Porcelain { One }
Title: Porcelain
Rating: NC-17/R
Pairing: SeKai + SuChen
Summary: The year is 1913. Kim Jongin and Kim Jongdae are footman for Foxcombe House, owned by the Wu family who migrated to England following the success of Kristopher Wu's business in both Shanghai and London. He and his heiress wife, Jessica, now own the estate much to the distaste of the locals. A certain runaway from Seoul appears on the doorstep and suddenly the Kim brothers' lives are turned inside-out, destined to end in ruin.
Inspired by the era of Downton Abbey and a certain old manor in Sussex, England, with an eerie story to tell.
{ PROLOGUE }
Chapter One
1913
He never saw him coming.
The day had started early. The return of Mr Wu from London was always a bustling affair that woke with the rising sun. As soon as the first slither of watery sunlight crept over the South Downs, Foxcombe House became a vibrating beehive of activity.
Joonmyun’s fist had collided loudly with Jongin and Jongdae’s door at the crack of dawn just as it always did. The echo of his knocks along the male staff quarters travelled down the draughty corridor and Jongin groaned, bending the pillow over his ear in an attempt to flee the inescapable. He had never been a morning person. Jongdae, on the other hand, threw himself out of bed as though he was made of cotton wool and proceeded to yank at the corner of Jongin’s covers.
“Rise and shine, sleepy-head!” he half-sang in an annoyingly cheerful voice so different from his natural one.
When Jongin grunted a reply, he huffed and pulled even harder until the thin quilt slid off his half-naked body, now curled into the foetal position by the wall.
“You bastard, it’s freezing!” Jongin snapped back, wrapping his arms tighter around his shuddering knees.
Jongdae merely chuckled at the younger’s misfortune. “That’ll teach you for being such a lazy sod. Now get up!” He nudged at Jongin’s ankles. “His Lordship will be back in a few hours.”
The elder pulled open the wardrobe doors to pluck at what hung inside; a pristine set of undress livery that was customary for a footman to wear for every-day, menial activities. He brushed off the shoulders of the waistcoat with a satisfied smile tilting at his lips before unbuttoning his night clothes and slipping on the uniform.
Jongin’s eyes rolled. “It doesn’t matter how enthusiastic you are, Joonmyun still won’t look at you twice…” he mumbled into his skin.
Jongdae’s head snapped around. “What did you just say?”
“Wait, don- Hey! Get off!” Jongin writhed on the bed and kicked out his limbs at Jongdae now tickling the balls of his feet with a cackle. Suddenly his head flumped onto the mattress as the pillow was snatched from underneath and flung across the room. “Jongdae, don’t be a dick!”
“If you want it back, you’ll have to get up. Besides, there’s too much to be done before midday to let you slack off half the morning.” Jongin lunged lazily at him but he dodged out of the way. “If you have the energy to throw abuse at me, you have the energy to iron the newspapers.”
“I hate you.”
Jongdae clasped the last button and ran a final hand over his slicked-back hair. “No, you don’t.”
And with a wink, he was out through the door.
Jongin grumbled and rolled over.
Just a few more minutes...
♦♦♦
It took more than one feeble attempt but Jongin eventually managed to drag his lethargic form out of bed and into some respectable attire. He stole a few moments in front of the mirror to flatten his sideburns and straighten his bow tie before smiling with satisfaction at his reflection; a typical morning ritual. Image was of vital importance, after all.
It was imperative for a footman, in particular, to appear immaculate at all times. They were the face of the domestic infantry and, as such, were expected to be aesthetically pleasing to all those who laid eyes on them. Unlike the other members of the household’s cavalry whose role was to work unseen in empty rooms and underground quarters, the footmen were at the forefront of it all: they waited the table in the dining room, they often assisted as make-shift valets for guests who remained overnight and they occasionally accompanied the car on outings beyond the village. Expensive to keep and prized for their good looks and height, they were a rare commodity except in lavish properties with the size and funds to support them, such as Foxcombe House. Jongin silently thanked the universe each day for such an opportunity to fall into his lap. The living conditions and wages weren’t perfect, but it certainly trumped the limited options a man his age could hope for. Trailing a plough through a field wasn’t exactly his idea of an ideal career path. He didn’t have the hands for it.
As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he was instantly assaulted by the passing bodies shouldering past, wave after wave. He flattened himself against the wall and waited for a gap in the chaos to slip into before heading up to the ground floor.
These were the lifelines of the House, the blood cells swimming through veins of richly embossed hallways and hidden servant staircases to keep the heart of Foxcombe beating; housemaids carrying baskets of linen or chamber pots or heavy buckets of coal for the fires, a scullery maid hauling a bag of potatoes under her arm from the pantry to the kitchen, sweaty footmen with polish under their fingernails wailing for the missing pieces of their formal livery. This was what lurked under the unblemished skin of the Wu family’s home and preserved its beauty; the blood from tens of hands that worked from the crack of dawn.
At every dawn.
Upstairs the rushing didn’t cease. The shutters at each of the towering windows were flung open and the ornate rooms were washed in a milky glow to make everything shine. A maid with her arms full of kindling padded across the carpet to stoke the fire in the library under the ever-watchful eye of Mrs Kwon, the head housekeeper, who lurked with an upturned nose by the grand staircase. A permanent scowl hung over the arms crossed under her ample bosom and it was safe to assume any conversation with her before noon was never going to be a pleasant one. Jongin quickly shuffled out of her line of sight. He passed the common room where pillows were being plumped and surfaces dusted. He thought of himself as a walker between the worlds of sorts. He could cross the veil that separated the luxurious from the penniless, the seen from the unseen, and witness life on both sides of the glass - a rare insight into the bigger picture that very few had the chance of witnessing.
