Even If Everyone Hates You Side Story 1

A sweet scent. The fragrance of flowers—subtle, delicate, and warm.

…A scent that reminded him of Eid.

Only when the soft floral aroma by his bedside soaked into his breath did Ressas finally wake. The high morning sun had deepened the color of the violet petals, and their gentle fragrance pricked at his nose.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw four icebird flowers. Arranged neatly in a clear glass vase, the blossoms bent their heads as if watching over him, casting a small shadow across his face. A slanted gray shadow fluttered softly over the corner of his eye.

In that moment, the lingering haze of sleep—like frost over his thoughts—vanished. Still lying down, Ressas slowly reached out and brushed the edge of a petal. It felt so delicate beneath his fingertip, like it would crumble under the slightest pressure. He couldn’t even bring himself to touch it properly. The one who placed it there was far too precious.

Seiyad.

The moment Ressas silently mouthed his name, it sank into his soul—and his heart lost its rhythm. The blood that had flowed quietly through him began to stir, boiling just beneath the surface, and his pulse, once slow and steady, started pounding so hard it hurt. Color rushed into his pale face as he threw off the sheets and stumbled out of bed in a rush, his usual composure gone.

Seiyad picked a flower every morning before dawn and placed it by Ressas’ pillow while he slept. With all the responsibilities he had already taken on—many of them not even his own—Seiyad was constantly busy, rising before sunrise and working until nightfall. Even so, for more than a month now, he had been doing this. Simply because he thought Ressas liked flowers.

Ressas hadn’t known what to do with himself. It felt wrong—shameful, even—that the one he was supposed to cherish and protect was doing something so considerate for him.

All he had to do was wake up earlier to stop Seiyad from wasting time. But whether it was the lifelong habit of never sleeping properly, or some lingering effect of his soul having once left his body, Ressas’ body refused to cooperate. He slept far less than he used to, yet even now, he woke later than he would’ve liked.

If it were scorn or hatred Seiyad gave him, Ressas would’ve endured it gladly. But kindness like this—so gentle, so overwhelming—made him feel like he was suffocating under the weight of guilt. It was too much. Too generous. He didn’t know what to do with it.

And perhaps sensing that, Seiyad had quickly cut off his protests.

“It’s not something I’m doing just for Your Highness, so there’s no need to feel guilty. I just want you to think of me when you wake and see the flower.”

He had said it so simply as he held out the freshly picked bloom. Then, a little sheepishly, his eyes had crinkled with a smile. His handsome face, lit up like that, was more beautiful than any flower. Ressas hadn’t been able to argue. He just accepted the flower in silence.

Even without the flower, Ressas would’ve thought of Seiyad the moment he opened his eyes. But he couldn’t refute those words. He couldn’t stop him. What Seiyad said had seized him completely.

When Ressas thought about everything wrapped into that small gesture—the early morning steps beyond the castle walls, the journey to the edge of the forest to find those blossoms—it felt like a miracle.

The gentle hand placing the vase by his pillow, the gray eyes that surely lingered on his sleeping face, the quiet retreat so as not to wake him… Every part of it was a miracle.

Seiyad was the kind of person who turned every passing second into something extraordinary.

Even now, more than a month later, Ressas sometimes still wondered if he was dead—dreaming some beautiful illusion. That’s how unreal his life felt. Too radiant, too undeserved. He should’ve gotten used to it by now. But even so…

“Your Highness.”

The moment he opened the door and saw that beautiful figure, Ressas trembled.

“You’re awake.”

Seiyad stood in the corridor, framed by the morning light pouring through the tall, rounded windows behind him. The wide panes let in the full glow of winter’s day. The brilliant sunlight scattered like beads of glass, so bright it gave no hint of the season’s bitter chill. The sky outside was a piercing blue, so vivid it shimmered.

But even that stunning backdrop paled in comparison to the figure before him.

Standing tall with a gray fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders, Seiyad stole Ressas’ breath the instant he laid eyes on him.

It might sound foolish, but every time Ressas saw him, he fell in love all over again.

It was a face he’d known his entire life—yet every encounter felt new. Unbelievably beautiful.

In the sunlight, Seiyad’s gray hair shimmered like silver, so soft and luminous it looked like it would melt at a touch. Beneath it, his refined features were flawless. His sharp, delicate eyes beneath long lashes held a quiet strength. His straight nose was perfectly shaped, and his pale, elegant lips looked like they had been carved.

Ressas stood frozen, speechless, and the man before him—too dazzling to meet his gaze—smiled. The cool, stern expression softened in an instant. The corners of his eyes curled gently, and a quiet smile formed on his lips. Tilting up just one corner, Seiyad murmured calmly,

“Good morning.”

The smooth, low voice echoed gently through the hall and snapped Ressas back to his senses.

Losing himself in Seiyad was inevitable—like gravity. But that didn’t excuse not responding to the voice of the one he loved.

“Good morning, Eid. Did you sleep well? The weather’s beautiful today… just like you.”

Finally aware of how foolish he must’ve looked, Ressas whispered shyly. He had never once managed to show Seiyad a graceful or composed version of himself, and each time, he found his own awkwardness deeply embarrassing. A rosy flush bloomed across his soft, pale cheeks.

“Yes, I slept well. Did Your Highness rest peacefully? How are you feeling?”

Seiyad’s voice softened further as he stepped closer, noticing the pink tint on Ressas’ face. With every step, the scent of the outside world clung faintly to him—cold winter air, sharp and pure, clean enough to sting.

