Seonghwa's bamboo branch tapped against the wooden plane covered by a sheet of paper. The delicate symbols painted in calligraphy sharpened with San's focus on them. The strokes of the brush drawing them had seemed to sing as they created words out of single characters in the form of pictures. If San concentrated, he could see them take shape and come to life to tell their story and meaning.

They had skipped the novice lessons. Seonghwa had tested San on his knowledge and found that San was brilliant in many old scriptures that told Joseon's history. He had adjusted their level, and now they read complicated classics from the Han kingdom that told the root tales of the dragon kings in their original language. San found the Han scriptures came to life clearer the further back they went in time to study them. It was like looking at pictures.

"The radical is the same. Now, continue." Seonghwa beckoned at the text San was transcribing into easier written language by his side. Understanding the correct meaning of countless symbols was difficult for Seonghwa, so he used a book, but the mind of a dragon was profound and old. San may be a juvenile still, but he had learned and watched this world grow for many centuries.

San delved into writing again. Seonghwa had handed him a brush engraved with golden lettering that called it a 'Crafter of Fantasy' with white ferret hair stained in black ink. San had rolled back his sleeve and grasped the brush with as much grace as possible as he led it over the paper. Seonghwa did the same on his table, only that he could hold the brush tucked much more skilfully between his thumb and index finger.

"Part of the speech you will be asked to read on the day of Hangawi is this scripture that got handed down by scholars since the first dragon arrived in this world. Another part will be your own. So we can hand it down and sustain it for the five hundred years of your blessing that you won't spend here, you will be required to write it in the same style." Seonghwa dipped his brush in the ink and held his sleeve with his left hand while his right guided the utensil. His hand was calm and didn't tremor as he added the smallest of strokes to the intricate character.

San shifted in his seat. His lower back hurt depending on how he knelt, so his heels did a regular dance at easing the dull throbbing. The pillow under his knees was soft, but it wasn't thick enough to separate his pain from the hardness of the floor.

"I will pick out the book of previous speeches for you later so you may inspire yourself by the length and choice of words. What you tell is your decision, but be aware that your words will be spread throughout the lands and passed on through history, so you would be wise not to waste them."

Seonghwa spoke without looking up. His long lashes fanned over his cheeks as he concentrated on his paper. Blossom-like lips parted around his quiet words, since they were the only ones in the room.

It was a warm day. The birds sung outside, and the sun caressed the earth with its golden rays. Seonghwa had opened the window earlier to let in the spring breeze, and San caught himself staring outside of it yearningly every so often.

San looked at his paper again. An earring dangled from Seonghwa's left ear. It was a golden ring with a pearl on it that matched the necklaces wrapping around the man's neck. Compared to other men at the court, Seonghwa wore a lot of jewellery, but it was natural. He knew of the properties of precious minerals and wore them for their effect on his spirit. Pearls were water-born, so they created a welcoming connection to San's water-born nature. San believed they also spread attentiveness. Whenever he looked at Seonghwa, his eyes were drawn to them, hugging his throat or dangling from his ear under the swoop of his pink hair.

They also matched the rest of him. Including the uncanny, but oddly fitting, norigae. San's eyes dropped from Seonghwa back to his paper. Nobody but them sat in the large study hall that offered seats for twenty students. Seonghwa sat at the elevated seat of the teacher, and San knelt in front of him at the very first table to work on his writing. Both of them had their projects spread out on the ground around them.

"You have time to write your speech until the day of the ritual. If you want me to check it for you and tell you my opinion on it, you should finish it at least a week beforehand. You get lots of time to think about it."

"I will," San murmured. He was focused on the task at hand and not getting distracted by the window or Seonghwa's pearls.

Seonghwa set his brush down to regard San's work over the edge of his table. Deep in thought, San pouted to himself while he drew. His claws were clumsy, but the movement of his arm was well-planned.

"Hongjoong mentioned you like poetry."

The thin thread of concentration ripped when memories of the past evening flooded San. He had enjoyed himself, somewhat, even when their time had been short and Hongjoong hadn't been very talkative. He had disappeared early in the morning and must have met Seonghwa on his way to the throne room. San was surprised the king mentioned him. Did they update each other on their progress with San? How much did Seonghwa know? He might have information Hongjoong wouldn't share with San.

San lifted his eyes. Unperturbed by their warm golden colour, Seonghwa cradled his chin in his hand to look at San. His beauty was like that of a water spirit as he throned over him. Pleasant honey eyes scrutinised the dragon.

San let his brush sink.

"I do."

Seonghwa tilted his head, a tiny smile tugging on his lips.

"Shall we call it a day? I can pick out the book for you and perhaps find something on poetry to busy your time with. The palace can be a boring place."

The empathy in Seonghwa's voice made the dragon chuckle. As he rolled up his work, Seonghwa cleaned their brushes and put them away to dry.

The library adjoined the study hall. A large room of archives towered on tall shelves. Bound books, scrolls of scriptures, and banners hanging from the walls covered in ink offered a bountiful amount of wisdom. While San looked around in fascination, Seonghwa unlocked a cupboard with a golden key and retrieved a book bound in peculiar material rather than paper. It shone in all colours of the rainbow and reflected the light falling through the paper windows.