He reached the dining room where Jongdae was meticulously setting up the table and others around him were wiping down furniture and sweeping the floor. He looked over and flashed Jongin a half-grin.
Joonmyun walked past the doorway in that moment and double-backed on himself, peering in.
“Jongin, what are you doing up here? There’s a drawer of silverware in the kitchen that needs polishing.”
Jongin bowed his head and made to leave. “Certainly, Mr Kim. I’ll get right on it.”
♦♦♦
The car was late, although that came to no surprise. It was always late.
Jongin let out a long exhale, staring up at the blanket of grey overhead. The staff had gathered outside in an orderly line in anticipation for Kristopher and Jessica’s return. The light blue sky of the morning now lay hidden behind puffs of storm clouds that had crept over the county and swathed it in a miserable haze. A faint drop of water fell against his cheek and he wiped it away.
He sighed. “How many times has he driven them to London and back now?” he whispered to Jongdae stood next to him.
“Obviously not enough. This is Yi Xing we’re talking about. I’d be surprised if he remembers what country he’s in.”
Jongin stifled a laugh as he caught Mrs Kwon’s eyes on him and he fixed his gaze straight ahead.
Eventually the car arrived and everyone automatically straightened their backs. The vehicle rumbled down the long stretch of driveway and elegantly stopped outside Foxcombe’s entrance. Jongin and Jongdae stepped forward to open the doors on either side and Kristopher and his wife emerged, along with Jessica’s lady’s maid who remained permanently attached to her hip. True to form, Mrs Wu barely acknowledged the staff and immediately headed inside. Her husband, however, nodded his head towards everybody with a friendly smile. Suddenly a bumbling furry shape the size of a bear flew out of the house and into his outstretched arms, licking his face furiously. Jack was possibly the friendliest and most adorable German Shepherd that Jongin had ever met despite being hell to walk once his beloved owner was away. It was almost quite poetic whenever they were reunited.
A very late lunch was served which had the cook in a frenzy but was received positively and smelled delicious. Jongin took his position by the wall, ready to assist if needed. Jongdae, being the first footman, stood behind and to the left of Mr Wu’s chair while he ate. The aroma of cold meats and fresh salad had Jongin’s mouth salivating and he prayed his stomach wouldn’t start growling for everyone to hear. He knew full well he’d have to wait for the master to finish eating and for the table to be cleared before he could even consider having a bite of food himself. But he remained composed with his shoulders back and a stiff expression to battle through the hunger.
He was stuffing his face with slices of cheese on crusty bread in the kitchen when the entrance bell rang. His head barely rose to the sound of it. Jongdae was upstairs, he’d answer. But something tingled in his abdomen that made him stop chewing for a moment and wonder. After a minute or so, Jongin wiped down his crumby fingers and snuck up the servant’s stairs to the entrance hall. He could already hear the spring rains lashing against the windows. Who would be visiting in this weather?
Everything was quiet and nobody seemed to be around until Jack trotted down the corridor, sniffing the floor, and disappeared through a gap in the doors to the library. Jongin could just about make out Kristopher Wu’s deep voice rumbling from within. With the incentive of shutting the doors completely to give his master and the mysterious guest some privacy, Jongin crossed the hall but stopped just as he reached it. He felt his throat tighten.
The stranger, whoever he was, was taking a seat by Mr Wu’s desk. Jongin couldn’t see Kristopher, only a slither of the boy who had joined him and Jack’s happy wagging tail as he lay on the floor at his owner’s feet. The boy’s face was…well, he couldn’t quite find the words since his head was suddenly a little foggy. His clothes and messy hair were soaked as though he’d been stuck in the rain for a good while. His damp shoulders were shaking and thin, chapped lips barely opened to utter a word. Jongin couldn’t help but settle himself on the ground, continuing to peer through the gap, as the boy reached into the satchel balanced between his ankles to pull out some sheets of paper and hand them forward. Jongin didn’t know how long he sat there, helplessly staring at the colourless face and long limbs he didn’t recognise. Then someone behind him cleared his throat.
Jongin jumped and leapt to his feet. Joonmyun was looking at him with raised eyebrows but a smile tilted at the corner of his mouth as he strode past him and into the room, shutting the door with a click.
A sharp exhale left Jongin’s throat. He would have given anything to be in that library in that moment. He would have given anything to know that boy’s name.
“Psst! Jongin!”
Jongdae had emerged from the stairwell, signalling downstairs with an unlit cigarette in his hand.
Jongin nodded and followed.
♦♦♦
“This resume is impressive, given your young age.”
Kristopher let his gaze wander over the leaves of paper in his grasp to the boy sat opposite him, who merely nodded shyly. He was a gangly thing with thin arms and pale skin curtained by still-wet hair. The dark rings under his eyes made him look worn and pitiful. It was a long way from Seoul, Kris knew that all too well. The journey wasn’t pleasant. The kid must’ve been exhausted.
He cleared his throat and continued. “Your references, too, are more than sufficient. Your previous family has been intertwined with my own for centuries. We happen to be very close on a familial level if not, perhaps, a geographical one at the present. They must have liked you.” He reached down and stroked his fingers between Jack’s fluffy ears. “If you don’t mind me asking, what possessed you to leave your duties and travel to this part of the world so suddenly?”
