Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The soil beneath Minho’s standard issue boots is wet, damp with early morning dew. His breath coils in soft puffs of white in front of his nose, the air biting, a test of endurance. His silver dog tag necklace is cold against the fabric of his shirt. He’s lucky. Twelve years of service has left his receptors fried so much so that he doesn’t notice the chill that evidently sweeps through the battalion organised before him. Each shivering soldier is so painfully obvious amidst the lines of stillness, he almost feels sorry. And yet giving into the cold never would have got him where he was, so he grits his teeth, eyes focussed on a singular point into the distance as his hands lock behind his back, a stance so practiced it comes to him like second nature.

Hyunjin shifts ever so slightly beside him, posture identical, dressed in the same black cargos and black standard issue top as himself. They are the perfect image of authority, prime and preened for the promotion they are set to receive.

Minho’s eyes rove over the rows of soldiers, catching on familiar faces, passing over the ones he doesn’t recognise. He doesn’t care much for them, only notes those with potential. With strength and power worthy of his attention. War is merciless. Those who struggle will die. He doesn’t need the burden of knowing those with such a fate. 

The softest clink of metal drags his attention back to the Lieutenant Colonel beside him. Chan steps before him, a metal pin in his fingers. Minho doesn’t flinch when his fingers reach forth and grab at the empty embroidered rectangle on his shirt. The pin slips through the fabric with little resistance, clasped securely, before Chan moves on over to Hyunjin, repeating the action. Minho’s gaze doesn’t stray. It stays locked ahead, blinking momentarily as the wind blows soft tufts of his blonde hair into his eyes. 

“The battalion is honoured to welcome you, Lee Minho and Hwang Hyunjin, as Captains of the fourth and fifth troops.”

It feels as though the weight of the past three years simply dissipates from his shoulders. He lets out a soft breath, unperceivable through the slightest gap between his lips. 

Three years. 

Three years he and Hyunjin had worked in this godforsaken Kingdom, training with the enemy. Exerting themselves so thoroughly all in the name of being recognised that at times he forgot why he was doing any of it. 

And then the face of his mother haunts him at night and he remembers. 

The pin is heavy against his chest as he bows, deep at a perfect ninety degree angle. The image of gratitude. How far from it he feels. There is a sick satisfaction swirling in the pit of his stomach as he rises and takes in the men now under his command. A group of about two hundred. Four hundred if you consider Hyunjin’s troop. 

He turns to his right and follows after said man as they move to the side, body more relaxed than it has been in a long time, until his eyes catch on a face that startles him. A face he never would have thought he’d see. Not in the battalion grounds during a promotion ceremony of all places. It’s softly edged, glowing with clear tan skin and big brown eyes that seemingly sparkle curiously at him even under the cloudy morning sky. Minho fixes the neutrality of his expression and yet when his eyes linger for a millisecond too long and he finds himself having to drag his gaze away, his heart stutters insignificantly in his chest.

Han Jisung, 26, Omega. Crown Prince of The Eastern Kingdom. A man he is now sworn in to serve. To protect.  

Beside him on his left is his mother, Queen Eunji, who smiles softly at Minho when she sees his eyes linger in their direction. Her hair is long and black like her sons, pinned up a style that even he can understand must have taken hours. To the right of the peculiar young man is his father, King Doyun, who does not bother with pleasantries such as smiling, simply steeling his gaze in his direction. Authority and power pours out of him, the intensity in his eyes enough to tell Minho that he would die should it be his will and yet when he nods ever so slightly, Minho finds the tension eases inside him the slightest bit. 

It would do him no good to lead their trust onto unstable grounds so he bows his head back, polite and neutral. A show of respect and devotion. Loyalty. When he straightens and looks at the monarchs again, all he can see is blood.

The prince’s stare doesn’t leave his body and he finds himself uncomfortable at the perception. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. As he stands there, back straight with his chin up, exuding an effortless confidence, his gaze strays just briefly. Undeniably, he finds himself curious. It is instinct to notice the unexpected, he tells himself.  

