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Minho hates cloudy days. He’s fine with rain. He loves the sun. But the murky grey of the sky, not even a ray of light that caused the world to seem washed of all colour irks him. On those days he can’t even think clearly, as if clouds that clog the sky clog his mind too.
He vaguely knows why he hates them. But he tries not to think about the reason.
“Minho…”
Jisung calls him. Minho has been in bed for two hours longer than usual, laying in strewn about sheets with his back to the door. Staring out the window, lost in the endless clouds as his brain fizzes like static. Their room is messier than usual. Usually, Minho cleans it a bit when he wakes up, part of his daily ritual. Jisung must have woken up and already knew something was off before even looking out the window.
The bed dips behind Minho’s back, Jisung’s hand came up, and carded fingers through his hair.
“It’s foggy outside.” Minho’s voice came out rough and almost pained.
If there was something Minho hated more than cloudy days it was foggy ones. Suffocating and blinding, it’s impossible to navigate if it’s thick enough. It fills him with dread. It reminds him of when he was helpless. When he was alone.
“I know it is Minho, but you gotta get up. You’ll be leaving for Levator today, and you still need to pack everything.” Jisung pleads with him. “Chan’s really worked up about this, I don’t think delaying it is something we can afford.”
He knows they can’t. He saw firsthand how determined their leader was to get ahold of the Levator prince, but no one knew why. Chan already had five partners, but maybe it was to try and avoid more bloodshed. Minho didn’t really understand it, but Chan was in charge, so his word is final.
Minho hears the bed creak in protest as he pushes himself up. He stands up, makes the bed after kicking Jisung off it, and grabs a change of clothes from his dresser. He glances out the window to the sky again.
He hears the heavy footsteps come up the stairs. Minho expected them to come at some point. Orphanages are perfect to recruit soldiers. The first time they came he was too young, but now Minho refuses to take no for an answer. His blanket was wrapped and tied to carry his clothes. Hidden under the empty bed next to his. Jungkook had run away long ago with a group of the older kids. They were kind to him, but he wasn’t part of their little family. Running away with 8 people would have been impossible, especially with Minho’s little legs.
The heavy footsteps trudge down the hallway, to the gifted rooms. Always their first stop. No one would want an ungifted soldier over a gifted one. It’s logic. But it still makes his chest burn in anger. The gifted were always higher valued, always more likely to get adopted. Minho can count how many times people have come to the ungifted rooms on two hands for all the years he’s been staying here. Which has been for his whole life. Left on the doorsteps of the orphanage. Since then he has learned the rules of survival for orphans; be nice to strangers, don’t stick out, don’t expect anyone to stay.
Minho is done surviving by those rules.
He knows no one would adopt him at this point. And he is not waiting years to be thrown out onto the streets like Namjoon nearly was if he hadn't planned that runaway. And Minho is smart. He’s resourceful. He can make it on his own if the mercenaries won’t take him.
He watches with a blank face as the warriors come in and look at him and the others. Minho meets their gazes head-on. He breaks the rules, these assholes will remember his face. He glares at them.
They come and go like expected, and Minho creeps away when the sky grows dark. Time is harder to tell on these cloudy days. He tracks their movement and follows them. He predicts where they will be going and sets up a relatively harmless trap. He crouches in the trees and waits to prove his worth.
And prove he did.
“Minho?”
“...sorry, I got distracted.” He says softly, pulling his shirt on. His old scars throb in long-forgotten pain. His limbs feel weighed down like he is moving in mud. Minho makes a note to take a bath before they leave, hoping to wash the unease off his body. “Is Jeongin at his lessons?” He asks to try and take Jisung’s attention off of him. He was fine. He always was.
“Seungmin went with him. He seemed pretty huffy, not excited for a prince to be in the walls.”
Minho snorts, “maybe we’ll be lucky and he runs away so we don’t have to deal with him.”
“aw, come on, it won’t be that bad. Maybe if he’s cute enough we’ll have some fresh meat!”
“Suddenly I’ve become vegetarian.”
“Haha, asshole, be more welcoming, seriously, I don’t want you giving the dude a bad impression of us. Jeongin’s super excited to meet him.”
Minho ruffles Jisung’s hair and sighs dramatically. “Fine, Fine, I won't bite him until he settles down.”