When Seonghwa handed it to San, San ran his fingers over the smooth material in awe. Seonghwa did the same, their fingertips brushing. Shy, San recoiled.

"This book is made of leather, covered in the scales of the dragons before you. It is customary they gift a few of their scales for us to preserve. If you want to partake in the making of a new book with yours, I can help you extract them without pain."

Seonghwa was taller than San. As he stood in front of the narrow space between the shelves, the light from outside reached to kiss the crown of his head. San leaned against the shelf, awed by the game of light on golden accessories as they shone and twinkled, waking his interest in anything pretty. He liked to collect pearls back home, or the shiny items humans left behind. Once, when he had been young, he had collected a knife and promptly cut himself. As he had cried to the elders, they had taught him that not everything shiny in this world was good news. Shiny things could mean deception.

But Seonghwa was no knife. He was gentle and soft, and his eyes offered help in whatever San asked him.

When Seonghwa tilted his head to give him a winning smile, San chuckled and shifted his weight. For a moment, his face contorted into a grimace before he caught himself and smoothed it out.

"I would love to. Then my scales can awe the dragon after me, too." San liked the concept of being remembered. He would live for many more years and the humans he met would shrivel and die. He appreciated their attempts at preservation and remembrance. For creatures as brittle, they put a great value into thanking those who aided them.

"Are you in pain?"

San hung his head. His arms cradled the book to his chest, since it was difficult to hold otherwise. He clenched his eyes shut when Seonghwa moved to peer at him.

"It's nothing," San muttered. It didn't deter Seonghwa.

"Is it because of Hongjoong again?" Seonghwa's voice was so private in the old archive, San could hear the birds outside singing over it. He tightened his grip, ashamed. The scales of his ancestors were cool and smooth under his fingers.

"I... I don't want to over share."

"You won't. I am here to listen and to make you feel at ease while you are in the palace. Hongjoong said so himself. Any trouble you have is best resolved if you let me help."

San hesitated for a moment longer. Seonghwa smelled of the sun and of persimmons. It must be a perfume, since San knew the trees bore no fruit yet. He had never tried one on himself, even if he had found some in his vanity, but it suited Seonghwa. He carried a note of nature and of peace. Something San missed and yearned for.

"Whenever we... share a bed, I end up being in pain." Uncomfortable, San shifted and regretted it a moment later. He leaned his back against the shelf for support.

"Is he too rough?"

"No, I- I don't think he is. I am unsure since I believe both of us are very inexperienced so we might miss an important step, but my body never seems to open up to him as it should. Perhaps it's because of our anatomy."

Seonghwa hummed, worry blending into his voice. San lifted his eyes but didn't dare cross the man's gaze out of shame. He looked at the pearls on his neck instead, contrasting with his tan skin.

"You can't expect your body to give like that of a woman. It needs a lot of preparation to fit these activities. Once you took the time, it will feel good for both of you," Seonghwa explained. He didn't sound patronising, his voice ever so kind.

"I only ever feel pain," San whispered. The memory had him shiver as his body relived its agony. Noticing his trembles, Seonghwa raised a hand to cup San's shoulder with it. Warmth seeped back into him.

"Have you not been preparing before engaging in the nightly pleasure with him?"

"I have, but-" Uselessly, San waved his claws to clarify. Empathetic, Seonghwa squeezed his shoulder.

"I am sorry, San. I was ignorant to think it would be as easy for you as it would be for a human." Now Seonghwa lowered his gaze. San was quick to jerk up and shake his head.

"No! No, you helped me out already; I think I am too rushed or ignorant to the process. I am a dragon, so my anatomy works different from that of a human."

Their eyes met, and brown swirled with gold in an irresistible mixture. Like the feathering of a hawk, they created an artwork of beauty.

"I must be doing it wrong. It can feel good?" San didn't know what feeling good meant for human standards. He didn't occupy this body for long, and dragons mated differently than humans did. Though he knew humans usually did it for pleasure. He had been startled to meet such pain instead. Perhaps Hongjoong was the only one in pleasure?

"It can, so good. May I suggest I show you?"

San hesitated even as he found genuine concern in Seonghwa's eyes.

"Show me how? I believe this it no matter taken lightly between married people."

Seonghwa nodded hurriedly.

"None of that. Your body belongs to the king alone. But I can show you how you need to prepare to be at ease with him and how to access the points that pleasure you. Your physical health is part of my duties, so it entails this. However, if you wish to consult Hongjoong first, we can do that."

The topic of their conversation made San blush, especially since they were so hidden behind bookshelves. Yet, he agreed. Consulting Seonghwa instead of having to confess his pain to Hongjoong was a blessing.

"I trust you, so let's not bother him with it. Perhaps next time he holds me, I will have improved a lot."

Seonghwa smiled, warmth returning to his face to shoo away the clouds of concern.

"I will be glad to help."