The boy opened his mouth as though to say something but quickly closed it again as though thinking better of it. His eyebrows knotted together with regret and a soft hint of pain.
Kris threw up a hand and spoke in a gentle voice. “It’s alright, don’t worry. We don’t have to talk about it just yet if you’re not comfortable. Well, you seem more than capable of filling a suitable role at Foxcombe. I’d be willing to let you join our staff on a trial basis to see how well you integrate with the system we have going here. If everything works out I don’t see why you shouldn’t become a permanent resident.”
Jack slobbered his fingers with affection. “There are certain prerequisites that you may not be familiar with from your previous post. It is required that you learn English as a way of assimilating successfully into the neighbouring community, like the rest of the staff here. Mr Kim,” he signalled to the doorway where Joonmyun was standing, “will fill you in on the details of that when you’re settled in.”
The boy nodded again with understanding. He didn’t seem to say very much.
“Are there any questions?” Kris asked, settling the papers down on his desk and removing his glasses.
The boy shook his head.
“Alright then.” He heaved himself out his chair which the dishevelled stranger mirrored. “If you’d like to follow Mr Kim down to the servant’s quarters, he will show you where you’ll be sleeping. I’ll ring for Jongdae to fetch the rest of your things.”
After an long silence filled only with the patter of raindrops on the glass, Joonmyun spoke up. “Actually, sir, that’s all he arrived with.”
“Oh. I see. Very well then.”
Kris eyed the rugged leather satchel with sympathy as the boy lifted the strap over his shoulder and followed Joonmyun to the doorway, where he paused and turned and uttered barely over a whisper:
“Thank you, s-sir.”
♦♦♦
Jongin pulled the collar of his coat up over his neck and dug his chin into his chest as him and Jongdae huddled outside the back door. The wind had picked up but the crook in the wall saved them from the worst of it.
He rubbed his hands frantically together to save his fingers from the chill. “Who is he, the new kid?”
“The kid you were drooling over?” Jongdae smirked, lighting his cigarette and passing the lighter over to Jongin. “No idea. He washed up on the doorstep not long ago. He’s a pretty thing, I’ll give him that. I had half a mind to turn him away but…you know what his Lordship’s like. He’ll adopt anything if it’s bedraggled enough.”
“Like us?”
“Exactly, like us.” He inhaled a mouthful of precious nicotine and breathed a stream of smoke into the breeze. “The house doesn’t need another footman. I don’t know what he’s playing at.”
“You think he’ll be a footman?”
“You saw him well enough. He’s the perfect face, build - everything. He wouldn’t be hired for anything else.”
Jongin stared pensively out into the rain. The strange boy really had looked the part. No doubt he was tall, too. He looked tall, even just sitting down. Taller than Jongdae - although that wasn’t difficult. Jongin tried not to let the amusement spread across his face at the thought of the shoe-lifts Jongdae slipped into his footwear every morning. He was never going to live that down.
A sudden movement in the corner of his vision caught Jongin’s eye. Yi Xing, the chauffeur, was making his way across the grounds towards the stables in a large coat with a handful of leafy greens sticking out of his grasp. He never said much. Since he was Chinese and more than half the staff were Korean, his conversations were always limited. Although he always had a spare moment and a friendly smile if you were ever in need of such things, and he loved those horses more than anything. Even his car.
A strong majority, in fact, of Foxcombe’s employees were from overseas; most of which had been picked up from Seoul with a few exceptions, such as Yi Xing. It had been Jessica Wu’s wish to surround herself with those from her country of origin to add a precious level of familiarity to an already uncomfortable emigration to the West. Kris’ dream of planting a multi-lingual, multi-cultural household in the ever-growing field that was the south of England had become a reality barely two sun-cycles before - a daring feet if the locals ever saw one. The sudden variety of faces and tongues in the very small and very traditional village had startled enough of them. It was something they were still learning feel comfortable with; some better than others.
Jongin bit the inside of this mouth in thought. “Maybe he’s thinking of replacing one of us…because of promotion?”
Jongdae turned to face him and leant his side against the wall. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that perhaps his Lordship has a change of heart concerning a certain valet position that still needs to be filled.”
“And you think-?”
“We’ve been in this country for almost 2 years now. He explained to us himself that he didn’t feel comfortable hiring a personal valet because he didn’t know or trust any of us enough at the time. It’s been long enough now, and there’s a chance he’s considering you for it. You’re the first footman, after all.”
“Joonmyun’s got more of a chance, surely?”
“Joonmyun is comfortable with his position. You, on the other hand, want something more. He knows that, I’m sure of it.”
“And you’d be okay with that? You’d be okay with me taking the valet title?” Jongdae asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course. I mean, it’s not like you’re tall enough to be a decent footman anyw-ow!”
Jongdae had nudged him playfully in the ribs, digging his sharp elbow right between the bones making Jongin writhe against the wall.
“And this would have nothing to do with a certain fresh, young footman now under Foxcombe’s wing that could take my place?”
Jongin grinned and sucked another tote of his cigarette.
“Nothing whatsoever.”
♦♦♦
It was late and the House was winding down. The table from dinner had been cleared away and all the cutlery, dishes and glasses had been washed. There was nothing left to do now but sleep and wake for another sunrise. For a footman, anyway.
Jongdae sauntered down the hallway chewing a slice of ham he’d stolen from the kitchen when he paused half way down. Joonmyun had emerged from the stairs leading down from the entrance hall and was making his way towards him. Jongdae quickly dashed into the darkness and watched with baited breath as the butler turned right and disappeared.
