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Jisung's breath caught in his throat, but he kept his feet rooted and stood as straight as he could. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he balled his now sweating hands into fists at his sides.

"Brother—"

Calling that title earned Jisung a shove to the floor by one of the men at the leader's command.

He felt the dull pain in his arm that would surely bruise later as he tried to reach out and break his fall, but, sitting up with the help of a tug on his collar, he ended up on his knees in front of the man towering over him.

"'Brother'?" The blond snickered, looking down on him as he mocked Jisung. He let out another short, dry chuckle, and when Jisung didn't respond, his head lowered, the leader continued.

"What have you learned? How have you advanced in our plan? What steps have you taken?" The taller hurled questions at him as if it was an interrogation. Jisung felt as if it was, and his hands started to get clammy as he wet his lips again to whisper, "Nothing."

The blond above him blinked down at him, but Jisung didn't lift his head. The former scoffed lowly, repeating Jisung's feeble reply, each syllable like a brick dropping on the latter. "'Nothing'."

Jisung's head fell more at the silent mockery, his chin hitting his chest as he waited for the man in front of him to continue, the one word that was supposed to be empty somehow full with embarrassment and shame and ringing in both of their minds.

That one word weighed Jisung down, anchoring his knees to the floor below him. His body felt physically heavier under the blond's demeaning glare. Without even meeting his eyes, the younger knew what blond thought of him.

Pathetic. Useless. Weak.

And it was all true. Jisung's head somehow became even weightier, his eyes fixed on the floor below him, the wood of which he wanted so desperately to seep into and just dissappear in a melted puddle of disappointment.

"The Spring Festival is soon, and the Princess' birthday after that," The blond leader suddenly said. Jisung's ears perked up, assuming that his superior was about to present him with another chance to prove himself. But Jisung's heart fell to his knees at the leaders' next words. 

"The Astrea Empire is training guards for this season. The crowds will be greater than former years'. They will need extra protection around the Princess, close to her, it's a perfect chance."

A beat of silence followed, filling the small shop with its hollow but prominent presence.

The young tailor's mind went blank except for the words spoken, which left his head spinning and his heart racing in fear.

Greater. Crowds.

Crowds. 

Raising his head in disbelief, the kneeling ravenette stared wide-eyed at the one before him. "My King, you want me to enroll for the position of a Royal Guard?!"

The blond solemnly nodded once, with horrible finality.

No, no, no.

His brother knew about his fear, even as his king, he couldn't be doing this to him. Jisung refused to believe it as he clutched at his chest in panic, his fingers twisting around the fabric of his shirt.

Since that day, he had been scared of strangers, unfamiliar faces all around him, suffocating him. Since the incident he hated it, he couldn't stand it, he was terrified of it, and his brother knew this. Jisung's breath grew shallow as he remembered it.

They all rushed in as a group, countless soldiers... they stormed the guards and forced their way in, the sound of the doors cracking and splintering to pieces woke Jisung up that night, and every night since then. His nightmares were filled with the cries of his mother, the shouts of his father, their screams of anguish and pain mixing with the screams of delight from their murderers as the blood poured.

And all of them were always faceless strangers who he couldn't recognize. Not a single face the night it happened, not a face in his dreams that he could recognize.

Trembling hands clutched at the dark robes of the blond as Jisung's eyes began to water, his voice shaking uncontrollably and cracking with terror as he called out his brother's name. "Jael, please, I can't—"

An unforgiving boot was placed on Jisung's chest and he was shoved back again. With no time to react, he fell backwards and his head collided with the floor. Upon impact his vision blackened for a moment, his hair dampened, and, drawing a hand away from the back of his head, he saw that it was stained with blood.

Tears flowed down his cheeks and mixed with the blood on his hand as he examined it in front of him, his dark pupils shaking at the sight. Like the rain that pattered onto the stones and washed away the blood that night, his tears fell and left a clean streak on his tainted hand.

"Do you call your king by name?" Jael spat, still looking down on Jisung as he forced his words out through gritted teeth. Even seeing him cracking like a once-repaired dish, now overwhelmed with weight and breaking again with terror from the inside out, he searched for pity inside himself and struggled to find it.

If they were ever brothers, they had been, once.

Jisung bit his lip, trying to blink back the tears, lowering his voice in an attempt to keep it stable as he pleaded again. "My King, please..."

Jael turned away before Jisung could finish, taking swift strides to the door, the handful of men who had been like sentient statues following him loyally.

 "Get up. The enrollment starts in a week."

Those were Jael's last words before he left the little shop, his henchmen following as if they were dogs without a mind of their own.

But one of the men glanced back at Jisung, crumpled on the floor, tears flowing freely now that there would be no one to see him. The man's blue eyes filled with pity, the expression on his homely face softening. Before leaving, he flipped the sign in the window to display the "Closed" side out, then locked the door quietly behind himself, leaving the Jisung alone to comprehend the emotions that crashed over him like a wave before leaving him to drown in the aftermath.

The golden sunset tinged with rose streamed through the windows, bringing the last bit of rich sunshine into the shop which was finally, permanently quiet, except for the low sobs of a young tailor.

Jisung knew that what his brother thought of him was true; he was pathetic and useless and weak. And he wanted so badly to prove him wrong, to show the only family he had left that he was strong enough to carry on the legacy of his homeland. He wanted so badly to be accepted by his brother and his King.

But as another sob was choked out of him, Jisung wished — how he wished he could be allowed to be seen as "weak" and "pathetic" for another moment, just to cry, to spill out his fear in the form of his tears, the small droplets rolling over his cheeks and forming a puddle on the floor at his temple.

If this was weakness, he thought, his heart pounding as the faint, broken scenes flitted across his mind, as his frame shook in dread, then he was indeed weak. 

He wasn't brave enough to stop the fear, the trembling, the echoes that filled his head when he thought of that night. He wasn't strong enough to make the screaming of memories that tormented him nightly cease.

But if he could just be allowed to indulge in weakness tonight...

Another, stronger sob echoed out to accompany the hot tears, his body wracking as he tried to keep quiet, his eyelids becoming heavy as he laid on his side against the cold wood.

He vowed to try to be stronger tomorrow.