Chapter Text
Drunk with the heady smell of lavender, San sinks into the water and sighs, warmth laving at his skin.
After fully lowering himself into the sunken bath, San closes his eyes and listens to the flock of servants that streams in next. While they busy about the room, he lets his body melt under the heat. The gentle sloshing of the water lulls him, a chorus of footsteps ringing along.
It is only when a woman approaches that San comes to. She kneels by the edge of the pool and San eyes with suspicion the soap she holds.
"Filius Dei," she whispers, "shall I call upon the Sanctus Protector?"
San smiles, pleased to see his preferences well known. He hums.
With a quick nod, the girl puts down the soap and stands to usher all the servants out, exiting with them.
San closes his eyes again and relishes the quickening of his heart, the smile that obstinately remains on his lips. It only grows upon hearing the clacking of sandals, the rustle of fabric.
Almost instinctively, San feels his body lean back, the lip of the bath digging into his neck. He rests his head against the tiled rim, cool beneath. The faintest tremor runs over him at the anticipation of touch.
San senses him before anything else, senses his warmth as he kneels, as he slips his arms around San without touching yet. Then finally San feels the soap against his chest, a washcloth wiping him clean.
For as long as he is able, San keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the gentleness of the movements, the light pressure, the careful scrubbing. But soon, curiosity gets the better of him and San has to look.
This, he has seen time and time again, but San never tires of it. He watches Mingi hard at work, smiling distractedly as he washes him. The silence is comfortable, blanketing them along with the heat of the room.
Mingi presses his hand against San's shoulder, and like that, without a word, San knows to move. He sits up and pushes slightly away from the edge, allowing access to his back.
He lets out a pleased hum as Mingi begins gently scraping his shoulders, cleaning every inch of skin diligently.
Then San winces and immediately, Mingi stills.
His concern draws a chuckle out of San. "You really didn't hold back yesterday, did you? Please don't fret. I'm just sore from sparring."
This seems amusing to Mingi, but he says nothing in return and simply resumes his task. However, San notes the further care with which he scrubs him.
Once done, Mingi hands San the soap and cloth, allowing him to wash the rest of his body himself.
"I'm sorry," Mingi finally says, tone as warm as the water. There is a fond smile in his voice.
San clicks his tongue. "Excuses, excuses." He applies some soap to the washcloth and begins wiping his calves. "All I hear is words," San teases, "you need to take responsibility and make proper amends, Mingi."
Expecting no answer, San continues his ministrations. His breath hitches when Mingi's cool hands come to rest on his neck. With the flat of his thumbs, Mingi begins working the knots out of San's taut muscles.
"Should I start now?" Mingi chirps, pressing the pad of his fingers with startling precision. Each push compels a sigh out of San, unraveling more than just the tension from their last bout. "Making amends, that is."
San exhales in mock frustration. "You talk too much."
"I've never heard that one before," Mingi says with a laugh.
San smiles along; it is true after all, Mingi is a man of few words. Although he is a lot more talkative when it is just the two of them. It makes San proud, though he is uncertain why.
Silence settles over them once more, and San gives in to the pull again, allowing for his heavy eyelids to flutter shut. Like that, he pays close attention to Mingi, to the steady rhythm of his breath, to the strength of his grasp.
"Not cleaning yourself?"
San shakes his head, giving no explanation. Mingi has always been oblivious to his effect on San. There is no point in telling him: I would rather fall asleep to your touch.
But then, inevitably, San is drawn back.
"Tell me again," he mumbles. "Tell me how you came to be."
Mingi chuckles, such a soft and quiet sound for such an imposing man.
"Haven't you tired of the story yet? You must know it by heart now."
"Remind me who's the master here?" San bites back playfully. Of course he knows the story by heart. But tire of it? Never.
"Fine, Filius Dei," Mingi says, sing-song.
His hands travel lower, settling over San's sides, thumbs chasing the stress there. It takes all of San's willpower not to shiver at the feeling.