There was a winding staircase hidden in the wall that lead to the staff bedrooms a floor up. This was where the butler slept and the valet if there ever was one. This was where Jongdae saw himself retreating to every night in the future.
Although not just for the title.
He stepped out of the shadows and continued his journey, except he didn’t enter his own shared room where Jongin was resting without a care, no doubt. Instead, he crept up the winding stairs and followed Joonmyun’s footsteps, keeping his feet as light and noiseless as possible. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this.
But each time he prayed it would be his last.
Joonmyun’s door was ajar. A slice of yellow light filtered onto the ground where Jongdae parked his feet, angling his head just right so he could peer in without revealing too much of his face. It was out of habit now that he could remain silent and unseen in the dark while Joonmyun moved in the light. He moved so beautifully, too. Every subtle movement plucked at Jongdae’s heartstrings; the way his delicate fingers unclasped the buttons of his jacket, the way the waistcoat clung to the slim body that undulated underneath, the way he bit down on his bottom lip whenever he concentrated - the list was endless and drove each of Jongdae’s nerve endings crazy.
He’d mocked Jongin for it countless times that day, for doing just as he was doing. He’d teased the younger for loitering outside the new boy’s door and purposely passing it over and over just to get a glimpse. He’d laughed and joked of the pathetic love-struck teenager who’d blushed at the mere memory of seeing the stranger in the library. All the while he’d been a hypocrite. All the while it was him who might as well have been the pathetic love-struck teenager, staring hopelessly from a doorway.
Jongdae knew his nightly ritual too well. Every evening Joonmyun would remove his jacket and hang it across the back of the chair at his desk. Next, the butler would sit down and reach into the top drawer on the left, pulling out a leather-bound book. For the next half an hour or so he would sit and write in just a loose shirt buttoned down low enough to reveal the smoothness of his chest as he spilled his precious thoughts onto paper.
Do you write about me in there? Is that where you keep your desires for me?
Is that where you hide your secrets?
With a sigh he would cap his pen and replace the book where it came from. Then Jongdae would find himself gripping the doorframe harder with his fingertips as each layer of clothing would fall from Joonmyun’s perfectly sculpted body, each cascading helplessly to the floor. He’d lick his lips and bite his tongue though the ache in his crotch at the sight of Joonmyun’s naked form, like a perfectly proportioned sculpture from days of old that he teased himself with. The sudden need to rub himself against the hardness of the wall was almost overwhelming.
Someday I will tell you that I love you, that I need you.
And someday you will say it back.
Until that day, he could only stand at his doorway and long to run each finger across every contour of that shining, pearly body.
Like porcelain.
♦♦♦
He’d been sleeping peacefully, just like any other night.
Except this wasn’t like any other night. This night he awoke abruptly to the sound of distant shouts and screams carried on the air.
Jongin lay on his side for a while, still lingering in a half-dream state while his eyelids fluttered open. His ears picked up faint noises from further down the corridor, crying out into the night. He rolled over to check Jongdae’s bed. The elder was fast asleep, chest rising with loud breaths and no sign of waking. The room was still. But the strange noises didn’t cease.
He quietly swung himself out of bed and grabbed a dressing gown from the wardrobe door to wrap tightly around himself as he curiously stepped into the corridor. His heart hammered faster against his ribcage when he realised the sounds were coming from the room on the far left - the new boy’s room. The door was shut but the muffled groans were unmistakable. Jongin’s feet were suddenly frozen to the floor.
What on Earth was going on?
Willing his limbs to move, Jongin tiptoed over the cold stone to linger outside the stranger’s room and listen intently. There was no denying the ruffling material and stifled moans and the genuine sound of pain that vibrated from within.
Before he could really think about what he was doing, Jongin twisted his hand on the doorknob and flew inside.
The boy was alone, wrapped up tightly in his sheets like a straightjacket. His arms were free but clawed at his face while he gasped and groaned and cried out through gritted teeth. His skin was shining with cold sweat and Jongin suddenly found himself by the boy’s side trying to loosen the grip of the fabric that choked him.
“Make it stop! Make it stop!” was all the boy kept repeating as his fingers gripped at his own cheeks.
Jongin pulled at his wrists. “Hey! Wake up! Hey!”
The stranger’s eyes eventually flew open and his hands began to retaliate in fright, attempting to lash out at Jongin who tried desperately to restrain his efforts. Soon the boy’s struggles were deemed moot and his arms went limp. His wide eyes began darting frantically about the room in confusion. Jongin lightly shook his shoulders into sense.
“Look at me, look at me-what’s your name?”
Between short, raspy breaths that tickled at Jongin’s skin, the boy mouthed, “Oh Sehun.”
Jongin reached forward to find his hand and intertwined their long fingers above the covers. “It’s okay, Sehun, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ve got you.”
There was a slight nod to his head with gratitude and understanding, and then the boy slowly closed his eyes again; not before Jongin briefly saw the crescent moon glistening in them from the window. He could feel Sehun’s heartbeat through his skin and, as the minutes passed, it slowed considerably. He didn’t move, not once. Jongin stayed by his side, stroking circles with his thumb into Sehun’s palm, and waited until he fell back to sleep.
Sehun. Oh Sehun.
When Sehun’s hand finally relaxed, he reluctantly unwound their fingers and placed it gently across the boy’s chest. He stood up to draw the curtains closed and, as the moonlight disappeared, Jongin stole a few precious moments to appreciate the boy’s flawless, milky skin.
Like porcelain.
