Chapter Text
You’re a little disappointed.
The bedchambers are so…bare. Not a hint of personality, not a taste of individuality, just bare walls and simple furniture and plain bedsheets. If you didn’t know any better, you would call this a cell, not someone’s personal quarters.
You’re not sure what you were hoping for, you muse as you open up the wardrobe. Maybe some sort of clutter, anything that gave just the smallest detail about the man who slept in these chambers. A chessboard, pieces abandoned halfway through a match. Maps of the territory, with little markings added by hand. Singed body armour. A beloved teddy-bear. Something.
No. Of course he wouldn’t make things so easy.
With a sigh, you grab at the hem of your shirt and pull it up over your head, letting it drop to the floor with barely a second thought. You fight back a shiver as cool air hits the newly bare skin of your back and chest, and you rummage through the wardrobe until you extract a suitable replacement.
You wonder how his clothes will look on you. The man is built so strangely – for a fighter as fearsome, as deadly, as he is, there’s almost no bulk to him. He’s lithe, almost scrawny, like an alley cat.
In the distance, floors and floors below you, you hear the faintest sounds of a kerfuffle. A common enough occurrence in a compound as large as this one. You pay it little notice.
The shirt fits well enough – the fabric is a little thicker than your previous shirt, suited for a colder climate than you’re used to.
You suppose trousers are a no-go. With long lanky limbs like his, anything that remotely fit him would pool around your ankles, and you’re not exactly in a position to start sacrificing mobility.
But you do help yourself to a belt, pulling it around your waist, cinching it in. You’d grown a fondness for form-fitting clothes – the weight was reassuring, almost like armour.
More noises downstairs. Footsteps, shouts of alarm. You weigh up the advantages and disadvantages of such acoustics in this compound, briefly, before abandoning this train of thought for more interesting things.
There’s no mirror in here to check if you look as good as you feel. Instead, you have to make do with taking a seat at his desk, sprawling your legs over the arm of the chair rather than sitting normally.
Your back still aches a little. Your ankles and wrists even more so.
You can’t help but eye that bed, and those soft, inviting sheets – but you know not to take things too far.
This is a bold enough strategy as it is. You’re smart enough to admit that.
So, instead, you sit. And wait.
Hyunjin doesn’t disappoint.
Less than a few minutes pass by before you hear his footsteps. Never rushed, always steady, composed, no matter how quickly he moves.
His door flies open.
It’s a testament to his instincts as a warrior that you barely get a glance at his expression when he sees you sitting there, perfectly at ease, in his chambers, before his sword is already drawn and pointed directly at your neck.
You’re smart enough to keep still. Years of combat experience has trained you well to analyse your opponent, and you waste no time taking in Hyunjin’s appearance. Hair pulled back into a ponytail, slightly more formal attire than the armour you’ve seen on the battlefield and the simple clothes he’d worn during your interrogation. They were made to move easily in, to fight in. These were not, they’re too stiff, the collar of his jacket is too high, the sleeves are a touch too tight.
You wonder if he came up here to change into something more battle-ready before joining the search for you.
A small part of you wonders if he knew you well enough to guess where you’d run off to, whether coming up here was intuition.
Still, you keep your eyes fixed on that blade at your neck, just in case.
Hyunjin’s voice is as low as ever, but you take no small amount of delight in the hint of confusion in his tone. You’ve thrown him off, just as you always love to do. “What are you doing here?”
“Finishing our conversation,” you say, so calm that you could almost be mistaken as innocent. Almost.
“Conversation?” Hyunjin repeats, perfectly neutral, as if he isn’t aware that you could count the number of conversations the two of you have had on one hand. As if he isn’t aware that your last conversation was by far the most interesting of the bunch.
“The one we had downstairs. You ran away just as it was getting interesting.”
Hyunjin’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t run awa–”
“And since you refused to come down to me to finish it,” you interrupt, ignoring him. “I was forced to come up here to you.”
“Chan might order you dead for this. He’d be well within his right,” Hyunjin warns.
You straighten up, noting the way Hyunjin’s sword shifts, rising up to stay level with your neck. This is a delicate situation you’ve thrown yourself into, and you’re aware you might need to tread carefully.
Glancing away from him, towards the door he’d just entered, your expression turns serious. “You’ll notice I incapacitated the guards on the way here. Not killed. And you of all people should know that was a deliberate choice on my part.”
There’s a long pause, as Hyunjin weighs your words carefully against what he knows about you. The similarities between the two of you, how lethal you can be with the right motivation, even the simple fact of how much more difficult it is to knock out a horde of enemies instead of killing them outright.