Thinking about Seiyad wandering through the cold made Ressas want to reach out and take his hand. Warm those fingers with his own. Press a kiss to them.

But still, even now, as overwhelmed as he was with love, Ressas couldn’t bring himself to touch Seiyad freely.

It was too unfamiliar.

And… there were other reasons.

When Ressas had only been pretending to be Seiyad’s Guide, he’d touched him easily, without hesitation. But back then, he had been consumed by a singular, desperate purpose: to save him. The only reason he had allowed himself to reach out was because his intentions were so painfully clear. He needed to show Seiyad he was loved. He had to pull him into the light.

Now, all that remained was his own desire—raw, selfish, and sometimes frightening even to himself.

Ever since he’d realized the darkness that had once pulled Seiyad down was gone, Ressas could no longer pretend he had a noble reason. He couldn’t lie, not to him. So when that overwhelming hunger surged up, he forced himself to pull back. It took the kind of self-control that felt like snapping his own tendons just to stop himself from moving.

He wanted him so badly it hurt. And as Ressas silently endured the torment of that longing, it was Seiyad who reached for him first—took his hand, the one still holding the door open.

“Shall we go inside, Your Highness? You’re not exactly dressed to be seen.”

The gentle urging was all it took. As though waiting for permission, Ressas grabbed Seiyad’s hand and pulled him into the room, closing the door behind them. His skin was freezing, chilled from standing in the cold for too long.

Ressas had told himself not to make excuses. And yet, here he was again.

“Your hands are freezing. May I warm them, Eid?”

“Yes.”

Even though it was such a weak excuse, Seiyad went along with it. And the way he offered his hands so easily—so willingly—was so endearing it made Ressas’ chest ache.

Like a creature seizing its moment, he quickly wrapped both of Seiyad’s hands in his own. They had always looked big to him, but held like this, they felt just a bit smaller. That alone was enough to drive him mad.

“You’re too cute, Eid.”

The words spilled out before he could stop them. Ressas lowered his head and exhaled a soft breath over their joined hands. The warmth of his breath seeped into Seiyad’s fingers. Seiyad blinked, a hint of surprise in his raised brows.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘cute’?”

Seiyad had always seemed a little baffled by that word. He’d reacted the same way last spring, when Ressas had invited him to dine at the palace. And even further back—when he’d first held his hand like this.

He didn’t even realize that his confusion made him all the more adorable.

“Your hands,” Ressas said quietly. “They’re smaller than mine. It’s… surprising. And cute.”

Trying not to be overwhelmed by the fact that he was holding Seiyad’s hands at all, Ressas focused on the little details instead. His eyes sparkled with wonder, like someone who had just made the most beautiful discovery. Seiyad shifted slightly, subtly moving his fingers in Ressas’ grasp.

Watching those faint movements, Ressas slipped for just a moment—lost control without realizing it.

By the time he came back to himself, he was kissing Seiyad’s fingertips.

“…Ah.”

Snapping out of it, Ressas blinked and looked up. Seiyad was staring at him, looking mildly flustered. His brows were furrowed, and he turned his head slightly.

Ressas followed his gaze—and saw the tips of his ears turning red.

“I’m sorry. You were just so cute… I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Seiyad, who had briefly avoided his gaze, turned back at once upon hearing the apology. Then he asked, more sharply than expected,

“Overstep?”

“…Yes.”

Had he gone too far? Had he touched him too carelessly? A twist of dread curled in Ressas’ stomach. But just as he was beginning to pale, Seiyad calmly asked,

“What exactly was overstepping?”

“…Touching you without asking.”

“I’ve told you again and again—that you don’t need to worry about that. I want you to do as you please. You’re not just in a position to do so—you’re also my lover. For something this small, you don’t need permission.”

“But even between lovers, unwanted contact can still be uncomfortable. I want to respect you, Eid.”

“I’m telling you I want it, Your Highness.”

Ressas instinctively glanced around. No one was there—no one watching or listening—but just the idea that someone might have overheard Seiyad say something so intimate, so bold, made his heart lurch.

To speak like that—so freely, so openly—in the middle of the day?

It was too much.

His body reacted instantly, fiercely, before his thoughts could catch up.

The moment those words reached him, a dark, slow-burning hunger began to stir from deep within.

“I wish you’d prioritize yourself a little more. I remember you saying you understood what I meant. But you still haven’t changed. Not with this.”

He paused, then added—gently, but unmistakably:

“That’s what disappoints me.”

“Eid…!”

Disappoints me.

Hearing that from Seiyad’s mouth—Ressas felt like he was being ripped apart. He opened his mouth to explain, desperate to justify why he acted the way he did. But the moment he truly thought about what he wanted, the words died in his throat.

How could he say it?

That if he really took Seiyad’s permission as truth—if he really did whatever he wanted—he wouldn’t be able to stop? That he’d press kisses over every inch of his body, take in his breath, his scent, until he was drunk on him?

That he’d start with those beautiful eyes, and wouldn’t stop there—he’d want to kiss even the orbs beneath his eyelids, the curve of his ears, his teeth, the nape of his neck, his back, the tender hollow beneath his arms, behind his knees, his feet… every part of him.

And knowing that—knowing how twisted those urges were even in fantasy—how could he say it out loud?

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Just the awareness that Seiyad was alive, breathing in his arms—that alone sparked a fresh, violent impulse that Ressas could barely suppress.

It was shameless. Depraved.

Author: Levia