He had known him for years, inside and out, but he never truly understood the sadness that hid behind his eyes. Was he not supposed to have everything his heart desired? Was he not given the freedom that the other royals did not have? Did he not have the favor of the king? Of not their clan alone but many others? As a child he had always been puzzled what troubles the older boy, of why in moments of solitude, of moments he thought no one sees, he weeps.
He would never forget this one time Park Taesun had stumbled upon the South garden, just outside the infirmary, eyes all red and knuckles entirely bruised. It was that day the Head of Security had passed away, the last time the boy had looked dearly at his own father. And he would have never forgotten how bitter the prince's tears were, how distasteful it must have been to savor those for years and years that came. It reminded him of himself... in fact, a lot about the prince had reminded him of that young boy he saw in the mirror countless of times. He could never quite put his finger on it, but something drew him to the prince - and it was certainly not his bloodline.
"It intrigues you, doesn't it?" Baek Seungjoon came out of the bathroom, forehead stitched up. "Why we protect him so?"
"I just don't see a man of the supposed justice dirtying his hands like this for a monarchy that he himself does not approve." He replied, shifting his eyes, focusing on the gun on the table. "I don't mind giving up my life for him."
"If I want to survive in this country, I need him." Seungjoon replied, making himself comfortable on the chair across the other.
"My family has firm principles, we put our conscience on the ends rather than the means." His words were firm and unchanging. It was a blind faith on his part, but if he did not believe it, what else would there be to?
"You are over thinking this matter." Was all Seungjoon said, an offensive smirk drawn on his face as he got on his feet and made an exit.
His father had visited the Head of Security's grave, every year on his death anniversary and had told him that they owed their lives to that man, to the family that this man had served. His father valued this man more than he had valued his own wife. And as his mother's child, it had troubled him as a child. It had troubled him to the point that he had learned to hate his father, his guts and the entirety of his being.
However, as he sat alone in that hotel room, gazing upon a weapon he could have used to get all the answers, he realized the answers were before him all along. This was truly a conspiracy... and he was one of its pillars. And so was that tear stained boy whom he had caught 16 years ago.