"The first thing I remember," Mingi begins, "is a sound. Rumbling."
'The skies split open', San remembers his mother telling him. She had watched it all unravel from their villa's vineyard.
"Then light. I remember bright light, blinding."
'A single beam of light appeared from the tear, basking the land beneath in a glorious glow’. San wishes he had been present to see it. There had been no more witnessing of the gods since that day. Perhaps they had simply disappeared from the heavens?
Mingi's hands move to the curve of San's waist, prompting him to lean forward and bend his back. Like that, Mingi can knead the muscles beneath. San feels himself turn boneless with every breath.
"I remember Mercury's winged heels as we descended Mount Olympus, wind whipping our faces."
"Is that why your hair is always like this?"
Mingi huffs. Yes, perhaps it is? Always sticking out at odd angles, gray strands looking as if sculpted by a breeze.
"If that pleases you, then yes, that is why my hair is this way." His knuckles gently dig into San's spine, releasing the strain that has been gathering for months.
San lets out a strangled groan, blissful as much as aching. He hadn't realized just how much pressure he had been under. Mingi has a gift for cracking him open.
"I have no memory of Mercury's true appearance," Mingi continues. "Like you've taught me, gazing upon the gods' true image would drive most mortals to madness. The memories I have of them are of their mortal disguise."
"Hongjoong," San says, far away. "That is what Mercury had us call their form when they visited."
Mingi nods. "Yes. A name in your tongue. One they had chosen for themself, so that you felt comfortable with their guise. I remember his immaculate white hair. Features, although mortal, graced with otherworldly beauty."
San's heart refuses to stay still. He has to know. "Do you remember the first time you saw me as well as you do for Hongjoong?"
At that, Mingi's hands switch to idly massaging San's lower back, no longer purposeful. Vigor has turned into gentleness, and San's heart falters.
"Mmh…" Mingi thinks. "I remember seeing Rome for the first time."
Upon encountering San's mother, Hongjoong had told her: 'Perhaps I should have come with the sun. I long to see again the jewel of the Empire bedazzled with light.'
Although a stranger, San's mother had recognized in Hongjoong’s voice the lilt of Silla, her own homeland. And so she had offered him food and a roof, and from her generosity, he had been made certain she was the one he had been tasked to seek.
"I remember your mother, I remember entering the villa. And then… Yes, I remember you. Your face has turned much sharper since then."
"I was only nineteen," San reminds him.
Mingi nods. "Yes. But you were already carrying yourself like a man. I remember your words, too. 'House Choi welcomes you to Rome. I am San, mountain in our tongue. But surely you must know this, if you too hail from Silla?'."
San sighs. "I was already so full of myself, wasn't I?"
"No, confident." But Mingi does laugh at that. The sound tugs at San's heartstrings. "You must be cold, lean back for me?"
Like second nature, San complies, no matter that the stifling heat of the room had been enough for him. Mingi gently coaxes San further into the water, all the way to his chin.
He does shiver now, more at the loss of Mingi's touch than at the cooling bath. San presses against the edge and watches as Mingi exits the room without a word.
This allows a moment for San to gather himself. It has been three years now—three years during which Mingi has been by his side without fail. Three years for San to grow so close to him they now stand as friends more than as master and servant. Three years to chip away at San's resolve.
'The gods are more powerful than our minds can comprehend,' his preceptor had once explained to him. 'But the secrets of mankind remain untouched. Only Jupiter, god of gods, may create humans such as we. But the creation brought by Mercury is no man. He is merely a statue given sentience through Vulcan's craft. And though the fire god is skilled, your Sanctus Protector is no more intelligent than your pup. I understand you may be easily fooled by his appearance, his ability to speak. By his emotions, but remember this: he may feel only what a dog may. No love but mere loyalty, nothing more complex than fear, emotions as crude as a newborn babe's.'