{ Chapter Two }
Rating: NC-17/R
Pairing: SeKai + SuChen
Summary: The year is 1913. Kim Jongin and Kim Jongdae are footman for Foxcombe House, owned by the Wu family who migrated to England following the success of Kristopher Wu's business in both Shanghai and London. He and his heiress wife, Jessica, now own the estate much to the distaste of the locals. A certain runaway from Seoul appears on the doorstep and suddenly the Kim brothers' lives are turned inside-out, destined to end in ruin.
Inspired by the era of Downton Abbey and a certain old manor in Sussex, England, with an eerie story to tell.
{ PROLOGUE }
Chapter One
1913
He never saw him coming.
The day had started early. The return of Mr Wu from London was always a bustling affair that woke with the rising sun. As soon as the first slither of watery sunlight crept over the South Downs, Foxcombe House became a vibrating beehive of activity.
Joonmyun’s fist had collided loudly with Jongin and Jongdae’s door at the crack of dawn just as it always did. The echo of his knocks along the male staff quarters travelled down the draughty corridor and Jongin groaned, bending the pillow over his ear in an attempt to flee the inescapable. He had never been a morning person. Jongdae, on the other hand, threw himself out of bed as though he was made of cotton wool and proceeded to yank at the corner of Jongin’s covers.
“Rise and shine, sleepy-head!” he half-sang in an annoyingly cheerful voice so different from his natural one.
When Jongin grunted a reply, he huffed and pulled even harder until the thin quilt slid off his half-naked body, now curled into the foetal position by the wall.
“You bastard, it’s freezing!” Jongin snapped back, wrapping his arms tighter around his shuddering knees.
Jongdae merely chuckled at the younger’s misfortune. “That’ll teach you for being such a lazy sod. Now get up!” He nudged at Jongin’s ankles. “His Lordship will be back in a few hours.”
The elder pulled open the wardrobe doors to pluck at what hung inside; a pristine set of undress livery that was customary for a footman to wear for every-day, menial activities. He brushed off the shoulders of the waistcoat with a satisfied smile tilting at his lips before unbuttoning his night clothes and slipping on the uniform.
Jongin’s eyes rolled. “It doesn’t matter how enthusiastic you are, Joonmyun still won’t look at you twice…” he mumbled into his skin.
Jongdae’s head snapped around. “What did you just say?”
“Wait, don- Hey! Get off!” Jongin writhed on the bed and kicked out his limbs at Jongdae now tickling the balls of his feet with a cackle. Suddenly his head flumped onto the mattress as the pillow was snatched from underneath and flung across the room. “Jongdae, don’t be a dick!”
“If you want it back, you’ll have to get up. Besides, there’s too much to be done before midday to let you slack off half the morning.” Jongin lunged lazily at him but he dodged out of the way. “If you have the energy to throw abuse at me, you have the energy to iron the newspapers.”
“I hate you.”
Jongdae clasped the last button and ran a final hand over his slicked-back hair. “No, you don’t.”
And with a wink, he was out through the door.
Jongin grumbled and rolled over.
Just a few more minutes...
♦♦♦
It took more than one feeble attempt but Jongin eventually managed to drag his lethargic form out of bed and into some respectable attire. He stole a few moments in front of the mirror to flatten his sideburns and straighten his bow tie before smiling with satisfaction at his reflection; a typical morning ritual. Image was of vital importance, after all.
It was imperative for a footman, in particular, to appear immaculate at all times. They were the face of the domestic infantry and, as such, were expected to be aesthetically pleasing to all those who laid eyes on them. Unlike the other members of the household’s cavalry whose role was to work unseen in empty rooms and underground quarters, the footmen were at the forefront of it all: they waited the table in the dining room, they often assisted as make-shift valets for guests who remained overnight and they occasionally accompanied the car on outings beyond the village. Expensive to keep and prized for their good looks and height, they were a rare commodity except in lavish properties with the size and funds to support them, such as Foxcombe House. Jongin silently thanked the universe each day for such an opportunity to fall into his lap. The living conditions and wages weren’t perfect, but it certainly trumped the limited options a man his age could hope for. Trailing a plough through a field wasn’t exactly his idea of an ideal career path. He didn’t have the hands for it.
As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he was instantly assaulted by the passing bodies shouldering past, wave after wave. He flattened himself against the wall and waited for a gap in the chaos to slip into before heading up to the ground floor.
These were the lifelines of the House, the blood cells swimming through veins of richly embossed hallways and hidden servant staircases to keep the heart of Foxcombe beating; housemaids carrying baskets of linen or chamber pots or heavy buckets of coal for the fires, a scullery maid hauling a bag of potatoes under her arm from the pantry to the kitchen, sweaty footmen with polish under their fingernails wailing for the missing pieces of their formal livery. This was what lurked under the unblemished skin of the Wu family’s home and preserved its beauty; the blood from tens of hands that worked from the crack of dawn.
At every dawn.
Upstairs the rushing didn’t cease. The shutters at each of the towering windows were flung open and the ornate rooms were washed in a milky glow to make everything shine. A maid with her arms full of kindling padded across the carpet to stoke the fire in the library under the ever-watchful eye of Mrs Kwon, the head housekeeper, who lurked with an upturned nose by the grand staircase. A permanent scowl hung over the arms crossed under her ample bosom and it was safe to assume any conversation with her before noon was never going to be a pleasant one. Jongin quickly shuffled out of her line of sight. He passed the common room where pillows were being plumped and surfaces dusted. He thought of himself as a walker between the worlds of sorts. He could cross the veil that separated the luxurious from the penniless, the seen from the unseen, and witness life on both sides of the glass - a rare insight into the bigger picture that very few had the chance of witnessing.