Jisung huffed, following after him in hurried steps.
“ —And tell Changbin to not make moody faces at him too!”
“Yeah, yeah!”
Minho carefully steps out of the kitchens, trying to avoid the three cats rubbing against his legs. He lets the cooks feed the other cats since he’s in a bit of a rush today, but these three were special to him. If he wasn’t going to see them for some time he should at least feed them himself. The three were the first things to help ground him in Miroh, taking care of them gave him a routine and something to focus on outside of his sudden shift in life.
He owes these three more than he can express. And he’s always been bad at expressing his thoughts and feelings. So through food, it is. Everything loves food. Especially cats. So he lays down their plates, far apart enough that they won’t wander too far and start stealing from another cat’s.
Minho watches the furry little things eagerly gobble up their breakfast. Dori is face first in the bowl, the youngest of them. She definitely acted like it, not even finishing her bowl but going to bother Doongie for the rest of his. Minho knows she won’t get anything more than a swat to the face, Doongie is a brat like that. At least he can count on Soonie to be good—
“Ex-Excuse me? Psst!” A hushed whisper calls out from the bedroll beside his, breaking the relative silence of the night. Minho was on the verge of falling asleep, and he felt the creeping urge to snap at whoever was trying to steal his precious hours of sleep after the past four turbulent days he had since joining the Soul DKR mercenary. It should just be him, a large number of asleep mercenaries, and the clear night sky. He turned to make a snide remark but was met with big blue doe eyes looking at him curiously. Minho found his tongue stuck in his mouth as the blue-eyed boy timidly shimmied further into his own bedroll.
“You-you’re new, r-right? I-I know the f-first days are hard, b-but they ease up on you once you g-get a hold on th-the basics.” The boy’s voice was breathy and meek. Minho knew him for less than a minute, but he could already tell this boy didn’t belong here.
“ I’m guessing you’ve been here for a while?”
“U-um, not t-too long. A little over a y-year.” He pokes his head back out, letting Minho get a good look at his face. It was pretty but soft, not to mention young. Younger than Minho. He must be tougher than Minho is giving him credit for, since he’s been here for that long and hasn’t died or run away.
“How old are you?” Minho asks, sleep fading from his mind and he settles to face the boy properly.
“I’m e-eleven and a quarter.” He’s a year younger than Minho, meaning he joined when he was ten. Minho didn’t think they’d accept someone that young. Shaggy brown hair gets pushed out his face with a small hand. “Wh-what’s your n-name?”
“I’m Minho. You?”
“M-Minjae, but e-everyone calls me S-Soonie.”
Quiet, meek, gentle. The name Soonie fit him so far.
“Are you h-hungry?” Soonie asked. The boy probably knew the answer already, shuffling in his bed. Minho has been nothing but tired and hungry since he got here. The boy reached to give him a small package. Minho tries not to think about how small the other’s arms are as he unwraps the paper, finding a sandwich. He glanced at Soonie, meeting his eager blue eyes, and took a big bite. Minho was surprised by the meat, but even more by how good it tasted. It was better than the food from his orphanage.
“‘S good?” He timidly asked as Minho tried to pace himself and not scarf it down. He gave a nod, swallowing before he asked his own question.
“How did you get this?”
The boy gave a soft, yet warm smile. “O-oh, I’m too w-weak to fight in ba-battles. I-I’m o-one of the cooks.”
“At eleven? I’m sure you’ll get strong enough to fight, but how did you end up in the kitchens?” Minho’s interest peaked. Soonie thus far has been one of the few nice people he’s met. The boy was clearly shy but welcoming. Thoughtful too, he already had a snack for a new recruit he knew would be hungry.
“N-no, um, I-I have a w-weak heart, B-but th...They would have t-taken my g-grandpa if I d-didn’t volunteer.”
Ah, no parents. But he had family, at least. Good ones, seeing how he made such a sacrifice for them. Or maybe he just really wanted to get away. Minho somehow doubted the last one.
“Th-they wanna toughen you up, s-so they’re not going to give you that m-much food right now, b-but I can g-give you s-something to eat at night.”
Minho watches tiny fingers play with worn covers.
“...Why would you do that?” He can’t help but ask.
Soonie seems taken back, face growing pink. “B-because you need your strength. A-and... I wanna be f-friends.”
