[Dividend 1/3]
Dividend [1/3]
Donghae/Sungmin | Aristocracy!AU / General | PG
998 words
Different lives in the same world, communication and miscommunication are so easily blended together
A/N: For unorderedlist 's birthday because I'm terrible. I hope you like it? ^^
“You’re not exactly very subtle for being a thief.”
Donghae remained silent, the man’s accusations fluid and sharp at the same time. He didn’t look much older, and Donghae knew enough about the aristocracy to know that his robe indicate that he was still a child, the tint of purple by his collar represented his wait before the ceremony celebrating his entrance into adulthood.
“Well, I’m pretty sure it isn’t the first time, because I remember your face appearing ever so often around here,” His voice was calm and steady, his presence surely didn’t allude to his young age, had Donghae not spotted the purple collar, it wouldn’t strike surprise in him if the man was in his late twenties, “I’ve been lenient, tolerant even, mother would have put an end to you after the first time.”
Donghae looked away, anywhere except the rich adolescent in front of his eyes. It wasn’t this particular prince, but rather the hierarchy itself that divided their population, that annoyed Donghae and everyone he associates with. The few rich businessmen continue building their treasuries, weaving bars of gold together, while the rest of the population struggle to make a living. The water in the canal looked particularly murky, and Donghae wondered if the stories that Youngwoon told him were true, about how people like them ended up having their hands chopped off for their thievery.
“Normally, people would attempt at an argument, why are you so silent?” The boy pressed forth, eyes wide and the twinkle sharp enough to cut through Donghae’s rags, “Are you not going to even bother defending yourself?”
“There’s no point, I don’t care if you chop off my hand,” Donghae spat out bitterly. He would care, he has to care, because he’d lose a hand, lose half of his ability to survive in society, and surviving in itself was already more than difficult. The next few words came out much weaker than he would have liked, his voice quivering and he sniffled back tears. “I just don’t want my friends to worry about me.”
For the first time since their encounter, the boy looked unprepared, as if the words that Donghae spoke hadn’t been already calculated. He opened his mouth, words failing to come out and he closed it mindfully. His eyes lost the twinkle, his lashes long and batting frequently as he blinked in succession.
“They told me that they’d take care of me, somehow they can manage to scrap together enough for all of us, but I didn’t want to be a burden to them,” Donghae hated how emotional he got, maybe he had been spending too much time with Jungsu, Heechul always joked about that, “I don’t want to trouble them anymore…”
“How old are you?” The boy looked uncertain, his hand moving out but then shooting back against his robes. Donghae sniffed again, bringing his dirty sleeve against his eyes when the boy stopped him, taking out his handkerchief and handing it over to him.
“I’m turning fifteen soon, I think…” Donghae mumbled, taking the gratitude. The fabric felt luxurious against his battered skin, Donghae almost sighed when he dabbed his eyes with it; the gentle glide against his cheeks was something Donghae had never felt before.
“You’re still so young…” The boy shook his head when Donghae offered the cloth back. He tensed up, thinking that he did something wrong again when the boy looked thoughtful, his eyes wide and expressive. Maybe he was thinking about ways to punish him, maybe take his leg instead or something. “Where’s your family?”
“I don’t remember my father, my mother died when I was eight,” Donghae bit the inside of his lip, chewing the flesh because he didn’t want to be reminded of his mother. It hurt, seeing her struggle and still trying to survive for the both of them. Tears started falling uncontrollably and Donghae naturally brought his sleeve up, forgetting the handkerchief.
“No, you might get an infection…” The boy slouched for the first time, his posture getting lax as he reached inside the pockets of his robe.
Donghae nodded, stopping himself and instead wiping his eyes with the clean fabric instead when the boy handed over a leather pouch. The tinkling that the pouch made when it was dropped into Donghae’s hands
“It’s not much,” The boy’s voice lost the firmness, the rigidity of his tone gone, and Donghae marveled in surprise that someone’s voice could sound so gentle, “I wish I brought more out, but at least it’s something.”
“I don’t want your money,” Donghae shook his head, pushing the pouch of coins back to the boy. “I don’t need your help, we can survive by ourselves, I can survive by myself.”
“Young and stubborn,” the other boy sighed, letting the pouch drop to the ground, falling dangerously close to the ledge of the canal, “Well, I’m going to go, mother is probably throwing another fit because I’m late again.”
“Your pouch…” Donghae brought the brown leather bag up, motioning it to the boy.
“I dropped my pouch a few days ago, I don’t think that’s mine.” He smiled softly at him and turned away, walking back to his carriage. Donghae held the heavy pouch against him, even if the coins were nothing but bronze pieces, Donghae had never held that much money in his life before. He pulled open the bag, reaching inside, and the cold metal contrasting against his warm fingers. He grabbed a handful and examined the money; there were more gold pieces than silver, not a piece of bronze in sight.
The horse feigned as the man whipped it twice, and the carriage sped off in front of his eyes, Donghae standing in the alley as he watched the boy remain motionless inside the dark red cage. Donghae stood inside the shadows, his fingers still clutched around the soft silk, the tips of his fingers unconsciously rubbing the embroidery, fine threads spelling the boy’s family name, Lee.