He reached the dining room where Jongdae was meticulously setting up the table and others around him were wiping down furniture and sweeping the floor. He looked over and flashed Jongin a half-grin.
Joonmyun walked past the doorway in that moment and double-backed on himself, peering in.
“Jongin, what are you doing up here? There’s a drawer of silverware in the kitchen that needs polishing.”
Jongin bowed his head and made to leave. “Certainly, Mr Kim. I’ll get right on it.”
♦♦♦
The car was late, although that came to no surprise. It was always late.
Jongin let out a long exhale, staring up at the blanket of grey overhead. The staff had gathered outside in an orderly line in anticipation for Kristopher and Jessica’s return. The light blue sky of the morning now lay hidden behind puffs of storm clouds that had crept over the county and swathed it in a miserable haze. A faint drop of water fell against his cheek and he wiped it away.
He sighed. “How many times has he driven them to London and back now?” he whispered to Jongdae stood next to him.
“Obviously not enough. This is Yi Xing we’re talking about. I’d be surprised if he remembers what country he’s in.”
Jongin stifled a laugh as he caught Mrs Kwon’s eyes on him and he fixed his gaze straight ahead.
Eventually the car arrived and everyone automatically straightened their backs. The vehicle rumbled down the long stretch of driveway and elegantly stopped outside Foxcombe’s entrance. Jongin and Jongdae stepped forward to open the doors on either side and Kristopher and his wife emerged, along with Jessica’s lady’s maid who remained permanently attached to her hip. True to form, Mrs Wu barely acknowledged the staff and immediately headed inside. Her husband, however, nodded his head towards everybody with a friendly smile. Suddenly a bumbling furry shape the size of a bear flew out of the house and into his outstretched arms, licking his face furiously. Jack was possibly the friendliest and most adorable German Shepherd that Jongin had ever met despite being hell to walk once his beloved owner was away. It was almost quite poetic whenever they were reunited.
A very late lunch was served which had the cook in a frenzy but was received positively and smelled delicious. Jongin took his position by the wall, ready to assist if needed. Jongdae, being the first footman, stood behind and to the left of Mr Wu’s chair while he ate. The aroma of cold meats and fresh salad had Jongin’s mouth salivating and he prayed his stomach wouldn’t start growling for everyone to hear. He knew full well he’d have to wait for the master to finish eating and for the table to be cleared before he could even consider having a bite of food himself. But he remained composed with his shoulders back and a stiff expression to battle through the hunger.
He was stuffing his face with slices of cheese on crusty bread in the kitchen when the entrance bell rang. His head barely rose to the sound of it. Jongdae was upstairs, he’d answer. But something tingled in his abdomen that made him stop chewing for a moment and wonder. After a minute or so, Jongin wiped down his crumby fingers and snuck up the servant’s stairs to the entrance hall. He could already hear the spring rains lashing against the windows. Who would be visiting in this weather?
Everything was quiet and nobody seemed to be around until Jack trotted down the corridor, sniffing the floor, and disappeared through a gap in the doors to the library. Jongin could just about make out Kristopher Wu’s deep voice rumbling from within. With the incentive of shutting the doors completely to give his master and the mysterious guest some privacy, Jongin crossed the hall but stopped just as he reached it. He felt his throat tighten.
The stranger, whoever he was, was taking a seat by Mr Wu’s desk. Jongin couldn’t see Kristopher, only a slither of the boy who had joined him and Jack’s happy wagging tail as he lay on the floor at his owner’s feet. The boy’s face was…well, he couldn’t quite find the words since his head was suddenly a little foggy. His clothes and messy hair were soaked as though he’d been stuck in the rain for a good while. His damp shoulders were shaking and thin, chapped lips barely opened to utter a word. Jongin couldn’t help but settle himself on the ground, continuing to peer through the gap, as the boy reached into the satchel balanced between his ankles to pull out some sheets of paper and hand them forward. Jongin didn’t know how long he sat there, helplessly staring at the colourless face and long limbs he didn’t recognise. Then someone behind him cleared his throat.
Jongin jumped and leapt to his feet. Joonmyun was looking at him with raised eyebrows but a smile tilted at the corner of his mouth as he strode past him and into the room, shutting the door with a click.
A sharp exhale left Jongin’s throat. He would have given anything to be in that library in that moment. He would have given anything to know that boy’s name.
“Psst! Jongin!”
Jongdae had emerged from the stairwell, signalling downstairs with an unlit cigarette in his hand.
Jongin nodded and followed.
♦♦♦
“This resume is impressive, given your young age.”
Kristopher let his gaze wander over the leaves of paper in his grasp to the boy sat opposite him, who merely nodded shyly. He was a gangly thing with thin arms and pale skin curtained by still-wet hair. The dark rings under his eyes made him look worn and pitiful. It was a long way from Seoul, Kris knew that all too well. The journey wasn’t pleasant. The kid must’ve been exhausted.
He cleared his throat and continued. “Your references, too, are more than sufficient. Your previous family has been intertwined with my own for centuries. We happen to be very close on a familial level if not, perhaps, a geographical one at the present. They must have liked you.” He reached down and stroked his fingers between Jack’s fluffy ears. “If you don’t mind me asking, what possessed you to leave your duties and travel to this part of the world so suddenly?”