To your delight – and, you have to admit, a little relief – Hyunjin lowers his sword. He doesn’t sheathe it, but it’s progress enough. “That doesn’t change the fact that you tried to escape your cell.”
You can’t help it.
You snort.
“There wasn’t much ‘trying’ involved, if I’m being honest. Your security measures are…” you trail off, eyes meeting his with no small amount of mischief. “Well, as you can see, inadequate.”
“I’ll be sure to let Chan know,” Hyunjin says, stiff.
You eye him for a moment, and you fight the sudden urge to pout. Riling Hyunjin up was never an easy task, but you were never the patient type. You badly want to say something, something bold. You hate tiptoeing around the topic, testing the waters.
“If it’s any consolation,” you say, tilting your head. “If our roles were reversed, I imagine you would have broken out far sooner than I did. Imperial cells are pathetic, I’m amazed they can keep as many prisoners as they have.”
“I’m flattered,” Hyunjin replies – and you know he means it to be sarcastic, but you recognise that little flicker in his eyes. He is a little flattered.
You wonder if it’s praise in general that incites that kind of reaction in him, or specifically praise from you.
That’s an interesting new thought to consider.
“What do you want?” Hyunjin asks, suddenly serious again. Wary. Maybe he doesn’t like how silent you’ve become. Maybe he’s wary at all the thoughts that could be circling in your head.
He shouldn’t be. Well, mostly shouldn’t.
“I think I already made that clear last time,” you say brightly, lips curling up into a smile.
He doesn’t rise to the bait, but you’re not too disappointed. There’s a reason Hyunjin is such a worthy opponent, of course he’d make you work for it.
“What else do you want?”
You hum, pretending to be deep in thought. “Money. A new pair of boots. A cottage by the river. A good harvest–”
“You’re wasti–”
“Oh,” you snap your fingers suddenly, looking back at him and pointing. “To see you with your hair down. I bet it’s so pretty.”
“Stop flirting with me,” Hyunjin demands, but that commanding tone of voice he’d used just moments ago has wavered slightly.
“No.”
“My patience is starting to wear out,” Hyunjin warns. “Don’t make me ask again.”
You sigh, but eventually relent. “Fine. I want out of that cell. It’s dull, and if you’re not going to visit me, what’s the point?”
“What’s the point?” Hyunjin asks, incredulous for a second, until he recovers. Then, slowly, as if stating the obvious, he answers his own question. “To imprison you. Because you’re a threat.”
“I can be just as easily imprisoned here in your room,” you shrug, glancing around as if you’re inspecting his chambers, assessing its security measures.
Hyunjin stills, staring at you. And then, with a voice so sharp, you’re not sure if he’s directing the words at you or himself, he replies. “You’re not sharing my bed.”
You blink, staring up at him, completely innocent.
“Who said anything about your bed, Hyunjin? I said ‘room’, I don’t know where your mind plucked ‘bed’ from,” you point out, and you can’t help the grin that creeps across your face. “What an overactive imagination you have.”
Hyunjin’s reaction does not disappoint. His expression goes from shock to indignation in a flash, grip tightening on his sword as if he’s genuinely contemplating running you through just to save his embarrassment.
And there, just faintly, if you look hard enough, you can see the slightest tinge of pink peeking out under the collar of that jacket.
You’re ecstatic.
You’ve made him flush. You’ve made Hyunjin flush. This might rank among your greatest accomplishments.
Your feelings must be clear on your face, because Hyunjin grows even angrier, even more defensive. “Enough. Whatever this scheme of yours is, stop it.”
It’s interesting. A man like Hyunjin, so at ease in battle, in killing his way through swarms and swarms of people, cutting them down and burning them alive without a second thought. And yet so uncomfortable, so immediately on edge with something as small as flirtation.
A thought flickers at the back of your mind, and it’s enough to give you pause.
“There is no scheme,” you say, completely honest. Sure, you’ve got a plan or two to get yourself out of the dungeons – and a few more to escape this compound entirely, before Chan decides to have you executed. But none of those plans involve Hyunjin. “If you’re looking for ulterior motives, there aren’t any.”
This is just…fun. Curiosity. You enjoy it. You enjoy him.
Hyunjin scoffs.
You frown. “Is it so hard to believe I find you attractive?”
Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, eyeing you with pure scepticism. “You’ve tried to kill me. Multiple times.”
“I fail to see how one negates the other,” you reply with a shrug. “You should know. You’ve done the same to me, and yet…”
You trail off, eyes still on him. You don’t say it out loud. If you say it out loud, he’s just going to deny it, whether that’s the truth or not.
You just let it hang there, silent. Unspoken.
