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Clang!
With a harsh blow, Alver’s sword flies out of his hands, spinning in the air until it falls a distance away - too far for Alver to pick it up. Alver holds his hands up in surrender but Choi Han doesn’t relent, following through with a stab that would’ve pierced skin if Alver didn’t fall backwards to avoid it.
Schwing!
He lands on his butt and there’s no time to roll out of the way when the next attack comes.
“Hah,” Alver huffs a laugh when the tip of Choi Han’s sword finally rests against his throat. “You seriously show no mercy.”
“You’re getting sloppy, your highness,” Choi Han says in a measured tone. He doesn’t withdraw his sword. He doesn’t withdraw his gaze.
This Choi Han is curt with him, so very different to how he behaves when Cale Henituse is around. There’s something in Choi Han’s gaze, something deep and dark and crazed . There’s darkness within him, one seeped deep into his soul from the many years he spent all alone, living like a beast to survive in the Forest of Darkness. This darkness is one he holds a tight rein over, one he keeps restrained and hides from his family to not scare them away.
But he doesn’t hide it from Alver.
It feels more real, in a sense.
Alver knows what it’s like to have to pretend to be someone else. He’s spent his whole life perfecting how to look perfect.
But since Choi Han doesn’t bother with any pretenses of being a good person, Alver feels like it’s alright to not pretend around Choi Han either.
So he falls flat on his back and groans. He complains. He’s imperfect.
He shows weakness to the man who gives him no mercy.
“Do you know the amount of paperwork I’ve had to do lately? I only slept two hours yesterday. I’m dying.”
The corner of Choi Han’s lip quirks up ever so slightly as he withdraws his sword and returns it to its scabbard. “Then why did you still show up to train?”
“Why do you teach me? You’re only supposed to be my instructor by name.” Alver grins and brushes his blond hair back from his forehead. His eyes glimmer underneath the sunlight like rare jewels.
“...I’m bad at lying,” Choi Han admits. His face softens, and Alver knows he’s thinking about how Cale talked about his bad acting skills all the time. “That’s why I have to teach you for real, so I won’t slip up in the future if someone asks about it.”
“Hm,” Alver hums.
“But if you’re tired…” Choi Han hesitates. He finally says, “You can take a nap during training.”
“My dongsaeng is being a bad influence on my instructor, I see.” Alver teases. “And what, you’ll just watch me sleep? What will you tell the nobles when they ask how our training is going?”
Choi Han avoids his gaze, but his hand is on his scabbard, and he’s lifting it in and out. Just the slightest bit. Fidgeting.
So bad at lying.
“I like training with you,” Alver admits as he hops back onto his feet in a practiced move. He doesn’t miss the way Choi Han’s eyes track his movement with the intensity of a predator watching its prey. “I like getting the energy out. It’s refreshing. You haven’t been stuck at a desk for 20 hours straight, have you? Ah… my waist hurts.”
“20 hours?” Choi Han frowns. His eyes narrow as he stares at Alver’s lithe waist. He looks ready to fight Alver’s advisors.
“Yes, 20,” Alver sighs, letting some of the weariness seep through as he goes to fetch his sword. “So go easy on me, won’t you? I know you like seeing me all roughed up, but can't you let me win at least once?”
Choi Han freezes. He opens his mouth. Shuts it tight. So bad at lying.
Alver hides his smile as he lowers his head to inspect his sword. There are scratches on it, despite being made from some of the best materials the continent has to offer. But it’s expected, since he’s sparring with a swordmaster like Choi Han.
“Your enemies won’t go easy on you,” Choi Han finally settles on those words.
“But you’re not my enemy,” Alver retorts, raising an eyebrow. Challenging. “Are you?”
What are they?
They used to only be bound to each other through Cale Henituse.
But ever since the sword training started, something had clearly shifted.
“No. I am your instructor,” Choi Han clarifies. Strict. No-nonsense. But he doesn’t hide the swirling darkness in his eyes as he looks at Alver.
“Instructor-nim . How about a bet?” Alver feels the adrenaline beginning to thrum through his veins. A match with stakes will only be all the more exciting. “Just one blow. If I manage to land one blow on you, then you can call me hyung like Cale does. How about it?”
“What?” Choi Han scoffs. “I’m older than you are. You should be the one calling me hyung.”
“If you win.”
As soon as the last syllable leaves Alver’s tongue, he swings. Their swords clash rapidly in the air between them. Alver is definitely handicapped from the lack of sleep, but he feels more alive than ever as someone matches his blows. No one else in the castle can give him a workout like Choi Han does.
Choi Han is fighting harder than usual, too. His swings are so fierce it leaves Alver’s arms trembling as he parries the blows. He is quickly forced into the defensive rather than the offensive, and over time, it’s clear Choi Han is pushing him back.
And then finally, Alver’s arm is forced back from a heavy blow, and before he can regain his stance, a sword slices against the side of Alver’s neck, stopping just a few millimeters into his skin.
A drop of blood trickles down the side of Alver’s neck as the two of them breathe heavily, staring at each other.
Alver is the first to give up. He drops his sword and raises two hands. He smirks. “Did you want me to call you that word so much?”
Choi Han frowns. “Alv-”
“Hyung.”
Alver’s name dies on Choi Han’s tongue. The swordmaster stares at the smiling crown prince. Alver tilts his head away from the sword, baring his pale neck. He’s playing with fire and he knows it.
“Hyung,” Alver says the word softly, eyelashes fluttering. He allows himself to look weak. Vulnerable. “Han Hyung, I’m bleeding. What should we do?”
Alver has never seen Choi Han drop his sword faster.
Choi Han is in front of him in an instant, pupils blown. He says nothing, but his fists are clenched tight as though it’s taking all of him to reign the animalistic urges in him back.
Alver’s own fingers twitch. It’s a mix of signals in his head, to retreat, to grab his sword, to grab Choi Han. But he does nothing. He stands there.
“I think…” Alver has to pause before he can say the words, “Saliva is great for healing wounds.”
“Ah!”
Within a second, Choi Han’s hands are on him. One against the uninjured side of his neck for leverage, the other against his shoulder to keep him still. A warm, wet tongue presses against the stinging cut and licks in a broad, smooth stroke. Alver moans and feels his knees going weak. He has to lean against Choi Han to keep himself balanced. He hears a low growl beside his ear and it makes him even weaker.
As a dark elf, he has always loved the darkness.