And although San knows that Mingi is far more human than they had all believed at first, he cannot help but admit it. Mingi was undeniably different from their kind. San had watched him, unmoved by the spectacle of the arena, by the debauchery of nightly celebrations, by the minstrels' ballads. He seems immune to the caprices of mortal passion. A candid smile always adorns his lips, as if he knows nothing else but simple joy.
Yet it pains San to hear him compared to Lupa, his greyhound. After all, San feels a kinship unlike any other with him, doesn't he? Something he has never felt with anyone else, even his closest friends.
And perhaps San often feels absurd for being so troubled by Mingi. Because Mingi could never feel that way towards him. Mingi would always see him as his master, and nothing more. No matter how kind, no matter how dedicated Mingi was to him. San had made peace with it, but it wasn't enough to quash his own heart's turmoil.
And so, despite his mother's warning ('do not feel for him what you would not feel for a servant'), San longed for Mingi to reciprocate his affection. Perhaps it is exactly because he cannot have it that San longs for it. He has always been a fool. Some would call him spoiled, invariably asking for what isn't his to possess. But his mind is a curious creature, and he simply craves all that is out of reach.
Truly beginning to feel the clutch of cold, San decides to continue cleaning himself, hoping the movement will provide some temporary relief. With soap and cloth in hand, he scrubs his body of all the oils his servants massage into his skin daily.
The room is quiet and San misses Mingi's presence.
Suddenly there are footsteps again, light, barely audible.
"Mother," San greets before she appears in his line of sight.
With the grace of her nymph blood, she moves across the room and places a vial on one of the stools. "Use this perfume. Your father has always loved the smell of laurel. Honor him during tonight's celebrations." Only then does she turn and look at her son. "Where is your Sanctus Protector?"
As if her words had summoned him, Mingi enters, arms full of a large clay jar. Upon seeing the lady of the house, he bows.
"Where were you?"
San winces at the bite in her voice.
"Mother, it is fine," he assures.
She smiles only for him to keep quiet.
"Song Mingi, tell me now where you were."
Mingi bows again. "Out to fetch warm water, Domina."
San watches as her pointed features turn somber.
"Sanctus Protector. I thought I had made myself clear." Though her words are firm, she does not speak unkindly, both San and Mingi know the love she has for them. "I ask you again: please do not ever leave my son's side. Do not ever let your eyes wander away from him, not for a heartbeat. Should I remind you that Mors themself seek to drag him down to the Underworld?"
"There is no need," San interrupts, "but perhaps you could finally reveal to us why that is? Why has death itself been after me for years? You have always refused to tell us. But we may better understand your orders if you tell us the reasoning behind them."
She crosses her arms. "Why would Mors ever do anything? They envy the other gods, throned in Olympus while they are locked in the Underworld. They see you, the precious son of Apollo, and wish for what they cannot have. No one can love this wretched being, and so they prey on the children of other gods, punish them for their love."
Her words hang heavily in the room. San doesn't understand. "But mother, haven't you said yourself that all the gods are good-hearted? That they, as holy beings, know no evil?"
"That is true," she admits. "But Mors was once a mortal. After their death and years of faithful service in the Underworld, Pluto, protector of the lands beyond the Styx, gave them powers as a reward. While Pluto ruled over the dead in their realm, Mors was to take mortals to their graves. However, first pure, Mors' mortal heart faltered and soon corrupted them. That is how what is now a god can resort to such wicked ways."
"Please forgive me," Mingi says, "I promise to remain by his side always."
"Is that all, mother?" San asks, unable to fully hide his frustration. Already, he can feel tension gathering between his shoulder blades again. Already, he misses Mingi's touch.
She smiles, warmth returning to her eyes. "Yes, please enjoy your walk in Rome, adeul. Do not be late for your father's festival." And with a nod, she leaves.
San lets out a breath he hadn't noticed himself holding. "I'm sorry, you know how she is. Ever the worrier."