Rarely ever does Han Jisung make public appearances, his omega status leaving so tightly guarded as the only heir to the throne. He is dressed in finery Minho can only imagine could feed his hometown for a month, diamonds hanging off his ears and placed delicately around his neck he feels sickened the longer he looks. He rips his eyes away and stares straight ahead as he has done so many times before, jaw tight while the wind whipping around him carries the words of whoever is speaking away from him.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of bows and pretentious smiles. The sun has risen higher in the sky, breaking through the dreary grey of the clouds. His bones are stiff from standing in the same position for so long yet when it is over he doesn’t complain, simply takes it as the battalion is dismissed and walks with mechanical precision towards the barracks. Hyunjin is hot on his heels, a few steps behind, the sound of his boots against the crunch of grass in time with his own. 

The barracks are quiet when he enters, the sound of their steps echoing inside the plain rectangular brick building, located past the courtyard behind the palace. The walls are moldy, white paint peeling over every brick. The concrete floors are damp in places, victim to the drip of water that has made its way through the cracks in the ceiling. 

Minho pushes through his dorm room. It’s small, the walls lined with metal frame bunk beds, almost like a war hospital. Every corner is dowsed in darkness, the air stale with clinical musk, an after effect of constant scent patch usage. The skin under the white plastic on his neck itches like a reminder. Hyunjin walks in after him, shutting the door softly and moving over to his own closet. Every bed has one, a tall, thin wooden cupboard shared between bunk buddies for their clothes and minimal personal belongings. 

Minho packs his bag, placing all his belongings inside until the cupboard is bare, a blank slate for the next occupant. He’s not going to miss it. He slings the strap around his shoulder and waits at the door until Hyunjin is done. Outside he can hear the troops running drills, guns firing and the occasional intermittent whistle. 

“Ready?” Hyunjin asks as he walks towards him. 

He nods in response, lips tight as he pushes the door open and walks out. Hyunjin slaps his ass as he does. Minho only shoots him a warning glare, one that the other man doesn’t take seriously in the slightest, a grin stretching across his face as he wiggles his eyebrows. If he didn’t hold as much affection for the man as he did, Hyunjin would not have any limbs left by now. 

They walk back into the courtyard, a troop of men running past leaving dust rising in their wake. Chan stands in the middle, the lieutenant colonel watching stony faced as a handful of soldiers drop to the floor in failure. His eyes catch them walking in his direction and Minho feels his muscles tense instinctively under the heaviness of his gaze. He doesn’t fear the man. His reaction to him is simply instinctive. They have more or less the same years of training and Minho knows that if he wanted to, he could take him down in a fight. Chan can never know that. 

So he reacts. Makes himself ever so slightly smaller but still confident enough to be commanding, stuffing his ego into the pits of his body. They stop in front of the man, watch silently as he takes in a slow once over, surveying them for weakness. Nervousness. Anything that could betray the idea that they are not ready for it. For a freedom that others do not get. A freedom they have spent three years constructing a path towards.

It is a soldier's duty to be grateful. To not gloat. Whether they live in the crusty barracks or the defence wing inside the palace, a soldier must always remember his place. Remember that his life is not worth more or less than another's, no matter the rank. 

As much as Minho hates the Eastern Kingdom, he can respect that one universal rule. The lieutenant colonel hums softly, the sound barely there. The most minimal sign of his approval. Good.

“Follow me.” He walks off, not looking back to see if they follow.  

The palace hall they enter is empty and dark. The grey cobblestone walls extend higher than he had imagined, amplifying the sound of their boots and the rattle of their metal and leather garters, holding arrays of small knives and a bullet round. There is the soft smell of musky flowers, barely there and dampened. His nose twitches as they walk deeper into the palace, heading towards the defence wing. 