Ah. Soonie is the youngest here. Normally they only accept fifteen and older, so he must be alone. Minho might be his only chance at a friendship with someone his age. He reaches across and takes Soonie’s little hand in his.
“Let’s be friends.”
The smile Soonie gives him is wobbly but filled with such genuine joy and excitement, he distantly thinks that he should protect it.
“Mreow?”
Minho shook his head free of his memories. Soonie was pressing his face to his limp hand. The cat seemed to have a sixth sense for what he needed, just like someone else he had known.
Stop it.
God, he hasn’t been outside yet.
He needs to go outside, he has to check on the rations and if they have enough weaponry in case they get attacked on the road. He needs to say goodbye to Silence in the kennels, make sure she takes good care of Jisung when he’s away. He needs to go outside because he’ll have to go outside eventually. There are no escaping rainy days.
He heard barely audible footsteps, the last few being made louder, almost like announcing their owner’s presence. Changbin’s considerate like that. He knows, or rather, has learned to not sneak up on Minho. The younger has a talent for being quiet, it helps tremendously when tracking. Being able to follow and catch targets by surprise with his talent.
“Minho,” Changbin spoke softer than usual. Jisung must have told him something was off.
Minho got up from his crouching position, his ankles and knees ached. How long had he been sitting like that?
“I’m fine, Binnie, it’s nothing, the weather's just messing with me.”
“I can try and talk to Chan-”
“No, no, stop that. I can handle myself. Don’t worry about me too much. Worry about how much alone time you’ll get with Chan when he and his new husband have their Honeymoon.” He teases. Minho knows it won’t bug him, Changbin’s willing to share, not to mention he has the others too, including himself.
Changbin’s finger’s brush against his cheek and Minho allows for a second of comfort before jokingly turning to bite them. They both chuckle, and to help reassure him, Minho leaned over to plant a simple kiss on his temple. And to remind him to keep on his toes, he slaps Changbin’s ass before trotting off. Delighting in the little shout in protest.
It was noon, everything was packed and ready to go. Everything but Minho himself. He wishes he could bring Silence with him, but she should stay. They’re just going to grab the prince and get out. The fog won’t even last for the whole trip. He needs to stop being childish. He took a breath, kissing the others goodbye, making sure to ruffle Jeongin’s hair especially.
“It’ll be safe, you’ll be okay. You have Chan with you.” He whispers in his ear as they hug.
Inwardly he melts, but outwardly he scoffs. “More like Chan has me.”
“Well, you’re not wrong,” Chan says from his hugging session with a squirming Seungmin.
They hop on their horses, and before they get out the gates Minho makes sure to remind Jeongin to attend his lessons, they can’t afford any more idiots in the house. Jisung tried to throw his shoe at him, but Minho saw it coming a mile away.
They ride out of the gates and Minho has to close his eyes and steel himself. There’s mild chatter in the group. Chan is riding in the middle between him and Changbin. The pair are quiet. He knows they’re trading eyebrow wiggles that somehow translate into words about him. It’s not a secret that he hates foggy days. Normally he won’t step a foot out of walls. But right now isn’t normal.
He hears a caw, and he can’t help but look towards the source of the sound. A crow flies overhead, a feather falling from it.
“That’s s-suppose to be a bad omen, you know?”
Minho sighs deeply. “It’s a bird, Soonie, it can’t exactly control a loose feather falling out.”
Soonie lets out a nervous laugh, looking so out of place holding a sword that his hands can barely hold. They were short on men, and the others caught on to Minho’s and Soonie’s secret training sessions. So they armed him, but at the very least they were the last line of defense. They wouldn’t be getting any real action. Which honestly disappointed him a bit. Minho’s battle prowess was excellent, and he was terrifying on the field. He feels a bit twisted for feeling a sense of pride. But he’ll gladly sacrifice fueling his ego to keep Soonie safe.
“D-do you know what it means to be cold every day?”
“Huh? What’s with the weird question?”
“Well, one of the o-older guys was talking about before he joined, and he said something like —” Soonie deepens his voice, causing Minho to snort instinctively. “—Ever since th-that day, I’ve only felt c-cold. Nothing will e-ever be the same.”