To San's relief, Mingi finally returns to his side. He croons as Mingi pours the hot water into the bath.
"Are you trying to keep me in here all day?" San teases. Perhaps his delivery is somewhat lessened by his blissful expression.
Mingi chuckles. "And why would I be doing that?"
"Who's to say? I have long ceased trying to understand your machinations." San has laid his head against the bath's lip again and watches Mingi sitting on the edge. He rarely allows himself to truly watch; from the side, San can perfectly see the straight slope of his nose, his plush lips, the angle of his jaw. He finds it interesting that Vulcan has shaped Mingi's eyes like the people of Silla's. The depth of their gray has always captivated San.
"Machinations," Mingi echoes. "I wouldn't know how to even start."
Just then, San regrets his words. Yes, perhaps Mingi's emotions are narrow. But San knows it wounds Mingi all the same to hear of his own limits.
San never speaks of it with him of course, he knows better. But the people around aren't so careful and always, they say: 'here comes the master's second dog', 'oh don't worry yourself, he can understand us but nothing affects him, it is like talking to a wall!'.
Whenever San hears, he makes a point to correct them. 'You shall not speak of him this way. Mingi is as capable of feeling as we are. I care little for what you think. Whether crude or not, his emotions are emotions all the same and you shall respect him.'
But San thinks it isn't them he should try and convince—but Mingi himself.
"Mingi," San whispers. He knows he shouldn't, because Mingi doesn't understand the meaning of touch, because San does it more for himself than for Mingi; but still, San gently wraps his fingers around Mingi's wrist. "Please stop believing what they say about you. You are nothing like my hound Lupa. You are my closest friend. You are as human as you could possibly be."
Like always, Mingi smiles, and San finds himself wishing Mingi would do anything else—frown, cry, yell. Anything that might let San know exactly what is on his mind. But this is the point after all: there isn't anything.
San refuses to believe it.
"Please do not concern yourself with me," Mingi says softly. "You know nothing they say can affect me."
Don't lie to me, Mingi, I know you are more than they say, San thinks. But he remains quiet, because perhaps this is more about what he wants than about comforting Mingi.
So San finishes bathing and waits quietly as Mingi rises and turns his back.
Now bathed and fully clothed, San leaves behind the villa and heads for the heart of the city, Mingi in tow.
It is a sweltering day, and so San has chosen a simple tunic of spotless white. Though he is well known in Rome, such modest garb allows for a semblance of anonymity. The cloth is rich and shines under the sun, but to the eye of most, it is nothing more than linen.
Mingi sports similar clothes but in a deep blue which complements his fair skin. Like always, he clutches his lance, a weapon dear to him. With it, he protects San, though he's never had to use it yet.
As they walk the streets, San admires the colorful people that move about. He listens as merchants hail them. He takes in the smell of spices and wines.
"You there, young men!" A woman calls out.
San glances at her and while he hadn't stopped before, this time he pauses at the sight of her stall. An array of ripe fruits lie there, glistening under the sun. San feels his stomach rumble.
"Fresh apples and plums, peaches and grapes from the finest orchards of the Empire! Come take a look now, don't be shy," the older lady continues. San approaches and feels one of the apples. "Yes, yes, very good! I know a smart man when I see one! I have no doubt you will make an excellent decision! Why not buy some of my delicious products?"
Mingi grabs a peach and raises it beside San's face. "Dominus, this fruit looks like you."
San huffs. "Like me? How so?"
"Soft fuzz," Mingi says, running his thumb over it, "like when you forget to shave. And," he shows San the small divot on its curved form, "this, like your dimples."
"I'm not sure how to take it, being compared to a peach," but San is smiling, and he grabs the fruit out of Mingi's hand. He turns to the seller. "How much for this and two apples?"
Once they have agreed on a price, San pays and continues on his journey down into the city. He hands the peach back to Mingi and keeps one of the apples, putting the other one in his pouch.
"Eat," he tells Mingi. "You haven't had anything this morning."
