"I can't resist temptation. That is my curse."
To be the future wife of the Grand Master of the Temple means a life of status, riches, and stability. It means you no longer have to pretend to be a boy, doing criminal acts to take care of your ailin...
There were hands. Soft, delicate hands on his forehead, sliding into his hair. Was it a dream? It was a comforting one. It was something familiar, some type of memory from a long time ago.
"Look how much he's grown. He looks so much like his father."
"Of course! The Park genes are the strongest there ever were. Ruthless and valiant! All the other genes tremble in the presence of Park genes!"
For a brief moment, he could hear his mother's laughter, right before his mind caught up with the present. With reality. With the smell of ashes and burning bodies.
I'm sorry, father... I grew up a coward. An absolute coward. Forgive me. Please forgive me.
His eyes shot open. It wasn't his bedroom as a child, but instead, the medical room of the high temple. Breath escaped his lips as his heart ached for the home he once knew, the home that no longer existed. His father's booming voice. His mother's laughter. The smell of the rains of Graena.
Gone. Everything was gone.
Except for the hands on his forehead.
"Teacher Jimin?"
Jimin inched his head to the side towards the voice calling his name. His eyes cleared by the time he came face to face with Ningyi.
"Ningyi?" Jimin asked. "Why are you –"
He stopped, realizing that it was her hands on his face, stroking his hair. Something deep and uncomfortable shifted in him, a student so intimately caring for him while he was unconscious.
He sat up, shying away from her hands.
"I came as soon as they told me you fainted," Ningyi explained. "Please don't be angry. I was worried. I spent the whole morning praying to the Goddess for your health."
Jimin looked around the room, his shoulders dropping with relief when he saw Namjoon near the door, watching them both. Certainly Namjoon wouldn't allow anyone to –
"Are you feeling better?" Ningyi asked, reaching for the scratch on his arm.
Jimin jerked away, his heartbeat racing. As Ningyi's eyes widened, he realized how sharp his movement had been and he tried his best to relax his muscles.
"I'm quite sensitive about being touched," Jimin said.
He was too groggy and exhausted to filter out his words with the proper softness, and a pang of guilt hit his chest as Ningyi slouched back in her seat.
"Of course," she said in a small voice. "I shouldn't have been so forward, Teacher."
His shoulders softened a bit more. She wasn't trying to hurt him. He knew that. Namjoon would have stopped her if she had any ill will. Ningyi was simply an over-concerned student. She always had been. But he couldn't find the right words to console her – and he had no intentions of telling her the reason for his discomfort – so he turned his attention to Namjoon.
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