“God, you sound so dumb like that.” Minho chuckles before pondering Soonie’s question. He idly looks around the clearing of the forest they were in. The fog causes it to be a little hard to make things out, but it’s fine. “I don’t think it had much meaning. But if I were to guess, someone he loved probably died.”
“Y-you think?”
“Think about it. Usually, only people who are alone would join these sorts of groups. They feel like they have nothing to lose.”
“Oh… I-I guess that's a fair assessment. H-have you ever lost someone?”
“Nope. Didn’t have anyone to lose. And I don’t plan to lose you.” Minho said bluntly. He watched in the corner of his eye as Soonie grew pink and smiled that same wobbly heartfelt beam. It melted his heart a bit and put a smile on his face.
Over the past five years, the boy had become a home for him. Soonie was determined and focused, he didn’t quit when he made a goal. Minho works hard, and Soonie works just as much and keeps everyone well fed. Soonie cared, deeply and genuinely for other people. He knew he wasn’t good at protecting, so he provided and helped heal.
Minho didn’t need someone to protect him. He could do it himself just fine like he always had. But Soonie’s warm hugs and meals, his patience and kindness, so much of what the boy does is what helps Minho mend his wounded heart.
Once, on a cloudy slow day, Soonie told him about his old dream of being a chef and cooking for many different people, but mostly the people he loved. He said he gave up because he couldn’t imagine life differently from how it was. Soonie made his peace with his lost dream. But Minho vowed to himself that he would make it a reality once they had enough money.
It’s quiet and peaceful, too much so. The fog is thick. Minho doesn’t mind, it traps him in this nice moment alone with Soonie.
“Minnie, what do you w-want for dinner?”
“Letting me choose? You’re spoiling me today, aren’t you?” he teases, watching Soonie’s face grow red, and earning him a whack in the arm. It barely feels like anything, even with the little muscle they managed to get him.
‘Just an-answer the question, asshole. I just wanted to celebrate my first proper victory together, with my best friend.”
“Aw, you love me!” Minho eggs on, grinning mischievously.
“ Of course I l-love you. Why else w-would I be doing my b-best to make you h-happy?”
Minho’s grin softens to a smile, he reaches over and pets Soonie’s hair. “Am I making you happy, Soonie?”
The boy seems taken back at the question and blinks up at Minho. Even at sixteen Soonie’s just as easy to read as he was when he was eleven.
“You’re do-doing your best, right? T-to show that you l-love me, and m-make me happy?” He answers with a question, and Minho pouts.
“Of course I am! But that doesn’t answer my question!”
“Then I’m happy. Th-that’s what matters to me.” Soonie’s voice is soft and earnest, looking at Minho like he held the world in his hands. Minho felt his own face flush.
“What? That I’m doing my best?”
“Yeah! L-Love means d-doing your best.” Soonie beams.
“God, that’s so cheesy!” Minho mocks to cover up his flustered state.
“Y-you’re the one that a-asked! And I said I-I love you and y-you make me happy!” He huffs, stabbing his sword into the ground and leaning on it. Easily it tips over and Soonie tumbles to the ground unceremoniously. Minho bursts out laughing, but it’s cut short when an arrow landed right next to Soonie’s head. A near hit.
Minho didn’t waste time with panic, not now, even as it threatened to paralyze him in place. He turned and ran in the direction of the arrow. It had to be one or two people. Or they would have come straight ahead to fight them. He distantly hears Soonie call his name and the drag of that stupid oversized sword.
He didn’t have time to look back. Minho dodged the next arrow as it whizzed past.
“There you are.” He mumbled, shifting the hold on his blade, honing in on the enemies that managed to get past. As he thought, there were two. He moves out of the way of another arrow, and lunges forward at one of the men, swiftly slicing his throat. He turns his attention to the archer, sweeping his legs to knock him down. The two wrestle a bit, leading to Minho biting the man and successfully managing to get on top and finish the job.
It was a short span of time, but so much happened. He was out of breath. Thankfully it was over.
“Soonie, it’s safe now!” He calls out, pulling himself up and towards where his friend should be.
“Soonie?”
no.
“M-Min-Minnie…” the voice was garbled and choked. Minho feels a cold dread pool at his feet. He looks around the fog. He can’t see him.
Spirits please no.
“S-Soonie?!” He shouts, his hands are shaking. He drops his sword. He runs aimlessly into the fog. “SOONIE!?”
