The Lee Estate never truly slept it just paused.
Lights dimmed. Footsteps softened. Voices faded behind thick walls and heavier expectations.
At 4:58 a.m., like clockwork, Taekyun stirred awake in a room that always felt two degrees too cold and ten shades too gray.
The bed beneath him was untouched at the edges, sheets crisp from another restless night.
He didn't sigh.
He didn't stretch.
He simply got up sharp, mechanical, routine.
His body moved the way it always had: deliberately. As if he were programmed rather than born. Black track pants, tank top, wrist wraps. No music. No mirror check. He tied his hair back without once glancing at his reflection.
The gym was in the west wing large, minimal, cold. Just how his father liked things.
At 5:04 a.m., he was already in motion.
Row machine.
Jump rope.
Push-ups.
Kicks to the bag.
Again.
Harder.
Faster.
It wasn't about getting stronger.
It was about feeling something. Or burning something out of his chest something he didn't know how to name.
Every breath was measured. Every rep a quiet scream.
In another room, on the second floor wrapped in soft beige curtains and faint eucalyptus scent, Rinwoo blinked awake to morning light creeping in over the windowsill.
The silence wasn't new.
Nor was the emptiness beside him.
They hadn't shared a room since the wedding — a decision neither of them ever explained, and neither questioned aloud.
He sat up slowly, blanket sliding down his shoulder. His sweater from last night was still on the chair nearby. He reached for it, slipping it on before padding barefoot to the balcony.
There it was his pothos, leaves curled and trailing, growing wild no matter how often he trimmed it. He kept it near the door so the morning sun could touch it first.
He poured just enough water into the pot, careful not to drown it. Then he gently turned the plant so the newer leaves could catch the light.
"You're growing well," he whispered, brushing a soft green stem. His voice cracked from sleep.
Then he stood still.
Eyes closed.
Deep inhale.
Exhale.
What do I need to do today?
He went over the mental list.
He left the balcony door open behind him, letting the breeze air out the quiet room. The hallway lights were already on, the floor cool under his feet.
On his way down, he paused near the glass doors of the gym.
Taekyun was there breath sharp, muscles tense, sweat painting lines down his neck and back.
It looked more like punishment than a workout.
There was something in the way his fists met the boxing bag controlled but furious, like he was angry at a version of himself no one else could see.
Rinwoo didn't knock.
He didn't enter.
He just watched. Just for a moment.
Then moved on.
In the kitchen, he opened the fridge, took out a chilled water bottle, and grabbed a clean towel from the linen drawer. Folded it neatly, ends aligned, no wrinkles.
It was quiet, but not silent distant clatter from the prep staff, the low boil of miso soup, the soft chop of vegetables.
Carrying the bottle and towel, Rinwoo walked back toward the gym and gently set them down outside the door.
The towel on top.
Label facing forward.
Like always.
No note.
No message.
Just an offering Taekyun would never acknowledge but always use.
Back downstairs, Rinwoo rolled up his sleeves and tied an apron over his sweater. The servants greeted him with nods he returned them with small smiles. He didn't need to be here he wasn't staff but he'd always helped. It gave him something to do with his hands. Something quiet.
He took over chopping fruit. His mind, however, wandered far from the knife.
Does he ever sleep?
Why does it still hurt when he doesn't say "good morning"?
He paused.
Tiny thoughts. Always tiny. But they stuck to him like dust on a windowsill hard to notice unless you ran your hand across them.
He sighed through his nose and kept cutting. The fruit smelled sweet, but his chest felt sour.
Outside, the sky finally broke into full morning, casting a pale gold across the walls of the estate. Inside, everything kept moving. Predictably. Quietly.
And two men bound by vows, history, and silence moved through their routines like dancers in separate ballets, always missing the same beat.
The scent of freshly steamed rice and sesame oil wove through the marble halls of the Lee Estate, slipping under doors and through cracks like it had done every morning for decades.
Daon came down first.
He always did.
His dark blue suit hugged his frame with quiet authority. Not flashy Daon never needed flash. His presence alone was enough. A silver watch peeked out from beneath his sleeve, ticking softly with every step.
Rinwoo looked up from the table he was setting, hands gently adjusting the placement of chopsticks.
"Good morning, Daon-ssi," he said with a small smile, eyes soft.
Daon gave a short nod in return. Not unkind just... Daon. Stoic, polite, distant in the way only someone raised to never show vulnerability could be. He sat down in his usual seat without a word, pulling out a sleek tablet and checking something silently.
Rinwoo quietly returned to the kitchen, where servants whispered and moved like shadows and he moved with them, sleeves rolled, apron tight, heart already tired.
Taemin stumbled in next, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with one hand and scrolling through his phone with the other.
"Smells amazing," he muttered, collapsing into the chair beside Daon and letting out a soft sigh.
"Fix your shirt," Daon said without even glancing at him.
Taemin looked down one side tucked in, the other not. A button was completely missed.
"Ugh," he groaned. "It's like you have a sensor for chaos."
"I live in this house. Of course I do."
Rinwoo returned again, tray in hand, and gently placed dishes one by one on the table each plate turned just right, each item placed with care. He always made sure Taekyun's side had a little extra broth, no garlic.