The boy opened his mouth as though to say something but quickly closed it again as though thinking better of it. His eyebrows knotted together with regret and a soft hint of pain.
Kris threw up a hand and spoke in a gentle voice. “It’s alright, don’t worry. We don’t have to talk about it just yet if you’re not comfortable. Well, you seem more than capable of filling a suitable role at Foxcombe. I’d be willing to let you join our staff on a trial basis to see how well you integrate with the system we have going here. If everything works out I don’t see why you shouldn’t become a permanent resident.”
Jack slobbered his fingers with affection. “There are certain prerequisites that you may not be familiar with from your previous post. It is required that you learn English as a way of assimilating successfully into the neighbouring community, like the rest of the staff here. Mr Kim,” he signalled to the doorway where Joonmyun was standing, “will fill you in on the details of that when you’re settled in.”
The boy nodded again with understanding. He didn’t seem to say very much.
“Are there any questions?” Kris asked, settling the papers down on his desk and removing his glasses.
The boy shook his head.
“Alright then.” He heaved himself out his chair which the dishevelled stranger mirrored. “If you’d like to follow Mr Kim down to the servant’s quarters, he will show you where you’ll be sleeping. I’ll ring for Jongdae to fetch the rest of your things.”
After an long silence filled only with the patter of raindrops on the glass, Joonmyun spoke up. “Actually, sir, that’s all he arrived with.”
“Oh. I see. Very well then.”
Kris eyed the rugged leather satchel with sympathy as the boy lifted the strap over his shoulder and followed Joonmyun to the doorway, where he paused and turned and uttered barely over a whisper:
“Thank you, s-sir.”
♦♦♦
Jongin pulled the collar of his coat up over his neck and dug his chin into his chest as him and Jongdae huddled outside the back door. The wind had picked up but the crook in the wall saved them from the worst of it.
He rubbed his hands frantically together to save his fingers from the chill. “Who is he, the new kid?”
“The kid you were drooling over?” Jongdae smirked, lighting his cigarette and passing the lighter over to Jongin. “No idea. He washed up on the doorstep not long ago. He’s a pretty thing, I’ll give him that. I had half a mind to turn him away but…you know what his Lordship’s like. He’ll adopt anything if it’s bedraggled enough.”
“Like us?”
“Exactly, like us.” He inhaled a mouthful of precious nicotine and breathed a stream of smoke into the breeze. “The house doesn’t need another footman. I don’t know what he’s playing at.”
“You think he’ll be a footman?”
“You saw him well enough. He’s the perfect face, build - everything. He wouldn’t be hired for anything else.”
Jongin stared pensively out into the rain. The strange boy really had looked the part. No doubt he was tall, too. He looked tall, even just sitting down. Taller than Jongdae - although that wasn’t difficult. Jongin tried not to let the amusement spread across his face at the thought of the shoe-lifts Jongdae slipped into his footwear every morning. He was never going to live that down.
A sudden movement in the corner of his vision caught Jongin’s eye. Yi Xing, the chauffeur, was making his way across the grounds towards the stables in a large coat with a handful of leafy greens sticking out of his grasp. He never said much. Since he was Chinese and more than half the staff were Korean, his conversations were always limited. Although he always had a spare moment and a friendly smile if you were ever in need of such things, and he loved those horses more than anything. Even his car.
A strong majority, in fact, of Foxcombe’s employees were from overseas; most of which had been picked up from Seoul with a few exceptions, such as Yi Xing. It had been Jessica Wu’s wish to surround herself with those from her country of origin to add a precious level of familiarity to an already uncomfortable emigration to the West. Kris’ dream of planting a multi-lingual, multi-cultural household in the ever-growing field that was the south of England had become a reality barely two sun-cycles before - a daring feet if the locals ever saw one. The sudden variety of faces and tongues in the very small and very traditional village had startled enough of them. It was something they were still learning feel comfortable with; some better than others.
Jongin bit the inside of this mouth in thought. “Maybe he’s thinking of replacing one of us…because of promotion?”
Jongdae turned to face him and leant his side against the wall. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that perhaps his Lordship has a change of heart concerning a certain valet position that still needs to be filled.”
“And you think-?”
“We’ve been in this country for almost 2 years now. He explained to us himself that he didn’t feel comfortable hiring a personal valet because he didn’t know or trust any of us enough at the time. It’s been long enough now, and there’s a chance he’s considering you for it. You’re the first footman, after all.”
“Joonmyun’s got more of a chance, surely?”
“Joonmyun is comfortable with his position. You, on the other hand, want something more. He knows that, I’m sure of it.”
“And you’d be okay with that? You’d be okay with me taking the valet title?” Jongdae asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course. I mean, it’s not like you’re tall enough to be a decent footman anyw-ow!”
Jongdae had nudged him playfully in the ribs, digging his sharp elbow right between the bones making Jongin writhe against the wall.
“And this would have nothing to do with a certain fresh, young footman now under Foxcombe’s wing that could take my place?”
Jongin grinned and sucked another tote of his cigarette.
“Nothing whatsoever.”
♦♦♦
It was late and the House was winding down. The table from dinner had been cleared away and all the cutlery, dishes and glasses had been washed. There was nothing left to do now but sleep and wake for another sunrise. For a footman, anyway.
Jongdae sauntered down the hallway chewing a slice of ham he’d stolen from the kitchen when he paused half way down. Joonmyun had emerged from the stairs leading down from the entrance hall and was making his way towards him. Jongdae quickly dashed into the darkness and watched with baited breath as the butler turned right and disappeared.