Chan turns into another thinner corridor and they follow in silence. He stops before a door, slips a small key out of his pocket and hands it over to Minho, nodding his head as if saying ‘go ahead’. Minho slips the metal into the lock and pushes the door open. The room is smaller than his quarters back home, but after spending three years in a cramped dormitory he unwillingly finds some solace in the new living space. The far wall is glass panels, deep red curtains on either side from floor to ceiling. In the center is a boastable four poster double bed, draped in fresh white linen, a plush carpet beneath the foot of the bed. Beside it on the left is a small bedside table and on the right is a much larger dresser. At the foot of the bed is a chest, which he assumes must be for his ammunition and personal weaponry. He drops his luggage bag on the floor and glances over at a door he hadn’t noticed. Pushing through it he is met with a small ensuite that houses a small sink and vanity, toilet and shower. It’s much nicer than he imagined.

He feels sick the longer he looks at it. 

“Hyunjin will be stationed in the room next door. Most official guard personnel are in this corridor. If you need anything, my office is upstairs at the end of the corridor above this one.”

He pauses as Minho walks around to the other side of the bed, watching.

“Meals are at 7am, 2pm, 7pm in the dining hall upstairs. If you are late, then you get no meal. Training commences as usual except you will be leading your troops. Briefing on such activity will be at 9pm tonight. I expect to see you at my office by then.”

Minho blinks at that, momentarily forgetting that he’s supposed to be inexperienced in commandearing troops. Chan doesn’t notice his slip of confusion.

“You are excused from training for the day to familiarise yourself with the palace. You are not permitted in any personal quarters but your own. Other than that, everywhere else is cleared.” 

Chan finishes his list of instructions and Minho glances over at the doorway, finding Hyunjin already gone. 

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.” he responds, bowing once respectfully. Chan watches him for a few seconds as if in contemplation. Minho doesn’t move, simply watches the carpet in front of him. 

“I have faith that you will do well in your duty. Do not let your loyalty let me down.”

Minho swallows as the man sends him a curt smile. So small and rare, he almost doesn’t believe it happened had it not been for the crinkle of his eyes that gave it away.

The words are bitter on his tongue as he speaks. “Of course, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Just Chan is fine.” 

With that, the man leaves, shutting the door behind him and leaving Minho alone in his new quarters, a fresh duty befallen upon his shoulders. He does not bother to pick up his bag and unpack. He is already dressed and packing can be left for night, after a well earned shower. He slips back out into the corridor, pacing a few steps over and pushing into Hyunjin’s room without warning. 

He finds the taller man splayed over the bed, plastic scent patches ripped up and left on the bedside table as the smell of peaches and patchouli pulses in waves, drowning the room in his scent. He wrinkles his nose. 

“Seriously?”

“What?” he grumbles, lifting his head off the bed to stare at him with a childish pout.

“Your room stinks.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Minho doesn’t respond. It doesn’t actually stink. In fact it’s a quiet familiar scent that seeps into his veins, calming the stress in his muscles, but Hyunjin didn’t need to know that. His ego would only get bigger. He glances around. The room is identical to his, the only difference being the shifted scenery outside the window. 

A glance at the clock tells him it’s nearing 10 am. 

He walks over to the man on the bed, his hands in the pockets of his cargos and kicks at the foot hanging off the edge. 

“Get up. We have things to plan.”

He pulls out a small box containing ear pieces and sets it on the bedside table.

Hyunjin groans into his pillow, hand patting around the mattress in search of his stray hair tie. He sits up with a scowl and pulls his hair back into a small ponytail. Minho rolls his eyes, stepping over the discarded bag on the floor and heads towards the door.

“We’re going exploring in ten. You better be out the door by then. Wear the ear piece.”

“Have you even sat on your bed yet? You should. They’re damn soft.” he chides, slipping off the edge of the bed and walking into his ensuite. 

Minho scoffs with a hand on the door handle. “We’re not here to enjoy their luxuries Hyunjin.”

The other calls out from the bathroom. “Suit yourself, Lieutenant Colonel Lee.”

If it had been any other soldier with him acting so appreciative of the enemy, Minho would’ve begun to question their loyalties. But it was Hyunjin, the boy he had grown up with. Bled with. Weathered life with. He may have been a war hardened killer, but he had a soft heart. An inner romantic that indulged in pleasantries no matter where they came from. If the bed was damn soft then Hyunjin was going to say it. Minho could accept that. This was the one man he trusted with his life. 