Because Taekyun hated garlic
The heavy footsteps came next rhythmic and controlled, like a soldier on a mission.
Taekyun entered, freshly showered after his morning workout. His black shirt was pressed to perfection, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, cuffs neatly fastened. His eyes were unreadable, sharp.
Rinwoo straightened a little when he passed not out of fear, but something else. Habit. Reverence. Distance.
Taekyun sat silently at the table, expression unchanged. Rinwoo stepped aside again, only returning with his plate prepare. He placed it gently next to him, along with a clean towel for his hands, and filled his cup with warm tea.
Taekyun didn't look at him.
But he accepted the tea.
That was enough.
And like every morning, that absence arrived last.
Mr. Lee Joonho entered the dining hall with the weight of a man who expected the world to move when he spoke. His gray suit was crisp, tie knotted tight, presence cold enough to make the air around him feel thinner.
Mr. Lee took his seat at the head of the table, motioning for the rest to sit.
Once seated, he didn't greet them. He never did.
Instead, he picked up his spoon, tasted the soup, and after a few seconds of silence, spoke.
"Daon. Taemin."
The two brothers looked up.
"You'll be traveling tomorrow," he said evenly. "Up the mountains."
A beat.
"To see Master Hwang."
The silence at the table sharpened, just slightly.
Taemin blinked. "The monk?
"Yes," Mr. Lee replied, calmly. "He's helped find fated matches for century. It's time you both do your part."
Daon set down his chopsticks carefully, like the motion itself was too loud.
"I don't need a match," he said quietly.
Mr. Lee's gaze flicked to him a warning, not a debate.
"You need a future," he said. "And the curse needs to be broken."
Taemin snorted. "Or maybe we're just a bunch of emotionally repressed rich kids with commitment issues."
"Go," Mr. Lee said firmly. "He'll know who you're meant to be with."
The air at the table grew heavy. Taemin muttered something under his breath. Daon sat stiff and silent. And Taekyun, for once, stopped eating just for a moment.
Rinwoo sat beside him like always like a shadow eyes fixed on his tea.
He didn't speak. He never did during these things.
Daon raised his tea to his lips, eyes still heavy from sleep. The morning conversation had drained him already, and he hadn't even started his actual workday.
The cup was still warm in his hand.
He never made it to the sip.
CRACK.
A violent shatter split through the air loud, sharp, and sudden as the porcelain cup in Daon's hand exploded, scattering ceramic shards and hot tea across the white tablecloth. Pieces clattered to the floor like tiny weapons.
Daon didn't flinch.
No one did.
Except Rinwoo.
He moved instantly, like it was muscle memory now a soft gasp escaping his lips as he rushed forward, pulling a clean cloth from the side tray. He reached for Daon's hand, careful not to touch anything else.
"Hold still," he whispered, wrapping Daon's palm gently, inspecting the forming cut at the base of his thumb.
Hot tea soaked the cuff of Daon's sleeve. A shard had nicked the skin just enough to bleed.
"I'm fine," Daon muttered, but he didn't pull away.
He never did when Rinwoo helped.
A servant bolted from the kitchen, already carrying the first aid kit like this was clockwork.
Because it was.
This was their routine now.
A curse doesn't always announce itself with thunder.
Sometimes, it just cracks a teacup. Every morning.
Rinwoo dabbed the blood gently, his fingers careful and light. He didn't look at anyone else. Not at the broken cup. Not at the mess. Just at the wound.
And in the silence, Mr. Lee spoke again his voice as flat and cold as his eyes.
"Rinwoo should go with them."
Everyone turned.
Even Daon looked up.
Taemin blinked. "To the mountains?"
Mr. Lee didn't repeat himself. "He's more useful than most of you. And if something happens on the way, he's better equipped to handle it."
It was the closest thing to a compliment Rinwoo had ever gotten from the man. But it didn't land like praise. It landed like a command born of pragmatism. He wasn't family just someone the family needed. Sometimes.
Rinwoo bowed his head slightly, whispering, "I'll pack."
Mr. Lee stood from the table with a creak of his chair, fixing his cuffs. "Leave at dawn."
And with that, he turned and exited the dining hall like nothing had happened stepping right past the blood, the tea, the shattered cup.
Taekyun stood too.
He hadn't eaten more than a few bites, and his tea remained untouched beside him. He pushed back from the table with that same military stillness the kind that looked practiced, maybe even punished into him.
Rinwoo straightened quickly, hand still half-wrapped around the bloody cloth. "You didn't eat—"
Taekyun stopped. Just for a second.
Then turned slightly to look back at him.
That look.
It wasn't anger. Not quite. It wasn't hate, either.
It was that cold, emotionless gaze he wore like armor. The one that said: don't follow me, don't speak, don't try to reach into the places I've locked shut.
Rinwoo froze.
The words dried in his throat.
And when Taekyun turned again and walked away stiff, quiet, distant Rinwoo just stood there, fingers still holding the bloody cloth, heart somewhere between his ribs and the floor.
He looked down.
And quietly began to clean the table.