It feels the seconds were hours in that fog, Minho never felt so disoriented in his life. He trips on something and pulls himself up, about to take off again, but Soonie’s voice freezes him in place.
“Min…”
Minho down at what he tripped over, he felt his heart drop and a terror-filled screech left his lungs as he stumbled back.
The arrows. The fucking arrows.
He crawled forward, hold Soonie’s face in his trembling hands, trying to get those big blue doe eyes to look at him.
“SOONIE! NO! PLEASE, NO! SOONIE—”
“Minho!”
He startled out of thoughts, head snapping to Chan who shouted his name. Changbin had ridden ahead and cut Minho’s horse off. The two are giving him worried looks, and Minho only then processes the tears down his cheeks and his white-knuckled grip on his reins.
“Minho, get off the horse for me, okay?” Chan asked him softly, and Minho in his frazzled state does what he’s told. Chan comes down just to put Minho on his own horse before getting on himself. He’s in front, his back pressed against Chan’s chest. The feeling of his breath is reminding Minho to do the same, following Chan’s deep slow breaths. Changbin attaches the rein of Minho’s horse to his own, giving a gentle worried smile. Minho nods at him but is still too shaken to manage anything else.
He double-checks his hands for blood. He lets out a shaky breath of relief.
Minho keeps his eyes on Chan’s hands which hold his own. Feeling his breathing and heartbeat. He’s slowly pulled back to reality, his head a bit clearer.
“Remember when we first met?” Minho cringes at how croaky his voice sounds. Chan hums in affirmation.
“You knew Changbin from mercenary work, and he introduced us.”
“Well, that’s the simple way to put it.” Minho gently teases and Chan chuckles at him.
“Saying you were hired to kill Jinyoung and ended up distracted by Silence and got caught by Changbin is too wordy.” Chan teases back. “Why bring it up?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal — “
“No. Not for back then. Or right now. I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything to save your brother.”
Chan’s breath hitches, and it takes a moment for the leader to release the tension in his body. They haven’t talked about it since Chan officially welcomed him as one of them. But whenever Minho remembers Soonie, that deep wound in his heart reopens. His bones ache with pain from his failure to protect. From the loss of someone so close to him, it was like a piece of him died too. Minho understands the guilt and suffering Chan feels. Not exactly, but very similar.
Minho’s friendship with the three brothers of Miroh was secret. No one wanted to hear what Sungho would say about them being friends with Minho, who dove headfirst into his grief with cold rage. He left Soul DKR mercenary a week after Soonie’s body was burned. He has a bit of the ash in a small pendant around his neck. Minho uses it as a reminder for many things. Before it was to remind him to live and to get revenge. He pushed everything but anger down. Minho was a hurricane in human form, a one-man army that laid devastation to any land for a price. He was ruthless. He was bordering on monstrous.
Chan helped pull him from the cliff he was falling off, and everyone else helped to mend the damage Minho has done to himself. He resisted a bit at first, but his heart opened over time, thanks to their efforts.
When he was called to the Tae Hong Clan, no one knew of his closeness to the heirs of Miroh. The Clan offered hefty pay to murder Jinyoung, the supposed future ruler. Minho rejected the offer. He stated the prince was the favourite of a water spirit, that it would be suicide to assassinate him or any of the other brothers.
He didn’t say anything about Jinyoung’s plan to become a spirit, or that Yugyeom will be the true successor. They didn’t need to know that information. But what Minho learned had to be reported back to the three.
But a weak warning wasn’t enough. He wasn’t careful enough, somehow they found out, and Yugyeom was killed. Perhaps not by the Tae Hong Clan, but he couldn’t imagine anyone else who’d be so determined to eliminate the Ruler of Miroh.
Minho thought Chan would want him gone, to never see him again when Yugyeom died. He understood why Chan would. But the new king of Miroh asked for Minho to stay, to help protect, to help avenge his brother. Things Minho is more than capable of doing, and would gladly do for the people he’s grown to love. People who love him in turn.
“Minho, don’t blame yourself for what already happened. We should keep trying our best with what we can do.”
Minho knows Chan is being a hypocrite, but he didn’t have the energy to point it out. He leans into Chan’s chest and takes refuge until his bones stop aching. He lets himself feel warmth instead of cold. He reminds himself that he’s not alone in this fog.