“You’d do good by not getting caught saying that.” 

He slips back out the door.

~~~

They meet up exactly ten minutes later under the dim light of the corridor.

“We can probably only get through recording security cameras before lunch. You take the ground floor, I’ll take the first floor.” Minho reasons, fiddling with the small earpiece that was hidden under his hair until it beeps softly, indicating its ‘on’ power status. 

“You got it.”

Hyunjin breaks away from his side as they exit the defence wing, heading straight as Minho veers right and heads up a grand staircase to the floor above. Technically he has no reason to be up here. From memory the only locations of significance up here are the royal chambers, throne room, ballroom and library. If anyone were to ask, he would say he had a day off and was headed to the library. 

So what if he has bullets strapped to his leg. It’s a comfort thing. Not that any royal would understand.

The hallway that greets him extends so far he can barely see the end. There are no windows, only the periodic door every few meters. There must be more rooms up here than they have a use for. 

There is a long carpet along the floor, absorbing the sound of his steps as he walks down the length of the corridor. His eyes are trained upwards, counting the small black globes on the ceiling as they appear every twenty meters. By the time he reaches the end he counts ten cameras,on alternating sides of the ceiling. 

He turns left and heads down another corridor, this one doused in light from the courtyard that pours through full length windows partitioned by stone on one side. Between every stone pillar is an expanse of red cushioned seating, as if someone designed it with the purpose of luring people to rest. He doesn’t falter, steps sure as his eyes survey every crevice with practiced expertise. 

He’s counted five cameras when movement in his peripheral catches his attention. Sat on a bench and doused in sunlight is Han Jisung, Crown Prince and also his target. He’s wearing soft grey sweatpants and a loose white tee, sat with his legs up and tucked into his chest as a book rests on his knees. His hair is messed up and fluffy, different from how it had been carefully styled that morning as if he had showered and just finished blow drying it. A pair of reading glasses sits on the bridge of his nose. 

Minho doesn’t realise his legs have stopped moving until the prince turns to glance at him, eyes momentarily caught off guard before they narrow with unfamiliarity. Minho belatedly realises he should probably say something. 

“Your Royal Highness.” he greets, bowing as deep as is acceptable. His heart beats faster than usual in his chest, the pattern translating over his body until he can feel it in the tips of his fingers. His wolf perks up in alarm behind his ribs, caught off guard. 

He didn’t expect to run into anyone, though in hindsight if he were walking the halls of the royal chambers he should have been prepared for it. However, running into Han Jisung alone was something he never would have considered. The man was never ever seen without his bodyguard. This was simply a miscalculation on his part. He clasps his hands behind his back as he rises up, his face carefully neutral, watching every shift in the prince's expression. The younger male watches him back, eyes flickering over his figure as if trying to figure out where he had seen him before. 

“You were inducted today, weren’t you. At the promotion ceremony.” he says it like a fact, only seeking confirmation. 

Minho nods. He stills his bones and tugs his wolf back from where it had begun pacing in his chest as the prince watches him in silent consideration.

“Captain of the fourth troop?” Minho nods again. 

“You don’t say much do you?” the prince says to himself, glancing back at his book. 

Minho tries not to bristle at the observation, consciously pushing his face away from the pull of a frown. Instead he settles for a question of his own. 

“Where is your guard, sir?” 

It feels weird on his tongue, calling someone two years younger than him ‘sir’ when he has a face as youthful as he does. The prince looks back at him, a little closed off.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t spend every waking hour in my own home with a man in my shadow.” 

Minho nods, the picture of politeness. His wolf bristles at the forced submissiveness. Never has he had to reduce himself the way he does now. Being under the command of someone less capable than him leaves a sour taste in his throat. 

“I haven’t seen you around before. How long have you trained?” The question is innocent, but underneath it is a gauge of his competency. 

