the museum manager and maybe the only other person besides taehyun that worked there, had informed him that due to funds and unfortunate unforeseen events, the museum would be closing down in about a month from now. this caused taehyun to fall deep into a depression since this was his only job and he loved it here. the museum was like his second home. he found comfort in the silent images displayed throughout the building. they always told him a story and when new pieces came in he would sit and stare attentively at the new anecdote being told to him.

taehyun smiled sadly at the piece he had just taken down. it was a painting of 2 people kissing however both of their faces were covered by white cloths. this was his favorite and he didn't even have a clue as to why. probably because of the uncertainty of what the other was feeling or because of the fact that the other couldn't see each other's faces through the cloth, that would've made the kiss more exciting in his opinion.

he stepped out of the museum and into the frosty air of the outside world. it was only autumn so why was it so cold? he thought to himself. he discreetly pulled out a prerolled blunt and his white lighter from his pocket. he lit it and stuck in between his slightly chapped lips.

maybe smoking dope wasn't the healthiest thing in the world, especially for a boy so young, barely 19, but it helped taehyun get his mind off the inevitably of losing his job and being homeless for the winter. he shuttered at the thought. he would have to room with one of his friends, he sighed shaking his head. no, he didn't want to be a burden, yeonjun had helped him enough as it is.

he looked at his surroundings taking in the cold autumn afternoon. the trees had long lost their leaves and were bare. the sky was a murky gray color as if it were threatening to rain any time soon. he noticed a girl bundled up in winter clothes near the entrance of the building glance at him. he smiled at her and she jumped at the eye contact, thinking that he wouldn't catch her. taehyun chuckled as he watched her rush into the museum. "back to work," he said out loud to himself.

once the blunt had been almost gone, he smoked what was left of it and headed back into the empty museum. he was feeling light-headed, the effects of the blunt finally taking action, but taehyun was used to it so it barely affected him as much.

he made his way to the girl who was now starting to take off her jacket and scarf. taehyun tapped on the girl's shoulder to get her attention. "hi," he smiled at the girl, showing off his dazzling smile. "if you'd like, i could give you a tour of the museum." well what's left of it anyways, he thought to himself.

"oh...no thank you," said the girl. she smiled warmly at the worker. "well not to be invasive of your decision but it's sort of in my job description," taehyun replied as he rubbed the back of his neck. the girl sighed in defeat, "i guess i have no choice then."

taehyun laughed as he took her coat and scarf to hang up in the public closet, "yep, trust me. they say im not that bad of a tour guide, im quite fun to be around if i do say so myself. i promise not to bore you too much." the girl nodded, not entirely convinced. "if i do end up bored i will hold you accountable..." she took a moment to take a peek at taehyun's name tag, "kang taehyun," she joked.

as they walked through the museum the girl couldn't help but notice that it was fairly empty. "why are there almost no paintings in here?" she laughed hesitantly. "i thought this was a museum?" taehyun stopped walking, turning to her with a sad expression on his face.

"the museum is expected to close in about a month or so," he stated simply. "oh...that's terrible. may i ask why?" the girl responded. "my boss says we've run out of funds or something like that," taehyun chuckled bitterly. "people don't really give a shit about good art these days anyways."

"that's a shame..."

they continued to look through the various paintings that were still up and occasionally the girl would ask to see the ones that were taken down and left on the floor. it seemed the two were lost in each other's company as night started to approach.

"thank you for the tour of this lovely museum taehyun. it was fun but it's a shame such a nice museum like this is closing down," the girl said softly. taehyun nodded solemnly, he just wanted to get this day over with and crash at his apartment. he didn't blame the girl before him but talking to her reminded him of his harsh reality. a notification coming from the girl's bag made both of them jump as they were both lost in their thoughts.

"ah, that must be my father. he's kind of annoying when it comes to my curfew," she chuckled, digging her phone from her bag. taehyun watched her with a bored expression until his eyes reached her bag. he hadn't noticed this earlier but she had been carrying a louis vuitton bag. his eyes bulged at the expensive item that was so close to him, they got even larger when she fished out the latest iphone from it.

taehyun wasn't poor per se, he had just enough to get by since he was living paycheck to paycheck. however, he had never been in such close proximity to any luxury items. he suddenly felt weird being this close to this girl.

"what do you mean by curfew?" taehyun asks hesitantly. the girl sighs, "my father is one of south korea's richest chaebol's, maybe one of the big three at his point." she rolled her eyes as if this information was nothing. "he's super strict with me because i guess i'm just his show pony daughter whom he can show off to say he's a good father."

taehyun gulped, had he just been casually hanging out with the daughter of one of the richest men in korea? he felt sick at this. she looked up at taehyun's uneasy expression, "oh my god im sorry i just dumped that all on you! i just needed to catch a break so i came here, i didn't mean to drag you into my life story."

taehyun fixes his face, laughing nervously, "no- no its fine really. we all need a break sometimes right? im glad you got to have that time here." the girl smiled up at him, completely misreading his nervous laughter, "im glad i got to spend it here with you taehyun."

"oh before i go!" taehyun watched her pull out a checkbook from her bag and his stomach dropped. he silently watched her scribble some stuff onto the slip and tear it out, handing it to him.

"there's not too much i can take out of my account without my father flipping out but i hope this helps even just a little. whether it be in your personal life or with the museum."

taehyun eyes the check and chokes when he sees 50,000 dollars written neatly on the black line. he swears he can feel sweat going down his face like in the cartoons. "i- i cant possibly take this from you." he moves to hand the check back but the girl refuses to take it back. "taehyun, you love this museum with your entire being. i see the way to look at the paintings and the passion with which you explained them to me. i'd hate to see that taken away."

"plus, if you're gone who's gonna give me the tour when i come back?" she laughs as if this is something casual. taehyun's hands shake as he pockets the check, "i seriously cannot thank you enough...you don't know how much you just helped the museum and m-"

the girls phone dings again and she grumbles, "ugh why can't he just leave me alone. sorry but i think i really gotta go for real before he tracks my location or something crazy like that."

taehyun nods wistfully at the mention of her having to leave. he was really starting to enjoy her company.

"oh by the way," the girl giggles as she pulls her coat on hurriedly.  "was that you smoking weed at the corner of the museum earlier?" the girl chuckled to herself again just remembering it. taehyun furrowed his eyebrows, "why would you say that kind of thing at out loud and at my job?!" he scolded in a playful hushed voice.

"i just thought it was funny and you also smelled of weed the entire tour, i didn't mind though so don't worry," the girl concluded. she was starting to walk away towards out the door now. "i'll walk you out," taehyun offers. "such a helpful employee. is this in the job description too?" the girl jokes, turning to him while a smile on her lips. "well, not exactly," taehyun says smoothly.

she shakes her head, "i'll see you soon taehyun." he watches her walk off into the darkness of the night when he suddenly remembers something.

"hey what's your name by the way?" he shouts after the girl. for some reason taehyun really was hopeful of seeing her again.

"y/n!" came the disembodied voice of the girl he had just met.