“…Chan’s not going to let you out of the dungeons,” Hyunjin eventually says. His tone is even, impassive – but no longer suspicious, so you’ll take what you can get.
You bite your lip, pausing. Hesitating. There’s a certain card hidden in your deck, one you’re unsure whether to play.
“What if I told you…” you swallow, but eventually press on before you lose your nerve. “I could be…persuaded to pull out of this war?”
Hyunjin stares at you, visibly surprised. You’re a little shocked yourself at your own words. No matter how much you’ve thought about it, actually hearing them out loud feels like a big step.
Hyunjin takes a step forward, suddenly urgent. “Would you join us?”
“No,” you say, flatly. “Chan’s killed too many of my men.”
“I’ve killed some of your men,” Hyunjin reminds you.
“On whose orders?”
He doesn’t respond, but you can tell from his expression that you’ve made your point.
“But I would stay neutral, for a price,” you relent. “For enough money to keep my men happy.”
And safe, you add in your mind. This war was spiralling out of control. Too many people were dying to justify such a stalemate. Every inch of territory gained by either side came with a body count in the hundreds. Before long, dear Chan and his estranged uncle would be warring over little more than a blood-stained burial pit
You don’t care for politics. You’ve made that very clear. You aren’t about to let your men die for nothing, not if you can find a way to get them out of the mess that a bunch of bored aristocrats had plunged the kingdom into.
Hyunjin doesn’t speak, but his interest is clearly piqued.
You try your best to seem nonchalant, as if your greatest offer was no big deal. “Just some food for thought, I suppose.”
“What would your conditions be?” Hyunjin asks, leaning forward just slightly. He’s too much of a seasoned warrior to step within arm’s reach, but the distance between you is certainly closing.
“Getting out of that cell,” you say immediately.
Hyunjin makes a face. “Chan’s not going to let you just go.”
“I gathered as much,” you sniff, just a little offended that he’d think you that naïve. “I’m open to being kept here, if he needs the reassurance of keeping an eye on me. Just not in a cell.”
“And what exactly would you be doing here?” Hyunjin asks.
You smirk at him, and he probably realises his mistake. “Sparring with you.”
He almost looks exasperated, as you’ve managed to lead the conversation right back to where you want it. But not angry. “What kind of sparring?”
“Whatever kind you’d like,” you say, your smirk only growing. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Hyunjin sighs, and you’re half-expecting him to shut you down once again. He surprises you, as his gaze drops downwards for just a moment. “The kind that doesn’t involve you stealing my clothes.”
At this point, your smirk’s so wide it’s making your cheeks ache. “Did it take you this long to notice?”
Hyunjin’s eyes flicker back up to meet yours. “…No.”
His admission, especially in a voice so quiet, so low, makes something in your stomach flutter. Your breath catches, just for a second, until you recover your composure. “Can you blame me? My old clothes are threadbare, practically about to break apart. I don’t suppose you could go ask for a pair of trousers that could fit me?”
Hyunjin throws you a look, trying to seem stern. You see right through it. “Don’t push your luck.”
You sigh. “A wise move. When these trousers fall to scraps, I would be far less likely to stage an escape in my underwear.”
For the first time this conversation, a hint of amusement sparks in Hyunjin’s eye. “No, you wouldn’t.”
He’s absolutely right. You grin. “You know me so well.”
He rolls his eyes – and you don’t know whether it’s this unexpected moment of bonding, or whether that eye-roll has pressed enough of your buttons to have you eager to ruffle him again – but you grow bold.
“Still,” you look down, faking a sigh, and reach for the drawstrings of your trousers, taking the string between your fingers and starting to pull. “With how filthy these are, needs must–”
Hyunjin grabs your wrist, shocking you into stillness. You stare down at his hand, gripping you firmly, still unable to process that he’s crossed the distance between you, that he’s in your space, he’s touching you–
Your head snaps up, eyes wide.
He realises a second too late that you were joking.
He drops your wrist as if it burned him – the irony isn’t lost on you – but he doesn’t take a step backwards. Perhaps embarrassment has rooted him to the spot.
That flush has returned, travelling upwards, almost reaching his face.
The thought that had flickered at the back of your mind, that tiny little whisper, burns brighter. Bright enough that it loosens your tongue, and has you asking.
“Are you a maiden, Hyunjin?”
You shouldn’t have phrased it like that. An old habit, from when you teased your men in countless taverns. It sounds like you’re criticising him, or making fun of him at the very least.
You’re not. You’re just curious.
His expression hardens, and you almost want to wince. All the progress you had made with him in the last few minutes, vanished in an instant.
It’s these sudden awful thoughts that cause you to slip up.
As he takes a step backward, you reach out impulsively, guiltily, to catch his wrist.