“Three years.” It is a practiced response.

The prince’s eyes widen momentarily before they are pulled back into a more neutral expression, one that doesn’t give away so much of his opinion. 

“Only three years.” 

He glances back at him and Minho feels the muscles in his jaw tick. The princes’ gaze drifts over his body, lingering on his biceps. Minho finds he has never been conscious of the way his shirt pulls across his chest until now. It’s uncomfortable, this scrutiny. Over the years of his training, people had always been too intimidated to so much as look him in the eyes and now there was a man he was forced to serve under, picking him apart as if he were a puzzle to figure out. 

“Where were you going?” he questions.

“The library.” he responds in pure reflex alone. 

“You like to read?”

"Sometimes."

Minho did not in fact enjoy reading. Apart from the official statements, manuals and letters of correspondence he received at his office back home, he never so much as picked up a book beyond what was necessary. His earpiece hums ever so slightly, Hyunjin’s voice breaking through the silence. 

“Minho.”

Minho lifts a hand to his ear and flicks the earpiece off while the prince busies himself with shutting his book. He slips his bare feet back into his slippers and onto the ground, pushing up off the bench. Minho watches warily, stepping back slightly to maintain space. The prince turns around when he feels Minho not following after him.  

“Come on.”

Minho paces after him, always a few steps behind. They walk together for a few minutes, silence wrapping around them. Minho decides if he’s boring enough Han Jisung will leave him alone so he resorts to responding with minimal words, as bland and uninteresting as possible. 

The prince stops before a large set of wooden double doors. He pushes in, straining lightly at the weight before they swing open with momentum. Minho follows him inside. The walls are filled from floor to ceiling with books, shelving in dark wood with gold highlights. There are a few people, court nobles he assumes, sitting around with books open on desks, scribbling away at pages. The library expands further than he can see, a winding staircase up to a second level blocking his view. A maid dusting the shelves nearby stops and bows as the prince enters, only sparing Minho a slight glance before she turns back to her work. 

He wonders vaguely, how many of these books are present simply for pretentious visual reasons. His blood curdles bitterly under his skin. The prince walks ahead, venturing deeper into the paper jungle, strides full of purpose. Minho glares at the back of his head internally, following after him reluctantly. It would be too suspicious to simply disappear. 

They round a shelf and walk into a tucked away corner. A man sits on a cushioned bench, his hair blonde and his face dusted with soft brown freckles.

“Felix!” 

The blonde man looks up, his lips widening into a blinding grin as he looks at the prince, shuffling over to make space for him on the bench. The air smells faintly of light vanilla cream, apples and something primally omega and it is only then that Minho realises he hasn’t been able to smell any of the princes’ pheromones. His eyes are drawn to his neck, scanning over it until he peeks the white edge of a scent patch beneath the soft curls of his hair. 

The blonde shifts his gaze over at him curiously, eyes wide and slightly suspicious as the prince settles down beside him. 

“This is Lee Minho. He’s the new captain of the fourth troop.” the prince explains, tucking his knees back into his chest and resting his side against Felix’s. 

Minho tries not to startle when he realises he never actually told him his name, yet he knew anyway. He locks his hands behind his back and bows politely. The blonde, Felix, blinks at him, suspicion breaking out into a bright smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you! How’d you meet Jisung?” he asks, gaze flickering over to the boy that leaned against him. 

Minho notes the casual use of his name. They must be close. “I ran into him in the hallway while I was on my way here.” he replies politely. Felix hums in acknowledgement, eyes still watching the boy who now rested his head on his shoulder with his eyes shut. Observing almost. 

Minho shifts his feet slightly, waiting for either of them to look at him so he can make his departure. Felix glances over. He takes the opportunity. 

With a bow he says “I’ll be going now. Have a good day your highness, Felix-ssi.” before straightening up and walking away. He doesn’t bother with pretending to borrow a book, simply pushing through the door and making his way down the corridor they came in. 