Though merchants often use honeyed words to catch clients, San has to admit that the apple is indeed delicious, pleasantly sweet and all. It crunches under his teeth and staves off his hunger.
The heat has become stifling by now, and as San watches Mingi bite into the peach, it only grows, creeping up his neck. Buying the fruit to give to Mingi had been an obvious mistake on San's part, after having been compared to it. The suggestiveness of the sight forces him to look away, and he chides himself for the thoughts that fill his mind.
Mingi is a beautiful man, it is impossible to deny it. And perhaps that is exactly why it has become harder and harder for San to resist his charm.
It tortures him, to have these thoughts. Because it is Mingi. Mingi, who shall never feel love or lust. Mingi, who's served him loyally for years. San cannot help wanting him in more ways than one, but he knows it to be wrong.
You cannot have him, he always reminds himself. Because he can never feel the same. Because you would be taking advantage of him.
And so San busies his mind by observing the tall buildings rising from the ground and listening to the sound of sandals on cobblestones.
They soon reach the forum. Mingi steps ahead, parting the thickening crowd to allow San unobstructed passage. Eventually, they manage to reach their destination.
"Yes, two for you, here there are," a plump man yells. "Thank you for your patronage! Come again!"
"Appius!" San calls.
"Ah, Dominus! I knew you would be coming by! Here for tonight's celebration of Apollo, yes?"
"Indeed, I'm in need of oil for libation."
Appius places his hands on his hips. "What about sacrifice, have you bought anything yet? I have the perfect goat for you."
San shakes his head. "There won't be any sacrifice tonight, but thank you."
"Truly? Won't your father be vexed?"
"The presence of a Filius Dei is enough to please the gods," San explains. "My father Apollo will smile down upon us for I come to honor him."
"I see, I see. Oil then, just a moment." The man disappears behind his tent and returns shortly with several bottles. "What do you wish for?"
San looks at the selection. "I will take the lavender oil as well as the olive one, thank you. Here are your coins." He hands Appius the money, who bows in thanks.
"Please ask the gods to be favorable to me! Business has been rough, believe it or not. Now be on your way, I have more clients to attend to, it seems."
With a nod, San steps aside, letting a couple pass him by. He gives the bottles to Mingi and sets out in the direction of the Septimiana Gate.
It takes them a moment to reach the stables near the city walls. An old man with a kind smile greets them.
"Filius Dei, an honor to see you again. How is your steed? Has she recovered well?" After having saddled a horse, the man approaches them.
"Thanks to your care," San explains, "her leg has healed, thank you. But I'm afraid I may no longer ride her for long travels, she tires too fast."
"Oh, how unfortunate. I am sorry the ointments weren't enough."
With the wave of a hand, San smiles. "Please, don't apologize, you did all that you could. Perhaps I c—"
He is interrupted by a commotion. A short man yells as a horse rears up and kicks its front legs with loud distressed neighs.
"Please pardon me," the old man says as he hurries away. "Woah there." He grabs the reins out of the other man's hands. "Calm down girl, calm down."
However his words do nothing to appease the horse, and she continues to whip her head about.
"Dominus, permission?" Mingi whispers.
San had told Mingi he no longer needs his permission to act as he pleases. But San supposes Mingi will never feel free as long as he serves him.
"Permission granted," he answers simply.
With that, Mingi joins the men.
"What is its name?" He asks them.
"Sagitta," the stable master says. "We've had her for a few months now, but I just can't get through to her. Whenever I think we've finally made progress, she acts up and scares potential customers away. If I can't tame her, I'll never be able to sell her…"
San watches as Mingi gently takes the reins from the man. Sagitta rears up again, but Mingi doesn't try to force her down, just lets her vent her frustration.
"Sshhh," he whispers as she comes down. "Easy there."
Mingi pulls in the reins little by little, approaching her slowly. She shakes her head, but as Mingi grows closer, she only huffs.