Immediately, you realise your mistake as his instincts kick in. Before you can blink, he’s twisting his arm, wrenching your own as he forces your own grip to work against you.
Somehow, it feels like an age and the briefest of seconds since the last time you and Hyunjin fought.
You don’t need to think to counteract him, like a dance you already know the steps to. You rise up from the chair before he can drag you, twisting under his arm with fluidity, like water, like smoke, before planting your feet and driving your other hand upwards against the bend of his elbow – seeking to break his grip, not his bones.
He catches on too quickly, striking away your free hand with his own before grasping at your throat. Fingers around the back of your neck, thumb positioned right under the point of your jawbone, digging into the flesh.
Not to incapacitate, you realise with a shock, but to control your balance, your movements, the twist of your head. Your free hand, knocked away, comes up to grab at his wrist.
But before you can even attempt to pry his hand away, he drops, still gripping you, forcing you downwards so abruptly that even your carefully planted stance is no match for the lurch of his movements. One foot of his rises upwards to catch you in the gut, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s using it to hoist you over his head. You leave the ground entirely for the briefest of seconds, and when you land, you’re on your back.
He rolls backwards onto you, quick as a flash, hands never leaving your wrist and neck, knee planted on one shoulder to hold you down.
But nothing more than that.
You exhale, breath struggling to right itself, as you try to make sense of that sudden burst of movement, of combat, of old familiar sensations, and now this sudden quiet.
Hyunjin is staring down at you, his face scarily calm. Not a hint of emotion.
“Do not lay a hand on me,” he warns. It’s not angry, it’s not even cold, it’s so horribly neutral.
You inhale, sharply. That hand of his is pressing on your neck, thumb right in the squishy part under your jaw. Your own hand still clutches at his wrist, squeezing it, ready for you to make an ill-fated attempt to force him off of you.
And yet all you can think about is what a tiny shift it would be, if he let that thumb relax, if he let it just…graze your jaw. How quickly, how subtly, this position could transform.
You keep your gaze on him, refusing to break eye contact. “…That’s not what you’re angry about.”
His eyes narrow, but to your surprise, he doesn’t argue.
You take a deep breath, laboured slightly by the pressure of his hand on you. Already, the combatant in you is thinking on how to break his grip. The exact pressure points on his wrists to squeeze, the direction in which you could jerk his hand and feel a bone snap.
But you don’t. You keep the hand around his wrist loose, gentle.
“It doesn’t matter, if you are. Not to me.”
You say ‘if’ because there’s no way to tell definitively. But he embarrasses too easily, at the mere mentions of a bed, at the possibility of seeing you undressed. He’s a fighter, he has to be used to bodies, but clearly not in this particular context. He’s been moulded for battle, for assassination. There’s been no room for anything else, not while Chan has him as his little personal killer. He might have experience, but definitely not much.
That doesn’t seem like something you should say out loud, not yet anyway. This could be a sore point for him. It seems like a sore point for him.
“It doesn’t change anything,” you promise him.
He pauses. And then, finally, finally, he responds. There’s even a slight quirk of his brow, as he regards you with distrust. “No?”
“No,” you affirm. And then, slowly, you let yourself smile. Even when you’re sincere, you can never keep yourself serious for too long. “But perhaps I should stop teasing you.”
Hyunjin’s jaw tightens. “Perhaps,” he repeats, and your stomach jolts when you hear the faintest traces of something in his voice.
And then, you let your grip on the hand around your neck relax, and your thumb very slowly and very softly drags over the vulnerable curve of his wrist, running up the sensitive edge of his palm, up to the base of his thumb, and back down again. “Perhaps I should be seducing you instead.”
You half-expect Hyunjin to turn away, or turn even colder. It’s very possible you’ve pushed too far.
Instead, his gaze only intensifies. It’s practically burning.
“Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do this whole time?” Hyunjin asks.
That fluttering sensation is back in your gut with a vengeance.
“Not quite,” you admit, your voice dropping to almost a murmur. “But look at the effect I’ve had so far. Imagine what I could do.”
His eyes flash, a ghost of recognition in his features.
He knows what this is.
A challenge.
Finally, something he’s used to. Something he can play along with.
You might just have him.
He shifts his weight, the tension in his shoulders easing.
You relax, opening your mouth to continue speaking, when–
“Guards!” he shouts, loud and clear.
You tense again, eyes darting to the door, but it’s too late. You can hear the footsteps outside, scrambling towards you, growing louder and louder.
You have enough time to sigh, glancing back at Hyunjin, who looks far too smug with himself and the upper hand he’s gained.
You scowl.
“Do I get to keep the shirt, at least?”