~~~

Minho glances down at his watch as he walks down the staircase. 

12 pm. 

After his little run in with the prince he managed to get back on course, counting a total of twenty security cameras on the first floor in all corridors alone. Mentally he rechecked through their locations until he was sure he had the entire layout pat down in his brain

He finds Hyunjin waiting for him on the other side of the door of his room, sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. Minho spares him a singular glance, taking in his disapproving frown, before he walks over to his dresser and busies himself with unbuckling his belt. The weathered leather slips through the metal buckle easily, as though it has gone through the motion a million times over already. It has. 

“Why’d you turn the earpiece off?” 

Minho turns his head over his shoulder to look at the boy on his bed as he slips the belt out from his belt loops, rolling it into a neat roll. 

“Why? Don’t trust me?” He sets the belt on his dresser, and bends over to tug at his garters and thigh straps. 

Hyunjin scoffs. “You know that’s not why I’m asking.” Truthfully, Minho does know that, but he’s feeling a little spiteful after having to deal with an unwelcome interruption so he finds some semblance of joy in being frustrating. 

“I didn’t want to hear your voice cackling in my ear.”

Hyunjin kicks at him with a shoe and he shuffles away as best as he can with his fingers stuck in the leather at his thigh, just barely missing getting a foot shoved in the ass. He turns away to hide his grin, pulling with one final tug until the leather around his thighs loosens enough to be slipped off. He picks the garters up from the floor and places them with his belt, slipping the knives out of the holders before moving to crouch near the chest at the end of his bed. Hyunjin still sulks on his mattress.

He sighs, giving in. “I ran into the Crown prince. He dragged me with him to the library because I told him that’s where I was going.” 

He hears Hyunjin shuffle over to the end of the bed as he opens the chest, placing the weapons inside. He leaves his sparring knife on the dresser. 

“You finished the job though, right?” he looks up to find Hyunjin staring right at him.

“You think I'm that incompetent? There’s twenty cameras in all the corridors and hallways. Alternating sides of the ceiling every twenty meters. Basically no blind spots.” He walks over to his bag that still sits on the floor and ruffles through his clothes. 

Hyunjin nods, storing the information away. 

“Ground floor has around the same except the servants quarters and corridor has no surveillance. It leads to a discreet back exit. I think it was built that way to hide illegal labour and supply.”

Minho grits his teeth at that, tugging a pair of sweatpants out of his bag just to give his hands something to do. As much as he hates the fact, the lack of surveillance, he reluctantly admits, is useful to them. Makes their job easier, even. After years of narrowly missed run-ins with night shift guards just to get out of the castle grounds, having a straightforward, unguarded exit is advantageous. 

He’s worked three years for this. He’s not going to mess it up. 

This is a plan he’s only ever trusted himself with handling. 

And Hyunjin. Hence why he’s here. 

Minho stands, walking over to his ensuite. “We’re going sparring. Get changed.” Hyunjin groans as he slides the bathroom door shut.

“You hate relaxing, don’t you. Sadistic fuck.” He whispers the last bit, but Minho still hears it.

“Yah!” He’s answered by a quiet teasing chuckle and the soft click of his bedroom door shutting. 

He sets his sweatpants and training shirt on the closed toilet lid before turning to the mirror. The white patch on his neck peels slightly at the edges. Tugging it back a little further, he watches as his skin pinks when the stickiness pulls at the surface. He peels it off fully and the bathroom fills steadily with the scent of fresh cedar and sandalwood. Its grounding, the pheromones wrapping around him like a second skin. His glands feel as though they can finally breathe. He pulls the fraying plastic off his wrists as well, rubbing at the skin before he throws all the used patches in the small bin beside the toilet. Under the sink is a provided medical kit including a new box of military grade scent patches. 

It's a requirement as an Alpha to wear scent patches within shared castle grounds, a precaution set by the king for his son's protection. He opens the box and pulls out a new sheet, covering his glands once again. He changes quickly, tucking his silver dog tag under his shirt, and heads back into the hallway, his sparring knife tucked into a holster around his hips. Hyunjin walks out of his own room, dressed similarly and they head out into the training courtyard. 

There are a few soldiers about, packing equipment or raking the gravel track. The clouds have almost fully cleared, the sun directly above. Still, there is a chill in the breeze. 

At the end of the courtyard are a row of warehouse-like buildings, fronted with large metal roller doors. They walk into the far right one, reserved for specialised training and fitted out with sparring mats, punching dummies and other such equipment. The walls are kitted with blunted hand held weaponry. 