There was a winding staircase hidden in the wall that lead to the staff bedrooms a floor up. This was where the butler slept and the valet if there ever was one. This was where Jongdae saw himself retreating to every night in the future.
Although not just for the title.
He stepped out of the shadows and continued his journey, except he didn’t enter his own shared room where Jongin was resting without a care, no doubt. Instead, he crept up the winding stairs and followed Joonmyun’s footsteps, keeping his feet as light and noiseless as possible. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this.
But each time he prayed it would be his last.
Joonmyun’s door was ajar. A slice of yellow light filtered onto the ground where Jongdae parked his feet, angling his head just right so he could peer in without revealing too much of his face. It was out of habit now that he could remain silent and unseen in the dark while Joonmyun moved in the light. He moved so beautifully, too. Every subtle movement plucked at Jongdae’s heartstrings; the way his delicate fingers unclasped the buttons of his jacket, the way the waistcoat clung to the slim body that undulated underneath, the way he bit down on his bottom lip whenever he concentrated - the list was endless and drove each of Jongdae’s nerve endings crazy.
He’d mocked Jongin for it countless times that day, for doing just as he was doing. He’d teased the younger for loitering outside the new boy’s door and purposely passing it over and over just to get a glimpse. He’d laughed and joked of the pathetic love-struck teenager who’d blushed at the mere memory of seeing the stranger in the library. All the while he’d been a hypocrite. All the while it was him who might as well have been the pathetic love-struck teenager, staring hopelessly from a doorway.
Jongdae knew his nightly ritual too well. Every evening Joonmyun would remove his jacket and hang it across the back of the chair at his desk. Next, the butler would sit down and reach into the top drawer on the left, pulling out a leather-bound book. For the next half an hour or so he would sit and write in just a loose shirt buttoned down low enough to reveal the smoothness of his chest as he spilled his precious thoughts onto paper.
Do you write about me in there? Is that where you keep your desires for me?
Is that where you hide your secrets?
With a sigh he would cap his pen and replace the book where it came from. Then Jongdae would find himself gripping the doorframe harder with his fingertips as each layer of clothing would fall from Joonmyun’s perfectly sculpted body, each cascading helplessly to the floor. He’d lick his lips and bite his tongue though the ache in his crotch at the sight of Joonmyun’s naked form, like a perfectly proportioned sculpture from days of old that he teased himself with. The sudden need to rub himself against the hardness of the wall was almost overwhelming.
Someday I will tell you that I love you, that I need you.
And someday you will say it back.
Until that day, he could only stand at his doorway and long to run each finger across every contour of that shining, pearly body.
Like porcelain.
♦♦♦
He’d been sleeping peacefully, just like any other night.
Except this wasn’t like any other night. This night he awoke abruptly to the sound of distant shouts and screams carried on the air.
Jongin lay on his side for a while, still lingering in a half-dream state while his eyelids fluttered open. His ears picked up faint noises from further down the corridor, crying out into the night. He rolled over to check Jongdae’s bed. The elder was fast asleep, chest rising with loud breaths and no sign of waking. The room was still. But the strange noises didn’t cease.
He quietly swung himself out of bed and grabbed a dressing gown from the wardrobe door to wrap tightly around himself as he curiously stepped into the corridor. His heart hammered faster against his ribcage when he realised the sounds were coming from the room on the far left - the new boy’s room. The door was shut but the muffled groans were unmistakable. Jongin’s feet were suddenly frozen to the floor.
What on Earth was going on?
Willing his limbs to move, Jongin tiptoed over the cold stone to linger outside the stranger’s room and listen intently. There was no denying the ruffling material and stifled moans and the genuine sound of pain that vibrated from within.
Before he could really think about what he was doing, Jongin twisted his hand on the doorknob and flew inside.
The boy was alone, wrapped up tightly in his sheets like a straightjacket. His arms were free but clawed at his face while he gasped and groaned and cried out through gritted teeth. His skin was shining with cold sweat and Jongin suddenly found himself by the boy’s side trying to loosen the grip of the fabric that choked him.
“Make it stop! Make it stop!” was all the boy kept repeating as his fingers gripped at his own cheeks.
Jongin pulled at his wrists. “Hey! Wake up! Hey!”
The stranger’s eyes eventually flew open and his hands began to retaliate in fright, attempting to lash out at Jongin who tried desperately to restrain his efforts. Soon the boy’s struggles were deemed moot and his arms went limp. His wide eyes began darting frantically about the room in confusion. Jongin lightly shook his shoulders into sense.
“Look at me, look at me-what’s your name?”
Between short, raspy breaths that tickled at Jongin’s skin, the boy mouthed, “Oh Sehun.”
Jongin reached forward to find his hand and intertwined their long fingers above the covers. “It’s okay, Sehun, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ve got you.”
There was a slight nod to his head with gratitude and understanding, and then the boy slowly closed his eyes again; not before Jongin briefly saw the crescent moon glistening in them from the window. He could feel Sehun’s heartbeat through his skin and, as the minutes passed, it slowed considerably. He didn’t move, not once. Jongin stayed by his side, stroking circles with his thumb into Sehun’s palm, and waited until he fell back to sleep.
Sehun. Oh Sehun.
When Sehun’s hand finally relaxed, he reluctantly unwound their fingers and placed it gently across the boy’s chest. He stood up to draw the curtains closed and, as the moonlight disappeared, Jongin stole a few precious moments to appreciate the boy’s flawless, milky skin.
Like porcelain.
{ Chapter Two }