"You're doing great, girl. It's alright." To the men's surprise, the horse doesn't pull away when Mingi extends his hand. She stomps her feet but stills as he gently begins stroking her nose.
"Gods be my witness," the old man says in awe. "Never have I seen her so calm. What did you do?"
Mingi smiles to himself, petting Sagitta's neck. It's in moments like these that San thinks… Mingi cannot be so different from them after all.
"She has never been saddled before," Mingi explains. "And it seems… she was taken away from her mother too early. All I did was acknowledge her fears."
San joins them. "How do you know all of this?"
Mingi turns to him with the same easy smile he always wears. "I'm not sure. Just a feeling."
In truth, maybe Mingi is different from them. Maybe he's better.
As San watches him whispering to the horse, he thinks that there can be no way this man isn't as alive as mortals. With the way Mingi's eyes narrow with delight when Sagitta pushes her head in his hand, with how he hums to himself while lacing his fingers in her mane. Maybe he cannot feel anger or sadness, maybe the world doesn't look the same to him...
But does it mean he's any lesser? San has been with Mingi every single day for years and he has never had that thought. Quite the contrary, everything pales in comparison to Mingi.
"Well then," the stable master says, stroking his beard, "Dominus, you are in need of a new horse for long travels, are you not? And it seems your Sanctus Protector has a gift to calm the unruly so… Why not take her? I don't believe I will be able to tame her, and she is no use to me."
Mingi whips around, eyes shining. San chuckles to himself before answering.
"Are you certain? If you are willing to part with her then I accept." He pulls out his coin purse but the old man shakes his head.
"There is no need, Dominus. I can do nothing with her, this is a favor you are doing me."
San feels Mingi's eyes on him. Always curious, always watchful.
"No, I insist," San says gently, "for your trouble. And for healing my steed. I don't think she would be able to walk if it weren't for your aid. I will still be able to mount her within the city thanks to you."
"Ah, who am I to refuse a Filius Dei?" With a bow, the man accepts the money. "Young man, come help me while I saddle her."
Mingi hurries to the horse master’s side and follows after him. They step inside the stables and soon reappear, arms full of gear.
While Mingi reassures Sagitta, the old man readies her for mounting. She kicks up dirt with her hooves, but makes no additional fuss over it.
"Incredible," the man whispers. "She stood still the entire time. You, son, have truly a gift. Perhaps you should leave your master's side and come work for me?" His tone is light and playful, but San still feels his jaw tighten by itself.
The mere thought of Mingi leaving him makes his knees feel weak. And while San does his best to contain it, his suddenly pale complexion doesn't escape Mingi. In a heartbeat, he rushes to him and places his hands on San's shoulders. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes," San assures him, his own hands finding Mingi's. He's here. He's here. Everything is fine. "Thank you."
His words don't seem sufficient to ease Mingi's concerns, because one of his hands remains on San's back. The steady weight against his spine calms his heart.
"Let me help get on Sagitta," Mingi says to him softly.
San shakes his head. "While you walk beside me? No, I am well. I can stand just fine."
"San."
His own name in Mingi's mouth always knocks the wind out of his lungs. It is rare for Mingi to say it, which only makes it sound all the sweeter.
"Let me help you up," Mingi says again, his tone brooking no argument.
There is no explaining it, but with the click of his tongue, Mingi gets Sagitta to lower herself without opposition. San's bewilderment is swept away as Mingi hoists him unto the saddle. Caught off guard, San yelps but makes no attempt to fight back. He's sat before he can comprehend what has happened.
The stable master watches, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Mingi is oblivious. "Are you comfortable?"
San feels his face turn hot. In private, Mingi's care makes him crave more, but in public, San feels sheepish. "Y-yes, thank you Mingi."
A nod, then a whistle, and Sagitta lifts herself to her feet.
"Thank you, stable master, I promise to take good care of Sagitta for you," Mingi says with a bow. San nods to the man and with that, they leave.