It’s empty since midday training has ceased, most soldiers back in the barracks awaiting lunch. Minho unbuckles his holster and drops it to the floor with his knife, moving to stand in the middle of the mat, knees bent and his arms up in a defensive stance. He bounces on the balls of his feet a few times as Hyunjin falls into a similar position opposite him. Familiar adrenaline fills his veins, his limbs buzzing in anticipation. He may fight Hyunjin almost daily, but the high is always the same, addictive almost. 

Hyunjin comes at him with a jab, testing the waters and watching his shoulder. He slips back. He knows Hyunjin’s fighting style like the back of his hand. Reading his instinctive maneuvers is like second nature, imprinted like a manual in the back of his mind. He jabs back with his right arm, pushing forward slightly so the other is forced to slip further back than he anticipated before coming in with cross with his left arm. Hyunjin rolls in the last second, ducking under the arm until he’s on the side of his left shoulder. If there is one advantage he has always had over Hyunjin, it's his ambidexterity, always coming in the last moments like a backup weapon while the other male wears out his one strong limb. They almost match in ability, but if there's one reason why Hyunjin rarely ever wins over him, it's that.

Minho spins around, bringing his arms back up to cheekbone level, his elbows tucked in. He grins and Hyunjin rolls his eyes, coming at him with a punch that he parries, throwing his own hook. Hyunjin catches it with his forearm, shoving the arm to the side before stepping back to create space. They circle each other and Minho can hear the blood rushing past his ears. 

He goes in first this time with a jab, watching as Hyunjin lifts an elbow to parry before following through with a cross to his unguarded stomach with his other arm. Hyunjin stumbles back a step before he roots his feet back down to the ground, gathering his stance.

“Dirty work, Lee.” he grumbles, coughing lightly.

“War is dirty, Hwang.” he humours back with a grin. 

Hyunjin doesn’t deny it, rushing in with a lowered punch to his side. He blocks in with a lowered forearm, cutting up with his knee to land a hit to the chin by taking advantage of his lowered torso. Hyunjin slips left while stepping back and Minho takes the open window of movement to push forward and coax a punch out of him with a few well timed jabs. He takes the bait, reaching forward with a fist. Minho grabs his wrist and ducks under his shoulder, hooking an ankle around his leg and lets him drop to the floor with his own momentum. Hyunjin presses his palms against the mat, hooking a foot around his ankle in an attempt to bring him down and gain the upper advantage.   

Minho drops down on top of him, thighs straddling his hips as he grabs the others wrists, pinning them down. 

Hyunjin’s back drops down to the mat in surrender. Minho smirks at him from above and Hyunjin pokes his tongue out at him in child-like defiance. 

“Fine. You win. Get off me you sweaty beast.”

Minho pushes back onto his feet, offering a hand down for Hyunjin to take before pulling him to his feet. Had it been any other spar partner, he would’ve left them on the floor to get up on their own, but it was Hyunjin and he had a soft spot for him. Probably not a good thing, but it was undeniable anyway. 

He wipes his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, getting back into stance as Hyunjin sips on his water bottle.

They spar for the better half of the next hour, only stopping when there was only half an hour until lunch. He slips his holster back on his hips and rechecks the laces of his combat boots. They walk out of the warehouse crossing the training courtyard back towards the defence wing of the palace. He slips his shirt off as they cross the grassy expanse, using it to dry off the sweat on his body. The strands of his blonde hair clump together, dripping periodically in front of his face.

The clouds have cleared entirely and the sun beats down with full force. He almost doesn’t want to put on his spare shirt in the heat, but he does anyway because frankly, he can’t get kicked out of his job for walking into the palace indecent. He might get charged for attempted seduction or something similarly stupid. Training grounds are one thing but inside the palace where the ‘precious omega prince’ resides is another thing. Just to be careful, he presses down on his scent patches, making sure they’re stuck on securely before they cross the threshold and walk to their rooms. 

For all his laboriously honed observation instincts, he doesn’t notice the pondering face watching him cross the courtyard from the safety of an open window on the first floor of the palace.